Time rewound to June 2003, and the Ding Family had two great joys.

First, Ding Xian was admitted to Yansan Middle School, a national key school. Second, Father Ding was transferred to work at the Yansan District Planning Bureau, and his unit allocated him a welfare housing unit in Yansan Hutong. Although it came with a hefty monthly mortgage, it made it convenient for Mother Ding to supervise her studies.

In Ding Xian's eyes, it wasn't supervision; it was surveillance.

If surveillance cameras had been widespread back then, perhaps her room would have already been bristling with cables. Ding Xian had to thank that backward era for preserving a final sanctuary for her privacy.

Yansan Hutong had a history of a hundred years, divided into East and West Alleys. The East Alley residents were all people with respectable ancestors, while the West Alley was later developed by the government into welfare housing, allocated to civil servants in units, and inhabited by employees. Of course, Ding Xian's mother, Ye Wanxian, was no pushover; sizing people up and acting accordingly was her strong suit.

At the end of June, Ding Xian bid farewell to her village friends and moved into Yansan Hutong with her mother.

The welfare housing unit was on the first floor, dark and damp, with peeling walls that shed dust. A crooked-necked tree stood directly in front of Ding Xian's room window; its lush green foliage in summer happened to block the light in her room, sometimes requiring her to turn on the lights even when doing homework during the day. A month later, she found she was seeing double when looking at the crooked-necked tree.

Compared to her younger brother, who lived in the master bedroom with a large balcony and an en-suite bathroom, Ding Xian understood her mother's favoritism but had long been accustomed to not dwelling on it.

Ding Xian sat in front of the crooked-necked tree for the entire summer. Then, she thought of something: applying to live at school.

“Why live at school? It costs an extra two hundred yuan. Do you think money grows on trees?” Ye Wanxian said, bent over as she mopped the floor.

Ding Xian hung her head, staring intently at her toes, seemingly ashamed of her defiant request.

“Don't stand around getting in the way. If you can't help, go back to your room and read.”

Ye Wanxian carried the mop out to wash it, adding without looking back, “Don't disturb your brother playing with his toys.”

Before Ding Xian could turn around, the little devil behind her had already driven his new toy car next to her. The wheels maliciously rolled over Ding Xian's toes, and Ding Xian, too, became angry; the little demon within her stirred, and she kicked the little devil's car.

The force wasn't great, and the car wobbled before quickly regaining balance.

The little devil wasn't having it; he got out and shoved Ding Xian hard.

Ding Xian was standing with one foot on a low table, checking her injury, when she was suddenly shoved from behind. Losing her balance, she fell straight towards the solid wood sofa, her forehead hitting the corner, immediately swelling into a round, protruding bump.

“Ding Juncong!!”

Ding Xian roared, keeping her voice low, afraid of attracting her mother's scolding.

The eight-year-old culprit sat back in his toy car, patting his finger and pointing at her forehead, laughing heartily.

Ding Xian touched her forehead; a small bump protruded from the center of her brow, like a little horn growing there.

“Apologize!!”

An unidentifiable anger simmered within her, yet only these two words managed to escape her lips.

Ding Juncong made a face at her, “No, nope, nah-nah-nah-nah!”

Ding Juncong's self-righteousness completely infuriated her. Ding Xian stood up and simply kicked the toy car to pieces, sending the little devil and his car tumbling to the ground.

He got up, sat on the floor, covered his eyes, and burst into loud sobs. As he cried, he secretly peeked to see if his mother had come in. 'Hmm, she hasn't, so I'll cry even more pitifully,' he thought. “Waaah… Sister hit me! Sister hit me!”

From a young age, this younger brother had learned Ye Wanxian's knack for throwing tantrums and playing the victim. He cried so convincingly that Mother Ding, who was washing the mop outside, was finally drawn in.

Ye Wanxian hurried in, wiping her hands, her eyes quickly scanning the scene to roughly understand what had happened. With a pained expression, she hugged her son close: “My little darling, did your sister bother you again?”

