Traveling Through Those Years Of Farming (Quick Transmigration) - Chapter 21

“Xiao Sheng, Xiao Sheng, you’re here to see Mom! Hurry and save me! Mom is in so much pain—I’m dying from it!”

Hearing approaching footsteps, Mother Xu lifts her head with all her strength. The moment she sees the group entering, her dull eyes suddenly light up.

Right now, she sees nothing but her son. Xiao Sheng must be truly worried about her. Has he come to save her?

In truth, the old woman never considers the abuse and murder of her granddaughter a serious matter. In her view, parents give birth to their children, and therefore, a child’s life belongs to them. Lingling is her son’s daughter—killing her is not an unforgivable crime.

Mother Xu prides herself on being a good grandmother. When her son and daughter-in-law are busy with work, she takes care of Lingling wholeheartedly, raising her to be chubby and fair-skinned. But because of the country’s family planning policy, her son—who carries the last bloodline of the Yan family—cannot have another child. If he has no son to continue the lineage, how can she face Old Yan and their ancestors after death?

Mother Xu has no choice but to kill Lingling. She wants a grandson too much.

Even now, she seeks self-righteous justifications for her crime. This so-called kind and benevolent elderly woman is nothing more than a demon in human skin, completely unrepentant for her bloody hands.

To her, it is as if she has slaughtered a chicken or a duck, not her own granddaughter. There is no guilt in her heart.

“Mom, Lingling was in so much pain back then,” Yan Sheng says, stepping forward. He looks at the frail, emaciated old woman, finding her completely unfamiliar. “She was too little to speak, so she couldn’t cry out like you are now, ‘Dad, I’m in pain! Dad, Grandma is stabbing me with a needle!'”

At this moment, his mind replays the gruesome sight he witnessed when his wife removed the old woman’s scalp at home.

Beneath her scalp, leeches and maggots wriggle in a nauseating mass. And his Lingling…

Is she lying beneath the dark river, watching as insects, fish, and shrimp slowly, bit by bit, consume her flesh?

Just the thought makes him want to vomit. And yet, it still isn’t as painful as experiencing it firsthand.

Even if the person standing before him is his own mother, he can’t bring himself to say words of forgiveness.

“No, no…” Mother Xu shakes her head repeatedly, her son’s cold gaze filling her with fear. “Mom loved her! But what could I do? Government officials were only allowed one child! You couldn’t go without a son, could you? I did it for you, Xiao Sheng—you can’t talk to me like this!”

She still refuses to acknowledge her fault. If the country had allowed more children, she would have treated the girl well.

“Ah! Don’t prick me! It hurts—it hurts so much!” The pain in her body intensifies. She writhes on the ground, finally curling into a ball in the corner of the room.

Sheng Baobao and Chunming can see the ghost child’s resentment intensifying, thoroughly enraged by the old woman.

“Lingling!” Sheng Baobao calls out, and the ghost child’s raised hand—about to plunge into the old woman’s skull—pauses midair. Its two empty eye sockets seem filled with confusion.

“Lingling, is that you? Mom misses you so much! Mom wants to hold you!”

Jiang Huiling shoves her husband aside, squeezing toward Sheng Baobao. She knows her daughter is here, near the old woman, but she can’t see her.

“Mom?”

The ghost child’s jaw moves slightly. Its hovering hand shifts, instead reaching for the pink hairpin on its head.

“Mom!”

The violent aura that has almost completely consumed it momentarily subsides.

Sheng Baobao hesitates, wanting Jiang Huiling to see her daughter again.

Finally, she reaches for Jiang Huiling’s hand, closes her eyes, and tries to temporarily share her ability to see ghosts.

She isn’t sure if it will work.

“Ling… Lingling?”

Jiang Huiling is confused about why Sheng Baobao is holding her hand. But the next moment, her vision blurs, as if a cloth has wiped over her eyes. A wave of dizziness follows, and when it passes, she finally sees it—the ghost child crouched on top of Mother Xu.

Its oversized head rests on a skeletal body, its form barely covered in dark green patches of decayed flesh. Having been submerged in water for years, its rotting skin and exposed bones are coated in wet, glistening mucus. The sight is horrifying, grotesque.

“Lingling!”

