A Jin's maternal grandfather had come from the military. He was not an educated man and firmly believed in one philosophy: the stick produces filial signs; without beatings, children won't grow straight.
His uncles and his mother had all been "taught" that way growing up.
His paternal grandfather, despite being well-read, had been comrades and close friends with the old general—years together had rubbed some of the same roughness into him.
Thus, his father and uncles had also been raised under the whip.
And now, that glorious tradition had made its way to A Jin and Chen Zui.
When Chen Zui was little, he had a frail body and a pale little face—two slaps, and he'd start coughing. Looking back, they suspected he might've been faking it, but the adults' hearts always softened.
A Jin, on the other hand, had been born with darker skin. Even a hard slap would barely leave a mark. He was stubborn to the bone, refusing to beg for mercy.
So the adults… developed a taste for disciplining him.
His mother used her palm—or occasionally the sole of a shoe.
His father would use whatever lay within reach: a book, a rolled newspaper, a rolling pin, a broom…
But the cruelest was his grandfather, who had a special tool for the occasion: a rattan cane.
A Jin remembered vividly how that thin, whistling branch struck him—each lash slicing through the air before cracking against his skin, making his heart tremble inside his chest.
So when, after all these years, he saw Uncle Liu walk into the living room holding a long redwood box, his heart—normally hardened and unshakable—gave an involuntary, violent jolt.
The box opened.
A dark brown cane lay inside.
His grandfather cast a cold, sweeping glance over it, then said to A Jin's father,
"Shenxing, he's your son. I'll leave him to you."
His father had already been itching for this permission.
He stepped forward, grabbed the cane, and barked:
"Take off your clothes. Kneel."
A Jin let out a silent sigh of relief—
At least he didn't have to pull his pants down like when he was a child.
That would have been too humiliating.
Then again, being hit elsewhere would probably hurt even more.
Calmly, he removed his cashmere sweater, leaving only a thin shirt underneath.
Then he knelt, back straight as a spear.
He hadn't finished gathering his mental defenses when—
Whoosh—CRACK!
The cane landed squarely across his back.
Pain jolted through him, making his whole body flinch.
His father snorted.
"Now you know what pain is? Where was that sense of consequences earlier?"
Another lash followed, sharp and merciless.
A Jin stayed silent.
The cane wasn't the same as the one from his childhood, but the force behind it had not diminished in the slightest.
He had thought adulthood would dull the sting—yet nothing had changed.
No—one thing had.
His heart.
The cane rained down over and over, each strike punctuated by his father's furious curses:
"You little bastard, you've really grown capable now—stealing another man's woman? You've shamed the entire Chen family!"
"Threatening people with evidence? You think government offices are your personal convenience store where you can grab whatever you like? Do you even know what the law is?!"
"You're courting death. If you keep this up, you'll drag the whole family down with you."
"Better to beat you to death now—spare the world the trouble!"
A Jin kept his back ramrod straight, brows knitted tightly, teeth clenched so hard he refused to make a single sound.
His back felt as if it were splitting open—just a tug would peel the skin away.
He suddenly realized something absurd—
His father, who always looked like a refined gentleman, had quite the talent for butchery.
Then he almost laughed.
Of course, he does.
Hadn't he himself inherited that same cruelty?
Hadn't he swung a blade and hacked Lin Wan's life into broken, bleeding fragments?
The thought steadied him.
This pain—this punishment—was nothing more than repayment.
He owed Lin Wan far too much.
This beating wasn't even a fraction, merely the interest.
He felt like Christ was nailed to a cross—
Except Christ redeemed humanity,
While he was atoning for himself,
For the monster he once had been.
So with every lash, he whispered silently in his heart:
Lin Wan… Lin Wan… Wanwan… Wanwan…
Bitterness, sorrow, remorse—and a faint sweetness—surged through him in waves.
The agony sharpened his senses until a terrifying clarity washed over him.
