The day my little sister disappeared, so did my mom.

That night, my uncle and aunt were pacing around the house in a frenzy, while my papa sat on a bamboo chair, sighing heavily.

"Where did you guys take my little girl?" Uncle grabbed papa's collar, demanding answers with a fierce glare.

"I really have no idea," papa replied, his face filled with worry.

"And your wife?"

"I have no idea."

Uncle let go and dashed out, shouting about finding the police.

Papa rushed after him and held his waist from behind, pleading, "Keep looking! Ling would never take Little Girlie away. Keep looking for them!"

Meanwhile, I huddled in bed, scared, nestled in Grandma's arms. Despite Grandma's usual bedtime stories, my mind couldn't focus.

Uncle did go to the police. The next day, cops from town arrived in their uniforms, accompanied by imposing big dogs, almost turning our village upside down in search of my sister.

They found nothing, not even a hair.

But they found my mom.

More precisely, mama went to the police station in town herself. We rushed there upon hearing. Through cold iron bars, I saw my mama, head hung low, long hair covering her face, tearfully talking to the police. Her hands were cuffed, curled in a metal chair, looking as helpless as a child in trouble.

"Mama!" I yelled.

She looked up, eyes scanning us. But when her gaze met mine, she suddenly screamed, terror distorting her beautiful features. She opened her mouth wide, shouting with all her might, "Mei, watch out!"

In the next moment, the cops shut the iron gate tightly. I couldn't see mama anymore.

That's how my young mom, along with my little sister, remained sealed in my childhood memories forever. It took me many years to understand what mama was warning me about back then.

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A few hours after mama was taken away, the cops arrived at a desolate mountain outside our village, setting up barricades and shooing away curious onlookers. From behind the police cordon, all I could see was them digging with shovels, as if they were intending to unearth something.

Uncle and Aunt returned from the police station looking extremely haggard, as though they had aged ten years overnight. They grabbed hold of the police officers, desperately inquiring about their daughter's whereabouts, but the cops only offered hollow reassurances, urging them to go home and not to look.

Papa dragged me back home. I didn't witness what the police had dug up. Later, I heard rumours circulating in the village that they had uncovered my sister's corpse.

Terrifying whispers filled the air. Everyone claimed my mother was a murderer, accusing her of killing my sister.

"The cops forbade us from looking, but Old Lee saw it from behind the trees! They dug up a dead body, they say the flesh was already a pulp, even bones exposed!"

"Poor child, she was so young, tsk tsk..."

"How could there be such a vile woman? She didn't even spare her own niece!"

"I never imagined it. Ling was always so gentle and kind. Who knew she had such a vicious heart?"

"I'm terrified! Thank goodness I never let my kid visit their house."

"You know what, I saw Ling that afternoon. She was carrying a large sack, skulking along the wall. I asked her where she was going, and she said she was selling potatoes. I found it strange at the time—their potatoes hadn't even been harvested yet! Now it all makes sense, she was disposing of the body! She stuffed that child into the sack, carried her to the back mountain, and buried her..."

The police visited our home again, searching every corner, with particular interest in the bathroom. They crouched by the bathing pot, using tweezers to pick at something, seemingly collecting samples.

One cop even knelt by the front yard bushes, sniffing around, and scooped up a piece of soil into a small bag.

"This is where she poured the boiled water," the cop collecting soil whispered to another.

Their actions were decisive, yet their faces bore an expression of confusion and shock throughout.

"How could this happen..."

"Don't panic, we'll know after the tests..."

The cops huddled together, murmuring quietly, each one looking paler than the other.

I crouched outside the door, twiddling blades of grass, staring at them in bewilderment.

That mysterious atmosphere left a deep impression on me.

That night in the middle room, my papa and uncle erupted into a fierce argument, even resorting to violence.

"How did she dare to kill my girl?"

"How did she dare to kill my girl!" Uncle roared, the furniture clattering as he slammed tables and chairs, dishes shattering on the ground. Papa locked me in my room.

I pounded on the door, sobbing, "Don't hit my papa! Don't hit my papa!"

The door, tethered by a thin chain, cracked open slightly. Through that gap, I saw papa kneeling on the ground, repeatedly kowtowing to Uncle, blood streaming from his forehead.

Uncle landed blow after blow on papa's body, but papa never fought back.

"How did she dare to kill my girl? That fucking damned bitch!" Uncle's voice dripped with venomous resentment. "Just because I fucked her once, she slaughtered my girl!"

Upon hearing this, papa suddenly looked up, eyes wide with shock, grabbing Uncle's fist as it swung toward him, resisting his attack for the first time.

Aunt, wailing in the corner, incredulously stared at Uncle. "What did you say?"

These details were pieced together from my memories later on. At the time of the incident, I was only able to relentlessly bang on the door, crying aloud.

After exhausting myself from crying, sniffling, I asked Grandma sitting on the bed, "Granny, where did my sis go?"

"She's dead," Grandma said.

"What does dead mean?"

"Dead means gone."

"Did my mama make Sis gone?"

Grandma just stared at me in silence.

"What were you doing that afternoon?" Grandma suddenly asked me.

"I was giving Sis a bath, then mama came back, I went to poop, and then mama and Sis were both gone."

I couldn't help but weep again, "Did my mama truly make Sis gone?"

Grandma turned away, gazing out the window at the verdant branches, and said with a calm face, "I have no idea. I was asleep."

Early the next morning, before dawn, papa packed our bags, woke me from my sleep, dressed me, and held my hand as we left.

We boarded a minibus bound for the town and transferred to another bus to the city.

And so, at the age of five, I left my rural hometown, becoming a Shanghainese from then on.