The day before returning to Beijing, unconsciously, I wandered to the familiar street corner.

Turning the corner, I arrived at my cousin's mother and baby supplies store.

I stopped in my tracks, feeling a mix of emotions.

Suddenly, I overheard someone saying:

"Xiaoyun is lost, her mom is busy with business, so she got lost.

"Carrying the little one to find the big one, how pitiful."

I sprinted through the narrow street.

Checking countless alleys along the way, even lifting up the old baskets by the roadside to look.

Not having exercised for a long time, I soon started sweating profusely, panting heavily. I slowed my pace, still frantically searching with my eyes.

It's too difficult to find a little girl in a sea of people.

It wasn't until dusk that I saw her crouching under the wall of the elementary school.

A small white figure, easily missed with a blink.

I wanted to pick her up, but she shrank back further, hands behind her, her little face pale.

I sat down exhausted, knowing I found her, no need to rush.

Lowering my gaze, I suddenly noticed her white dress was sprinkled with specks of blood.

Extremely worried, I spat out, the reflux of stomach acid hitting my nostrils and throat, unbearably bitter.

Xiaoyun seemed to want to help me, but stumbled and fell on me.

That's when I grabbed her hand.

At the middle joint of her index finger, the bone was exposed from being cut, the layer of blood on her knuckles had dried.

It turned out, a child had used her hand to test a knife, staining her white dress with blood.

She was afraid of being scolded by her grandmother, afraid of her mother arguing with her grandmother, so she clenched her hand tightly and hid everywhere.

Living in that complicated family, she had learned early to read people's expressions, choosing to hide herself as much as possible.

Xiaoyun timidly said, "Auntie, please don't tell my mom."

My nose tingled, suddenly remembering my own childhood self being beaten and bullied.

I took the child to the nearby hospital, got her on a drip, my own strength reaching its limit.

Buying a bottle of cola from the vending machine, I leaned against the wall, gulping it down.

A few days ago, I saw an old lady staring at me as if seeing a ghost.

Probably still haunted by my crazy behavior that day.

There was a young woman carrying a little boy, walking with her.

I was overjoyed, approaching her and saying, "Sister, please help me. You must have Lu Yuting's contact information, tell her, her daughter is in the emergency room at the hospital getting a drip."

"Oh, okay, okay."

She was a smart person, immediately making a voice call.

Back home, I asked my mom if she remembered the incident from third grade.

Back then, faced with my plea for help, she couldn't be bothered to look up from the mahjong table, saying that the tiger only hit me because I provoked him, not others.

My mom widened her eyes, vigorously shaking her head, "You're talking nonsense, that never happened."

After thinking for a moment, she firmly stated, "Absolutely not, I would definitely have contacted the other child's parents, you must be remembering it wrong."

I smiled wistfully, then went to take a shower.

The next day, she bought a table full of breakfast, getting all my favorites, telling me to eat more.

I knew she remembered, but she wouldn't admit it or apologize.

But even in such a family, it was still a far cry from my cousin's family, at least I finished my studies peacefully.