If not for the pink hairpin, Jiang Huiling wouldn’t dare believe that this is her daughter.

Her heart shatters. Just how much suffering has Lingling endured?

“I’m your mother.”

Jiang Huiling takes slow steps toward the ghost child, unafraid. No matter how disfigured or terrifying she looks now, she is still her baby—her Lingling.

But the ghost child seems hesitant, even afraid of her. As Jiang Huiling draws closer, Lingling shrinks back. Though she has no eyes, the two hollow sockets radiate a mix of fear, longing, and uncertainty.

A mother’s bond with her child is unlike any other—they have known each other ten months longer than anyone else. The connection formed through the umbilical cord, breathing as one, is something no one else can understand.

For the ghost child, her mother is the most special existence. Before consciousness even formed, the safest place had been in her mother’s embrace, surrounded by her scent. Lingling is no exception.

“Let Mom hold you, please.” Jiang Huiling kneels on the ground and opens her arms.

Mother Xu, already paralyzed with fear, trembles violently at the sight of her daughter-in-law speaking into thin air. Who is she talking to? Could she see the debt collector? The very thought makes Mother Xu’s body turn cold with terror.

Lingling shifts her gaze between her mother and the old woman she has pinned beneath her. Suddenly, her emotions flare, and she becomes violent again.

“Hiss—”

She lets out a sharp, ghostly shriek, baring her teeth at Jiang Huiling. Her ten claw-like fingers, sharp as daggers, extend in a threatening gesture.

“I’m sorry, Lingling. It was my fault. I didn’t protect you.”

Jiang Huiling isn’t afraid. Without hesitation, she lunges forward and pulls the ghost child into her arms.

Lingling has no time to retract her claws. The sharp nails drive straight into Jiang Huiling’s flesh, piercing her defenseless skin.

“Hah—!”

Startled, the ghost child quickly pulls back her fingers, instinctively curling them behind her.

“Does Lingling feel this kind of pain every day?”

The ghostly claws have torn into her, and the pain is excruciating. Cold sweat beads on Jiang Huiling’s forehead, but she still smiles, her hand gently cupping her daughter’s face—so different from before, yet still her precious child.

“Lingling cries every day, but Mom is too foolish… I thought Lingling was just being fussy, complaining to Mom.” Jiang Huiling’s voice trembles. “My Lingling is in pain every single day, isn’t she?”

She holds her tightly, pressing her cheek against the ghost child’s skeletal face.

Though she is smiling, hot tears trickle down, falling onto Lingling’s decayed body, drop by drop.

“Mom… Mom.”

The ghost child hesitates before slowly raising her small arms, wrapping them around Jiang Huiling in return.

She has always loved her mother. When Mom is around, Grandma doesn’t prick her with needles. Even though sometimes, when Mom adjusts her hold, the needles buried deep in her body shift and stab her insides, she still loves being in her mother’s arms.

Mom used to sing her beautiful songs and buy her pretty hairpins.

The ghost child reaches up, touching her head. The most beautiful pink hairpin is still there. A sense of peace washes over her, and she snuggles deeper into her mother’s embrace.

“Lingling… hurts.”

She has waited at the bottom of the river for nine years, but she is still the same little girl who doesn’t know many words. The longest word she has ever spoken is “Mom.”

And now, the word “hurt” is one she has learned from that woman.

“Mom, Lingling… hurts.”

Her claw-like fingers clench onto her mother’s collar, her voice filled with grievance.

“Mom knows,” Jiang Huiling whispers, her eyes filled with boundless tenderness. “My Lingling has suffered too much. Mom brought you into this world, but Mom failed to protect you. That was Mom’s fault. Let Mom make things right for Lingling, okay?”

She carefully takes Lingling’s small, bony hand and wipes her fingers with the hem of her clothes, as if handling the most precious treasure.

“Mom has to do something for Lingling.” Her voice is soft, slow, like a lullaby. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be worthy of being your mother anymore.”

The ghost child seems to understand. Slowly, she turns her head—toward the one she hates most.

“Mom—”

Her voice is filled with resentment.

After hesitating for a long time, Lingling slowly turns around and leans her head against her mother’s arms once more.

