Sister 06

Fang Zhiyi didn’t turn around. He could hear the tremor in Fang Zhaodi’s voice.

This should be enough, right?

He walked back to Huang Minhao, bent down, and grabbed his arm. Under Huang Minhao’s terrified gaze, he forcibly reset the dislocated limb. The agony was so intense that Huang Minhao passed out without even making a sound.

Old Man Huang had scrambled to his feet by then. Seeing his wife beaten, he wanted to step forward but hesitated, intimidated by Fang Zhiyi standing nearby.

It was Fang Zhiyi who approached instead, gently restraining his sister.

“Sis, you can’t keep hitting them.”

Fang Zhaodi gradually calmed down.

“You can get out now,” Fang Zhiyi said, glancing back at Old Man Huang.

To his surprise, the old man’s eyes flickered with gratitude. He spared only a glance at his groaning wife on the ground before bolting toward the gate without looking back.

“He’s running away!” Fang Zhaodi panicked. If the Huangs reported this to the authorities, her brother would be in trouble!

Fang Zhiyi shook his head. “Let him go.” He pulled his sister into the house, pointing at the door. “Lock it tight tonight. Better yet, barricade it.” Then he gestured toward the bedside. “Keep something handy here, within reach.”

Like a tour guide, he led Fang Zhaodi through the Huang residence, instructing her on how to secure every corner.

“Got it?”

Fang Zhaodi was frantic. “Yes! Little brother, you need to leave now!” Just moments ago, the Huang mother and son had also fled.

Fang Zhiyi shook his head again. “No rush. Ever heard the story of ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf’?”

Fang Zhaodi nodded.

“Even on the fourth time, help still comes—but it won’t be on their side.” He clapped his hands. “Remember when we were kids? You used to say you’d take the blame for me, right?”

Fang Zhaodi thought back. It was true. Fang Zhiyi had caused plenty of trouble as a child, and she’d always shielded him, enduring their parents’ beatings as a result. Eventually, he’d even started pinning his own misdeeds on her.

But now, realization dawned on her.

When the patrol officers arrived for the fourth time, visibly annoyed, the three Huangs stood at the gate, pointing at Fang Zhiyi. “It’s him! He broke into our house, held us captive, and—and broke my son’s arm!”

The officer turned to look, only to see Huang Minhao casually rubbing his face.

“Didn’t I tell you folks we’re busy?”

“It’s true! Look at my face! And my son’s injuries!” Old Madam Huang hopped in frustration. The officer scrutinized their wounds, then fixed a stern gaze on Fang Zhiyi.

But they hadn’t expected Fang Zhaodi to step forward.

“I’m the one who hurt them,” she said, her voice trembling but growing steadier. “I beat that beast with a stick. I slapped my mother-in-law’s face because she tried to hit me—and my brother.”

Gasps rippled through the gathered villagers.

“Lies! It was your brother! I’ll make him rot in jail! Pay compensation!” Huang Minhao shouted.

“Jail? Compensation?” Fang Zhaodi glanced at Fang Zhiyi, drawing strength from his encouraging look. She stepped forward, rolling up her sleeves to reveal the scars.

“What about when you hit me? Should you go to jail too? Pay me back?”

The crowd erupted.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t known about Fang Zhaodi’s abuse—but hearing about it and seeing the scars were two different things.

Whispers spread like wildfire, and with the Huangs’ notorious reputation, the accusations grew louder.

“Shut up! None of your damn business!” Old Madam Huang screeched, her face twisted. “Officer, arrest him! No—arrest both of them! They’re in this together!”

The officer adjusted his cap. “Like you said, it’s a family matter. Not my place to interfere.”

Fang Zhiyi mentally gave the man a thumbs-up.

The officer turned to him. “Still, even if your sister lives here, you can’t just camp out in someone else’s home.” He eyed the Huangs. “Why don’t you take your sister back for a few days? Let everyone cool off.”

Fang Zhaodi froze. Go home? Did she even have one? What would her parents say?

The Huangs protested wildly. “No! What kind of officer are you? Letting them go?”

Old Madam Huang launched into a tirade about their suffering, but no one believed her. Mockery drowned her out, especially from the village women who’d long despised her.

Fang Zhiyi coughed politely. “My apologies, Officer. I was just worried about my sister. I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I’ll leave now.”

The officer nodded approvingly, then glared at the Huangs. “You folks are always stirring up drama!”

Cowed by authority, even Old Madam Huang fell silent when her son yanked her sleeve.

“Relax. Once that lunatic’s gone, that bitch won’t be hard to handle.”

The old woman brightened at the thought and changed her tune.

With the officer gone and the villagers dispersing, Old Man Huang’s face darkened with humiliation. How could he show his face in public after this?

At least Fang Zhiyi was leaving. Old Madam Huang stormed into the courtyard, barking orders—lock the gate, fetch a rod for “discipline.” But Fang Zhaodi had barricaded herself inside.

Huang Minhao pounded on the door, met with silence.

“You think hiding will save you? You think he came to help? Ha! He just wanted money! You Fang leeches! Open this door! I’ll skin you alive—”

The door flew open. Something smashed into Huang Minhao’s face before he could react. White-hot pain exploded across his features.

Fang Zhaodi stared blankly at the brick in her hand. Fang Zhiyi had told her to keep it under the pillow. Who knew it’d work so well?

Huang Minhao crumpled, clutching his face. Old Madam Huang lunged, only to freeze when Fang Zhaodi brandished a cleaver. The glint of steel gave her pause—just long enough for a stinging slap to land on her already-swollen cheek. Her howl pierced the air.

Old Man Huang stood paralyzed. He’d always been a bystander, reveling in his daughter-in-law’s suffering. Now, he was useless again, stuck between advancing and retreating.

“From today onward,” Fang Zhaodi declared, each word deliberate, “I run this house.”

“You damn whore—” Huang Minhao staggered up, blood gushing from his nose. Then his face met another blow—this time, he recognized the sole of a shoe.