Pretty idiots are born to be played with and ruined by their husbands.

Chapter 11 My son—my son—my son—

Ruan Zhijuan couldn't quite remember, but he figured that if he had sold it for a thousand yuan, the clothes must have been expensive too.

The old woman tugged at the stiff dough, grinning weakly. Her feeble "hoho" laughter repeatedly brushed against Ruan Zhijuan's eardrums. "Little girl, do you want my clothes? I'll give them to you, you can wear them, you can wear them..."

As she spoke, her two stiff arms, which seemed unable to bend or turn, struggled to pull the hem of her clothes to both sides, trying to take off her clothes and give them to Ruan Zhijuan to wear.

Ruan Zhijuan shook her head, "No, it's too hot, it's 32 degrees today."

Upon hearing this, the old woman stopped taking off her clothes abruptly, then continued undressing with even more force. Her sighs and complaints suddenly became much more urgent, "Oh, oh, oh... this is all what my son dressed me in... so hot... so hot..."

But the clothes she was wearing seemed impossible to take off, no matter how much Ruan Zhijuan refused. Her long, hard, bluish-gray fingernails suddenly peeked out from her dark sleeves.

Ruan Zhijuan blinked, wondering why the old lady's fingernails were so black...

The old woman saw her toenail fungus, stopped undressing, and looked straight up at Ruan Zhijuan. She slowly uttered lifeless, stiff words, "Ah, no...you don't want it...why don't you want it...you want it...you said you wanted it...!"

Those two bulging, cloudy eyes seemed to be glaring fiercely at Ruan Zhijuan, making her scalp tingle and her back go cold. She muttered to herself in a low voice, "This... why does it look angry?"

The old woman stopped grabbing at the clothes, suddenly raised her arms, and stiffly stretched them out as she approached Ruan Zhijuan, waving them around, "These are clothes, not human skin...! Human skin, I'll take off my human skin and give it to you to wear..."

Ruan Zhijuan looked at the hand that was about to choke him, her heart pounding wildly, and she felt like she was about to pee her eyes. It was just like the zombies in the zombie movies she had watched at the Ruan family home, just like the ones they acted in.

Waaah, Zhou Gangxun hasn't even reached the age of incontinence yet, and he's already here.

"Then...then let me...wear it." Ruan Zhijuan, now transformed into a quail, mumbled timidly, thinking that it would be good to sell it and buy a few more peaches to eat. She just hoped she wouldn't run into the old lady again next time.

This time, the old lady wasn't angry anymore. With a deadpan expression, she laboriously tore off her clothes and put them on Ruan Zhijuan.

The purplish-red embroidered robe was too big for Ruan Zhijuan. He secretly wiped his reddened eyes and snot with his sleeve, his drooping lips trembling as he sobbed, his voice muffled in his throat as he reminded her, "And...and my peaches..."

The old woman bent down strangely, picking peaches for him, her mouth dry as she repeated the previous conversation, "Little one, you like peaches, huh? Grandma'll give you another one—okay?"

"I'll give you one—I'll give you one—okay, no, okay—"

Ruan Zhijuan dared not utter a sound. He pursed his lips, wondering when the shopkeeper would give him his two yuan change. He couldn't take it anymore; this grandma was too scary.

Is this how all old people are...? In the past, there were many elderly people in the village living on the hilltop who were forgetful, not in good spirits, and easily angered.

"Buzz..." The sound from the television in the inner room suddenly increased, as if Uncle Wu had accidentally pressed the remote control while making change. "The four victims in the four cases ten years ago were a male high school student, a 21-year-old young man, a male escort at a KTV...etc., all of them were handsome men under the age of twenty-two..."

Upon hearing the news of the dead, Ruan Zhijuan's mouth gaped open, and her eyes, drawn by the news, widened as she watched the television program: "The murderer Zheng Dayou was sentenced to death in early 1993 and executed by firing squad..."

A portrait photo appeared on the television screen; it was Zheng Dayou.

He was a man with messy hair, weighing around 170 or 180 pounds, with a fleshy face like a butcher slaughtering pigs in a market. The whites of his eyes were two pupils stuck together, which was a creepy sight.

Ruan Zhijuan's eyes widened in shock. How could he have two eyelids... How terrifying...

Never mind, nothing is scarier than an old lady.

Just then, Ruan Zhijuan felt a sudden, bone-chilling coldness in his abdomen. He was startled and looked down to see the old lady stuffing a large pink peach into his arms.

Wow...wow, now he has seven peaches...wow!

Grandma gave me peaches, and... it was still a little scary.

Ruan Zhijuan sniffed, put the peaches in the bag, and when she looked up to look away from the peaches, the old lady in the rocking chair was gone.

All that's left is a rocking chair swaying back and forth.

"Here's your change," Uncle Wu said with a smile, taking out two yuan from a wad of loose change and handing it to Ruan Zhijuan.

But the clothes he's wearing... was he wearing this when he came? They look so familiar, like I've seen them somewhere before.

Ruan Zhijuan carefully put away the money, and as she walked away, she complained to Uncle Wu with a barely audible sob in her voice, "Uncle, don't dress your mother in so many layers next time, she's so hot... so hot that her nails have turned black."

It's okay if she's hot, but if she's hot she'll choke him and make him wear it, waaaaaah...

Uncle Wu paused, staring in astonishment at Ruan Zhijuan's departing figure, swaying the bag. The news on the television continued in the background: "Recently, two brutal murders have occurred in this city. Police found only the victims' heads and a small amount of bones that had been cooked at high temperatures at the scene..."

"The details of the crime are highly similar to the serial dismemberment and cooking cases in Hong Kong ten years ago... Criminal investigators speculate... it is very likely a copycat crime..."

Realizing what was happening, Uncle Wu suddenly turned to look at the portrait in the inner room. His mother said it was hot...? The old lady had been dead for seven or eight days!

"The killer's targets are likely to continue to be young, attractive men..."

"Please be careful when traveling at night, avoid going out alone or staying in secluded places, and do not open the door to unidentified people at home..."

The news on TV sounded a bit scary now, especially when Uncle Wu saw the portrait of his mother in the inner room, smiling at him. "..."

He finally remembered why Ruan Zhijuan's clothes looked familiar earlier; wasn't that the burial shroud his mother wore on the day of her funeral?

A gust of wind blew by, and Uncle Wu's wide eyes were instantly blinded by the sand and dust it carried. He rubbed his eyes a few times, and when he opened them again, he saw several broken footprints on the ground, covered in paper dust, left at some unknown time, brought out from the inner room and all the way to...

Uncle Wu's gaze followed, finally landing on the rocking chair next to the stall outside, "creak—creak—"

"Squeak—" The rocking chair, which had been swaying just moments before, stopped abruptly as his gaze fell upon it.

"My son—!"

Suddenly, a loud, powerful scream came from the television in the inner room. Uncle Wu was so frightened that his knees buckled and he knelt down, a chill running down his spine. "Mom... is... is that you?"

Then I heard the TV, which was originally broadcasting the news, keep freezing and switching to other channels, chanting, "My son—my son—my son—"

Uncle Wu rolled his eyes and...didn't faint.

Something must have happened at that damn grave; he needs to find someone to check it out.