Unlike other vengeful spirits, a ghost child is pure. A child of her age has only the simplest thoughts. She isn’t driven by complex grudges—just a deep sense of grievance. Why has that person pricked her with needles every day? Why haven’t her parents stopped them?

But now, her mother knows. She is holding her, comforting her gently. And for the first time, it doesn’t seem so painful.

Jiang Huiling hums a lullaby through her tears, just like she used to. Her fingers tenderly stroke her daughter’s head, gently combing through the few strands of hair that remain. She carefully fixes the pink hairpin in place, making sure it is just as beautiful as before.

The resentment within Lingling gradually fades.

“Mom.”

The ghost child clings to her mother, her last trace of malice dissolving into nothingness.

Sheng Baobao notices a familiar reaper arriving—coming to take Lingling away.

Jiang Huiling can’t see it, but she knows. Lingling is leaving, her soul unburdened.

At that moment, Jiang Huiling can no longer hold back. She opens her heart and weeps bitterly, her sobs echoing in the night.

From beginning to end, Yan Sheng has stood three steps away, silently watching. He can’t see Lingling, but he can feel her presence. Unlike his wife, he hasn’t dared to ask the Hua family to help him see their daughter—because deep down, he knows he doesn’t deserve to.

“Lady Hua?”

Lin Zhong approaches Hua Yingpo and Sheng Wukun, his voice filled with curiosity and confusion.

“Has the child… been saved?”

He can’t see the ghost child, and he can’t believe that something so simple—just a mother’s embrace—can resolve such deep resentment.

“Sometimes, a mother’s love is stronger than any magic weapon.”

Hua Yingpo can’t see either, but she doesn’t need to. She can feel the raw emotions radiating from Jiang Huiling’s heart.

Sheng Wukun pulls out a handkerchief and gently wipes his wife’s eyes.

“I wasn’t crying. It was just sand in my eyes,” Hua Yingpo mutters, swatting his hand away. A tough woman doesn’t cry.

“Then I’ll wipe mine instead,” Sheng Wukun sighs, dabbing his own eyes. The scene has been too heartbreaking, especially for a parent. He can’t even begin to imagine what he would do if his own child died before him. He’d probably go insane.

“She’s gone… right?” Mother Xu’s trembling voice cuts through the silence. “Xiaosheng, Mom doesn’t feel any pain anymore. Mom doesn’t feel any pain!”

After three months of torment, the realization that the little debt collector has finally left fills her with overwhelming relief. The agony of being stabbed by phantom needles day and night has been unbearable.

The solemn mood shatters. The raw grief and sorrow that have hung in the air dissipate—drowned out by the old woman’s selfish joy.

Everyone turns to look at her.

Hatred flickers in their eyes.

“I’ll divorce Huiling.” Yan Sheng’s voice is eerily calm.

His gaze, cold and indifferent, falls upon his mother—the same mother he has once respected without question.

When his wife first mentions divorce earlier that evening, he wants to refuse. But now, he understands. Keeping her tied to him would only be another form of torture.

Every time she looks at him, she will remember Lingling. And she will remember the woman who killed their child.

If she stays, she will never be free.

“After divorcing Huiling, I’ll get a vasectomy.” His voice is steady, final. “You will never, ever have another granddaughter or grandson.”

The room falls into stunned silence.

“No—Xiaosheng, no!” The old woman’s joy vanishes in an instant.

She has supported the divorce. To her, Jiang Huiling is nothing but a useless woman who has failed to produce a grandson for the Yan family. If not for appearances, she would have forced her son to abandon his wife long ago, especially after Huiling’s repeated miscarriages.

In her eyes, a woman who can’t bear children is no better than a cripple.

Now, she has gotten her wish—Jiang Huiling is leaving.

But at the cost of her son never having another child.

Her dream of a grandson is now shattered beyond repair.

“Also,” Yan Sheng continues, his voice razor-sharp, “I’m afraid the whole cadre compound already knows about what you did. The news that you tortured your own granddaughter to death has surely spread by now.”

The old woman pales.

“In order to avoid scandal and to protect the party’s image, I doubt I’ll remain as the county official’s secretary for much longer. I’ll probably be demoted to some grassroots position. Or worse—fired altogether.” His lips curl into a bitter smile. “The son you were so proud of—the one you bragged about for half your life? You’ve destroyed him. Completely.”

