My Bizarre Relatives 03

Fang Ruoruo found herself married off in a daze, settling into a life with a man who treated her with indifference—their relationship was little more than coexistence. Her husband worked at a construction site, and she followed him there. Meanwhile, Eldest Aunt’s family thrived, and in the family group chat, she had become the self-appointed leader, doling out parenting advice and life lessons with every breath. She even had criticisms to spare for Fang Ruoruo’s child.

Fang Ruoruo’s husband was a quiet man—perhaps that was what Eldest Aunt had initially liked about him. She often exploited him as free labor, all while sneering at him with undisguised contempt.

"Look at yourself, Ruoruo. Look at your Eldest Cousin, then look at you. I told you to study hard, but you wouldn’t listen. Now you’re stuck doing this kind of work."

"That daughter of yours… tsk, tsk. Just as disobedient as you were as a child."

"You’d better hurry up and have a son, or your man will find someone else sooner or later."

Fang Ruoruo, her husband, and their child were treated just as she had been years ago—shoved into the corner during family meals, her daughter watching the other children play with longing but not daring to join.

She remained a topic of discussion in the family, but only as a cautionary tale.

Then, when her daughter fell gravely ill, Fang Ruoruo remembered the house that was rightfully hers. She went to Eldest Aunt to reclaim it, only to be shoved back by her Eldest Cousin, who glared at her and snapped, "Your house? That’s mine! I’ve been paying you every month—it’s long been bought!"

Fang Ruoruo’s eyes widened. What payments? He had only sent her a token 1,000 yuan a month for a single year before stopping entirely. But she was too exhausted to fight anymore.

"Please… Yaya is in the hospital now. We need money—"

"Why come begging to us? Can’t you afford your own child’s treatment?" Eldest Aunt crossed her arms, her tone dripping with mockery.

Her mother, who had long since remarried and had a son with her new husband, only gave her a measly 2,000 yuan. "You’re a grown woman. You can’t keep relying on your mother, can you?"

Fang Ruoruo refused to give up on her daughter. It was this determination that finally made her husband snap. In a rare outburst, he smashed everything in their home, as if unleashing years of pent-up resentment, before coldly declaring, "We’re getting divorced," and walking out without a backward glance.

Staring at her daughter in the hospital bed, Fang Ruoruo couldn’t stop. She would sue for her house, work herself to the bone—she had to save her child.

When news of the lawsuit spread, the entire family turned against her, including Li Mei. Fang Ruoruo was crushed. What right did they have to judge her? What had she ever done wrong?

But just before the trial, exhausted and disoriented from lack of sleep, she fell from a height at work and never woke up.

Even in death, her relatives wouldn’t let her be. At her funeral, they pointed at her coffin and lectured the children, "Your cousin met such a tragic end because she was too selfish, too heartless toward her own family."

As for the little girl in the hospital, she passed away the next day.

After reading the story, Fang Zhiyi lowered his gaze.

"Little Hei, you know what?"

Little Hei looked at him.

"Being a parent… it’s not just about providing for your child."

Little Hei twitched. "You seem upset?"

Fang Zhiyi smiled. "Not upset. Just… a little angry."

The original Fang Zhiyi had left town after divorcing Li Mei, carrying the guilt of abandoning his daughter but never returning to see her. He drowned himself in work until he, too, died from overwork.

But he wasn’t the original Fang Zhiyi.

"There’s one more thing bothering me…"

"Hm?"

Before Fang Zhiyi could speak, Little Hei cut in with sudden realization, "You’ll die. It’s fate. You have no choice."

"You bastard."

"Old Fang! Daydreaming again?" The manager, his beer belly protruding, waddled over with a sleazy grin. "Still thinking about that cheating wife of yours?" His voice was loud enough for everyone to hear, but no one laughed—this wasn’t a joke.

Fang Zhiyi looked up. Ah, perfect. A punching bag—the manager who had exploited the original Fang Zhiyi for years.

"What’s that look for? Did you finish the construction blueprints I asked for yesterday?" The manager faltered under his gaze.

Fang Zhiyi stood. "Finish your mother."

The fat manager froze. "What did you say?!"

"I said, finish your mother." Fang Zhiyi met his glare without flinching.

"You—!" The manager’s face flushed crimson. This spineless pushover had the audacity to curse at him in front of everyone? He raised his hand to strike, but Fang Zhiyi didn’t dodge—he simply blocked it.

A faint smile curled on Fang Zhiyi’s lips. "Everyone saw it. He threw the first punch."

"Are you rebelling?!" the manager screeched. Normally, a few slaps would send Fang Zhiyi back to work like a whipped dog. Had he lost his mind today? But before he could process it, a fist collided with his face.

The fight erupted so suddenly that everyone froze.

"Withholding bonuses, huh? Dumping your work on others, then taking credit when it’s done and blaming them when it’s not?"

"Ask someone if they’re terminally ill when they take sick leave?"

"Unpaid overtime? If you love overtime so much, why don’t you do it yourself?"

"I also saw you groping that intern’s ass. Bet you didn’t expect that, huh?"

Every accusation was punctuated with a slap.

The colleagues stood stunned, but as Fang Zhiyi’s words sank in, their expressions shifted to shared fury.

"Hit him!"

"Beat him to death!"

(Not literally, of course.) The commotion drew the Shopkeeper out of his office—just in time for Fang Zhiyi to deliver the final blow:

"Oh, and I know about you spitting in the Shopkeeper’s goji berry tea. And how you secretly wrote down the address of his mistress’s place. What, planning a coup?"

The Shopkeeper, about to intervene, paused, his sharp eyes locking onto the cowering manager.

"H-how do you know that?!" The manager, dazed from the beating, blurted out the worst possible response.

Fang Zhiyi "noticed" the Shopkeeper just then and quickly stepped aside, feigning righteousness. "How do I know? Weren’t you the one bragging about it? Said you’d use the Shopkeeper’s secrets to jump ship? Falsifying documents—wasn’t that your idea?"

The manager paled. How did Fang Zhiyi know all this? Worse, the Shopkeeper was standing right there.

"Shopkeeper, don’t listen to him! I never—"

The Shopkeeper raised a hand. "Enough. Fighting in the workplace is unacceptable. Deal with him accordingly." He had no reason to doubt Fang Zhiyi—this employee had always been meek and punctual, never a single late arrival in years. And there was no way he could’ve known those secrets otherwise.