He loved her.
Loved her down to marrow and bone.
He had waited thirty years to meet her.
He would never feel this way about another woman again.
Even after death, if he turned to dust, every speck of ash would still remember Lin Wan.
A mad thought seized him:
Is there a next life?
If there is, I'll find her early—drag her out of the crowd and never let her go…
Lost in these thoughts, his senses dulled; the cane's sting faded into a distant throb, replaced by a feeling that his spine might snap.
His ears buzzed.
Only two sounds remained clear: the soft clink of his grandfather's teacup…
And the sharp whistle of the cane.
Suddenly, his father's furious, disdainful roar broke through:
"You still have the nerve to cry? Let me tell you—I'm not even sending you to prison. That'd shame the whole family. I'll just beat you to death myself—do society a favor!"
A Jin blinked.
Cry?
He reached up, wiped his face—
His hand came away wet.
Surprised, he lifted his head.
"Dad," he rasped, "leave me a life…"
His father scoffed coldly, raising the cane again.
"Now you want to live? Too late."
But as the cane swung down, A Jin grabbed the tip with precise force, gripping it in his fist.
His father roared,
"You dare resist?! Let go! Afraid to die now?"
A Jin shifted on his knees to face him directly.
I'm not afraid of death.
But I need to stay alive… to treat Lin Wan.
Before his father could react, his grandfather cut in, voice like a whip:
"You still want to cling to that girl? Still insisting on dragging this down a dead-end? You really won't stop until you hit the coffin!"
A Jin turned to his grandfather, voice steady:
"I'll let her go.
But not yet.
A beat of silence.
Then—
Repeat that. You're treating her?
What illness does she have?
A Jin's knees had long gone numb.
When he twisted slightly, his back burned as if scraped raw.
He turned his head and answered:
"She has depression."
His father froze.
His grandfather frowned.
"What the hell is that supposed to be?"
His eldest uncle explained quietly:
"It's a psychological illness. Causes emotional collapse. Severe cases… commit suicide."
A Jin continued:
"Yes. She has already tried.
The incident at West Mountain—that was because of this.
Another wave of shocked breaths filled the room.
Then a deadly silence.
His father, shaking with rage and horror, lifted the cane and struck again.
You've bullied her to the brink of death?!
You're a damn beast!
I ought to beat you to death right here!
A Jin's dark striped shirt clung to his back, soaked—whether from sweat or blood, no one could tell.
The fabric had torn in several places from repeated blows.
His mother had been crying quietly in the corner, but now she couldn't take it anymore.
She rushed forward, grabbing his father's arm mid-swing.
"Stop it!
Do you really want to kill him?!
"Let go," his father growled.
But she held fast.
You call me indulgent—
Then what about you?!
How much have you cared for your sons all these years?
Always work work work—
You nearly lost a child back then and still didn't learn!
His father stiffened, breath heavy—
Struck by the accusation.
"That's different," he snapped.
This is a crime.
You women have no principles.
Kneeling, A Jin listened to them argue—anxious, powerless.
He tried to stand, but his legs failed.
He could only clutch his mother's leg and plead:
Dad… Mom… don't fight.
I did wrong—I deserve the punishment.
His mother looked down, saw the streaks of tears on his face, and her own eyes reddened further.
She squatted and pulled him into her arms, crying:
I have no principles, fine. I have no awareness, fine.
I'm just a housewife who knows one thing—
A child belongs to the mother's heart.
He knows he was wrong.
He's changing.
If you beat him to death—
Does that solve anything?!
A Jin's throat tightened even more.
"Mom—"
She clamped a hand over his mouth and shielded him like a mother hen.
And it's not all his fault!
If you're beating people today, then go get that other son too! Beat them together!
And beat me as well—your useless wife—
Kill the three of us if you want!
You're the righteous one, the noble one—
Go on, keep being your spotless civil servant!
No one will drag you down anymore!