Chapter 9 Burning the Letter
Uncle and Gu Feng came back almost at the same time.
The moment they stepped in they felt the heavy air.
Aunt was still furious. She pointed at the crumpled paper on the floor and recounted every word of the letter.
Uncle's face grew darker. He picked up the ball, unfolded it, and read every character.
Gu Feng kicked over the small stool by the door and cursed:
"What the hell does she count as! Dreaming!"
Then he looked at me huddled in the corner.
"Why the long face? With my mom here, no one can bully you. That crazy woman isn't your mom, got it?"
I nodded desperately, but tears still fell.
I was terrified they would start fighting again over this letter and the three thousand yuan—and that they would see me as a real burden after all.
"Jian Guo, what do we do?" Aunt looked at Uncle, her voice carrying helplessness.
Uncle finished reading, silent for a full minute.
Then he took out a cigarette, lit it, and right in front of all of us, burned the letter.
He crushed the butt and said in a very firm voice:
"What do we do? Pretend it never happened."
He looked up at me: "Qiaoqiao, don't be afraid. This is your home."
That night's dumplings never got made.
Aunt lost the mood. Uncle cooked noodles for dinner—one bowl each, with a fried egg on top.
At the table, no one mentioned the letter again, as if it had never existed.
In the middle of the night I woke up and saw the living room light still on.
I quietly walked out and saw Aunt sitting at the dining table mending Gu Feng's school uniform.
I called softly: "Aunt."
She jumped, turned, and forced a smile uglier than crying:
"Why are you up? Did we wake you?"
I shook my head and walked to her side.
I saw a sheet of letter paper on the table with one line written, then heavily crossed out.
My heart ached. I knew she hadn't slept all night.
She was thinking how to reply.
Uncle said pretend it never happened, but Aunt's temper couldn't swallow it.
She looked at me and sighed.
"Qiaoqiao, don't overthink. Aunt isn't worrying about the three thousand yuan."
She stroked my head.
"I'm just angry. The money my brother paid with his life—all went to feed her useless son. Now she has the nerve to come ask me for money?"
Her voice was low, filled with suppressed hatred.
I didn't know how to comfort her. I could only lean my head on her shoulder.
After a long silence, Aunt seemed to make up her mind.
She took a fresh sheet, wrote just a few lines:
"No money. Here's a hundred yuan—use it to buy your son a coffin. Don't bother us again. From now on, we cut ties forever."