He looks her dead in the eye. “Are you happy now?”

Yan Sheng knows his mother better than anyone.

She cares about two things above all else—her son’s future and the continuation of the Yan family’s bloodline.

Now, in a single moment, he has shattered both. And he makes sure she understands, beyond any doubt, that she has been the one who destroyed them.

“It’s not like that. It’s not like that!”

Mother Xu clutches at her hair, her screams growing frantic. The devastation in her heart is far more agonizing than the physical pain she suffered earlier.

In that instant, the beliefs that have guided her entire life—the dreams she pursued for decades—are obliterated by the very son she loves the most.

She almost wishes the vengeful ghost had killed her instead. At least then, she wouldn’t have to hear these unbearable words.

“Thank you.” Jiang Huiling presses all her savings into Hua Yingpo’s hands.

“You don’t need to give this much.” Hua Yingpo glances at the thick stack of bills—at least two thousand yuan. She hesitates before taking only a single ten-yuan note.

God knows how much it pains her to refuse. But this is Hua Yingpo’s way of accumulating merit for her daughter. If she takes it all, would the blessings still fall upon Baobao?

“You are Lingling’s mother,” says Hua Yingpo gently. “Doing good in her name will help her future reincarnation.”

“Really?” Hope flickers in Jiang Huiling’s eyes for the first time in days.

She has a purpose. A reason to keep living.

She can atone for what she owes Lingling.

Clutching the remaining money tightly, she feels deeply moved. The Hua family is different from those fraudulent Taoist priests who only care about money. They are real. They are extraordinary.

For the first time, Jiang Huiling abandons the dark thoughts that have plagued her—the idea of killing the old woman before ending her own life. Instead, she decides to live. To accumulate merits for Lingling.

As for that woman… There are countless ways to make her suffer behind bars.

Unknowingly, Hua Yingpo has saved Jiang Huiling’s life—and in doing so, accumulated merit herself.

Mother Xu is sentenced to life in prison.

Truthfully, she should receive the death penalty. But Jiang Huiling, leveraging her connections, offers “forgiveness” as Lingling’s mother. Combined with the fact that Mother Xu is the child’s grandmother, the court shows leniency.

Jiang Huiling has been a department store manager for years. She has connections. And she makes sure that every inmate in Mother Xu’s prison knows exactly what she did.

No one sympathizes with a cruel old woman who tortured her own granddaughter to death.

The other prisoners make her life hell. They force her to do the filthiest, hardest labor. They beat her regularly, venting their disgust on her frail body.

But that isn’t the worst of it.

Yan Sheng never visits her.

But… Jiang Huiling does.

She stands in front of the bars and coldly recounts every detail—how her son has been demoted to a small town, how he has gone through with the vasectomy, the exact hospital, the exact date.

Mother Xu’s world collapses.

Night after night, she slams her head against the prison walls, desperate to escape the torment.

But death will not come.

For the first time in her life, she understands what it means to be worse off than dead.

“This Huang Dani stole a bunch of grass roots from me. I don’t feel guilty about scamming her. Take the two yuan back.”

“This Zhang San is a bastard. He beat his first wife until she ran away. When the girl’s family came to ask about their horoscopes, I told them they weren’t a good match. I did a good deed. Take this yuan back.”

“And this Zhang Desao… she took a pheasant from my father and never paid him back. He let it slide because she had a daughter-in-law who needed nourishment. But after my father died, she acted like she never owed anything. I tricked her out of eight yuan. That pheasant was worth at least five.”

Late at night, Hua Yingpo and Sheng Wukun sit in their room, flipping through their old account books.

They have been keeping track of every coin they earned since they started working.

Now, they plan to return every ill-gotten gain.

Hua Yingpo, however, is reluctant. She hates being poor. Every coin she parts with feels like a knife to the heart. And so, she sits there, justifying each case one by one—trying to convince herself that some of the money wasn’t really stolen.

Sheng Wukun coughs awkwardly, watching his wife with exasperation.

“Enough, enough. Just return everything. Isn’t that fine?”

Hua Yingpo shoves the box of coins and gold bars in front of him, then flops onto the bed, burying herself under the covers.

She can’t let Bao’s father see her crying.

A tough girl doesn’t shed tears!