As she spoke, she didn't forget to glare at Ding Xian.

Seeing he had backup, the little devil then pulled his mother and tearfully recounted his grievances.

Ye Wanxian felt sorry for her son. She held Ding Juncong and comforted him tenderly, coaxing him while fiercely slapping Ding Xian with her hand, “It's your sister's fault, it's your sister's fault. My little darling, don't cry anymore!”

Normally, Ding Xian would have already lowered her head and admitted her mistake.

But today, Ding Xian was exceptionally stubborn. Her face flushed crimson, and she stubbornly bit her cheek, refusing to admit fault. She even stuck out her neck and said, “He's the one who bumped me and gave me this bump first!”

Ye Wanxian glared at her: “Your brother is ignorant. Are you going to be ignorant too? He didn't do it on purpose! You're his older sister, can't you just let him have his way? Your aunt said you hold grudges, and it seems she wasn't wrong. You're just like your father, both ungrateful ingrates!”

“Apologize to your brother right now!”

“What's wrong with you today?!”

Ye Wanxian pushed her again, “Hurry up!”

Suddenly, a furious roar came: “Yes, I am an ungrateful ingrate.”

This roar stunned Ye Wanxian, who stared blankly as Ding Xian rushed back to her room.

With a 'bang—' the door slammed shut.

Ye Wanxian suddenly woke up. 'The little brat has grown wings and dares to talk back to me!' she thought. If she weren't still holding her son, she would have long since stormed in and given her a good scolding, pulling her ear.

“So you got into Third High School, big deal! Now you dare talk back to me! You brat!”

“Your aunt was right! You, brat, are vengeful and petty. I shouldn't have given birth to you in the first place!”

…

Ding Xian, with her hands behind her back, leaned against the door, breathing softly.

She applauded herself inwardly. After enduring obedience for over a decade, she suddenly felt incredibly brave for talking back to her mother just now.

She felt like she was growing up.

Because the books said that the sign of growing up is rebellion, and the sign of rebellion begins with talking back.

Ding Xian turned her head to look at herself in the full-length mirror: not tall, thin and small, black hair tied in a ponytail at the back of her head, a flat figure—not beautiful, but decent enough.

A bump now adorned her smooth forehead.

For some reason, she felt that little horn perfectly matched her expression at that moment. 'If only I had a pair of fangs too,' she thought.

She thought of this.

She couldn't help but bare her teeth, her canines glinting brightly, her expression fiercely malevolent.

Outside the door, chaos reigned. Ding Xian curled herself into her quilt, her small body bunched up like a shrimp roll, with a pair of wide, rolling eyes peeking out from under the covers, blinking as she stared at the lush green, falling leaves outside the window.

Her brother was still wailing in the living room.

Intermittently, her mother's gritted-teeth accusations drifted in: “Ungrateful ingrate, getting into Third High School has truly made you lawless! My little darling, don't cry anymore, Mama is going to cook.”

A sound came from the main door. Father Ding returned from work, and Ye Wanxian, holding her son, went forward to complain.

Father Ding had always been taciturn in this house, more often than not just sitting by and smoking. Just like now, after listening to Ye Wanxian's 'complaint', he merely pulled a Double Happiness cigarette from his pocket and silently brought it to his lips.

Ye Wanxian, unable to bear it, pushed him: “Well, say something! Your daughter is getting harder and harder to manage!”

Father Ding was already accustomed to such chaotic scenes. Feeling a wave of irritation, he put out his cigarette: “Your daughter, your daughter? Isn't a daughter also born of you? You're doting on your son all day, you've spoiled him rotten.”

Her brother's cries grew fiercer, and Ding Xian secretly gritted her teeth, hiding in her quilt.

Ye Wanxian, like a balloon suddenly ignited, instantly raised her voice: “What do you mean?! Are you blaming me for spoiling my son? Back then, your family forced me to have a son! If it wasn't for your family's old-fashioned notions, I wouldn't have had to grit my teeth and bear a son for you! And now you're turning around and blaming me?!”