The house had grown heavier with each passing day. The laughter that once filled the corners was quieter now, tentative, careful. The children moved with small, measured steps, learning to anticipate every glance, every gesture from Zhang Weiming and his parents. Lin Meiying worked tirelessly to keep the house orderly, to shield her children from the small but growing cracks in their lives, but even her strength had limits.
It began with chores. Small tasks that seemed reasonable at first: polishing the floors, organizing cupboards, folding clothes in exacting precision. Zhang Weiming's mother would stand over them, nodding approvingly when a corner was perfectly aligned and frowning slightly when it was not. Each imperfection was noted, remembered, and corrected with quiet authority.
The children, still innocent, did what they could to meet the impossible standards. Chen Feng straightened the chairs until his fingers ached. Chen Yue folded napkins so sharply they threatened to cut her skin. Chen Hao scrubbed surfaces meticulously, his attention to detail unmatched. Chen Xin tried to smile through it all, humming to herself as she carried baskets of laundry across the rooms.
Dinner became a silent ritual. Words were few. Lin Meiying served meals with trembling hands, hoping to avoid displeasure. Zhang Weiming's father sat with folded hands, expression neutral, yet carrying a weight that pressed down on every action in the room. The children ate quietly, eyes down, hands still, learning that mistakes—even imagined ones—carried consequences.
At night, the lessons were reinforced. Chen Feng heard the footsteps outside his door, heavy and slow, measuring. He lay awake, listening, counting the rhythm of the house. Chen Yue held her mother's hand longer than usual, offering silent comfort while fearing the next word of reprimand. Chen Hao pressed against the walls, listening, cataloging. Chen Xin whispered stories to herself, hoping that words could somehow protect them.
Lin Meiying tried to shield them, but the subtle cruelty grew sharper. Orders became demands, and the smallest misstep earned cold stares or extra work. Once, Chen Feng accidentally spilled water while washing dishes. Zhang Weiming's father merely watched, expression unreadable. Lin Meiying attempted to soothe the moment, but Zhang Weiming interrupted.
"This is not acceptable," he said softly, the gentleness masking an edge beneath. "You must learn responsibility."
Chen Feng's hands shook as he dried the plates. He had learned that apologies were not enough. Obedience was measured in perfection, in silence, in compliance.
The children began to understand that the world inside their home differed from the one outside. Teachers praised their politeness, neighbors complimented their manners, and yet every step, every word within the walls of the house carried weight. Each child responded differently. Chen Feng became protective, always watching, always anticipating. Chen Yue became precise, controlling her movements. Chen Hao observed quietly, gathering patterns and behaviors without understanding why. Chen Xin continued to smile, though her laughter held tremors of fear.
Punishments escalated subtly. One evening, Chen Yue was told to scrub the floors until her fingers bled, for missing a single spot. Chen Feng tried to intervene. "It's enough!" he whispered. Zhang Weiming's mother merely shook her head, her expression polite but resolute.
"You must learn to follow instructions perfectly," she said. "No excuses."
Chen Feng's throat tightened. He had tried to protect his siblings, but each act of care brought him more scrutiny. Chen Hao noticed the pattern, the unspoken rules: help too much, and attention turns to you. Stay silent, and the smallest mistake becomes magnified. Chen Xin cried quietly into her pillow that night, hoping no one would hear.
Lin Meiying felt her strength eroding. She tried to reason, to appeal, to shield, but the walls were unyielding. Zhang Weiming and his parents controlled the rhythm of the house, the timing of tasks, the flow of attention. Every act of defiance was met with subtle but firm correction, reinforcing the unspoken hierarchy.
Weeks passed. The children adapted, in small ways, to survive. Chen Feng carried the heaviest weight, standing between his siblings and scrutiny whenever possible. Chen Yue perfected every small detail of her behavior, learning the art of compliance. Chen Hao watched and waited, cataloging patterns for reasons he could not yet know. Chen Xin clung to fleeting moments of joy, small sparks of innocence to light the darkness around her.
Lin Meiying's heart ached each night as she watched them sleep. She kissed their foreheads gently, praying silently that nothing worse would come. The children, in their innocence, believed their mother's love would shield them.
Yet the house had already begun its slow, relentless transformation. The family that had once been warm and ordinary now lived under strict rules, quiet demands, and the constant, unspoken measure of their father's and grandparents' approval. Obedience, silence, and precision became the language of survival.
The children did not yet know that this was only the beginning. That the small, precise punishments, the quiet control, and the measured expectations would escalate into cruelty that would test every ounce of their strength. That their mother's love, though steadfast, could not prevent what was coming.
And in the stillness of their rooms, each child felt it: a shadow touching their hearts. A premonition, unformed but insistent, that life would not remain safe, that the world inside their home would shift from careful guidance to outright oppression.
For now, the house remained outwardly normal. Neighbors would smile, teachers would praise the children, and Lin Meiying would continue to strive for order and warmth. But the first threads of horror had already woven themselves quietly through the walls, preparing for a day when innocence would no longer be enough.