Qin Guan had never imagined that the person who would dig out that top would be his own mad, deranged Mother Mad.
Even less could he have anticipated that this woman, who had never shown a shred of clear rationality, would recognize the blood on the clothes.
She truly recognized it.
"Blood... blood..."
No one else was in the yard. She looked at Qin Guan, her mangled tongue struggling to form words only he could understand.
"What are you doing? Give it back!"
Qin Guan felt his scalp prickle. He growled, low and muffled, furious and frantic as he rushed over, snatched the top back, and ducked into the kitchen.
A pot of dark corn mush was boiling on the stove. Without a second thought, Qin Guan shoved the top into the fire beneath the stove, letting the roaring flames devour it.
But it wasn't over.
The next day, the day after he burned the top, was also the day the teacher came to tell him to prepare well for the sponsor's visit. It was the morning.
Qin Guan efficiently fed the pigs, fed the chickens, swept the house, all while anxiously craning his neck, waiting for the teacher to arrive.
As he swept into the room where Father Drunkard slept, he saw Mother Mad sitting on the floor, cradling the sickle.
The sickle that had hacked the old dog to death, long since scrubbed clean by Qin Guan.
At that moment, it lay quietly in Mother Mad's arms. Her filthy fingers traced the blade slowly, gently.
"Give it to me! What are you doing with this? It's a knife! It'll cut you!"
At first, Qin Guan didn't grasp it, thinking she was just having another episode. He angrily reached to snatch it away.
But she didn't give it to him. Instead, she clutched the sickle tighter, looked up, and her mad eyes fixed intently on Qin Guan.
She spoke, as incoherent as ever, "Oh ah... you washed... washed... blood..."
Qin Guan's head exploded. A deafening roar filled his skull.
Too much time had passed. Far too long.
Countless days and nights had flowed between then and now, yet Qin Guan remembered that scene with crystal clarity—her clutching the sickle, refusing to give it up. In her muddy eyes, there was something new: terrifying and unfamiliar.
Clarity. Fear. And disbelief.
"Blood... blood..." Her mangled tongue moved clumsily, her voice chaotic, muddled, yet each word struck Qin Guan's heart like a heavy stone hammer. "Blood... got blood... I know... it's you..."
"Don't give it? Fine, let her have it! Kill one less, more peace and quiet for me! So damn noisy!" Father Drunkard lay nearby—he obviously wouldn't seriously listen to a madwoman. He tossed out the comment, rolled over, and went back to sleep.
Qin Guan sullenly wrested the sickle away and put it back.
But he could still hear her muttering: "Blood... got blood..."
Her gaze still held that terrifying clarity. "Blood... got blood... knife got blood... you washed... you washed..."
Was she mad or sane? Did she know something? Or was it just another bout of insanity, babbling nonsense?
Qin Guan had no idea.
After putting the sickle away, he dragged Mother Mad outside. Gripping her wrist, he leaned close, his voice a low, urgent hiss: "What are you saying? What did you see?"
She seemed startled by Qin Guan, frozen for a moment. Then, like usual, she shrank back fearfully, quickly slipping back into her madness. She giggled, plucked a stray weed from her tangled hair, and stuffed it into her mouth. Then, drooling, she pulled the weed out and offered it to Qin Guan. "Baby eat... eat..."
She was mad. Utterly mad.
Half an hour later, the teacher arrived with the thrilling news.
Qin Guan's heart pounded wildly, brimming with anticipation for the future.
"That's pretty much it. The time's set. I'll bring him over!" The teacher finished speaking and was about to leave when Mother Mad, who always hid from strangers, suddenly dashed out and grabbed the teacher's arm.
"Blood ah... he washed... washed..." she rasped clumsily at the teacher.
The teacher naturally didn't understand. He shook his head kindly, trying to pry her fingers loose.
But her grip was unyielding.
With one hand, she kept pointing at her own chest. "Blood... here... got blood... knife... washed... he washed..."
As she spoke, she turned her head, looking straight at Qin Guan, who had just emerged from the doorway.
"What do you know? What are you trying to say?"
That night, while Father Drunkard's snores shook the walls, Qin Guan, unable to sleep, finally snapped. He dragged Mother Mad out into the yard.
Mother Mad resisted at first. Small and frail, Qin Guan struggled with all his might.
"What do you know? What were you trying to tell the teacher today? Do you have any idea what you're doing?"
He hissed the words, shaking the mad, ugly woman who reeked of filth.
"Uhh... uhh..." Mother Mad shook her head in terror, curling up, trying to scoot back. Her hand landed on something round and lumpy on the ground behind her—pig droppings, perhaps. She grinned, picked it up, and tried to stuff it into her mouth.
Qin Guan didn't stop her like he usually would. He didn't slap it away.
He watched silently as she took a bite and swallowed.
She was clearly mad.
Thoroughly mad.
She wasn't pretending.
A madwoman who couldn't tell shit from food when she had an episode—how could she possibly deduce the truth about the old dog's death from bloodstains on a shirt and a cleaned sickle?
And yet... she seemed to know.
Half a month later, the sponsor the teacher had mentioned arrived.
That day, Qin Guan got up before dawn. He swept the already clean yard again, wiped the table once more. The pigsty and chicken coop were spotless.
Naturally, Father Drunkard hadn't been drinking, and Mother Mad was dressed in clean clothes.
Qin Guan had washed her face and hair, clumsily braiding her hair—clean, she wasn't ugly at all.
"Shut your damn mouth, you hear? Don't say stupid things! The teacher said, this is a rich man. If this works out, he'll send money every month. If you screw this up, I'll break your legs!" Father Drunkard warned.
"Don't say stupid things, understand?" Qin Guan also fixed his gaze on her.
He looked deep into her eyes, as if she could comprehend the deeper meaning behind his words.
She seemed not to understand, tugging at her braid and giggling foolishly.
But then, when the elegant and refined Mr. Xu, the sponsor, sat on a small stool in the yard, flipping through Qin Guan's homework and awards, she suddenly stood up and walked straight over to him.
"Washed... he washed... got blood... it's him..."
She stared wide-eyed at the sponsor. "It's him... it's him... I, I show you... dog... that dog..."
The word "dog" came out startlingly clear.
Qin Guan froze. Every drop of blood in his body seemed to turn to ice.
She knew. She truly knew!