Chapter 38

Ji Ming’s Perspective (Part 1)

It wasn’t until a younger sister was brought home that I had my first family member.

The little sister was small and timid.

I remember, at first, she didn’t even dare to make eye contact with me.

Whether it was the toys in the living room or the books in the study, she always stood hesitantly at the door, wanting to touch them but not daring to ask.

I told her she could go in, and only then did she move her little feet, pattering inside.

My parents were rarely home, and there wasn’t much noise in the house.

Occasionally, I would see her curled up in a corner of the sofa, secretly observing everything around her from the corner of her eye.

Gradually, she began to get used to this new home.

When I was studying, she would bring a small chair and quietly read a book.

When I was scolded by my parents, she would just stay by my side, gently patting my head, telling me, “Brother, don’t be sad, I’m here with you.”

I wasn’t good with words and didn’t know how to express my emotions, so I hardly spoke to her.

I just let her stay by my side, because that way, the house didn’t seem so empty.

Later, she became a bit more cheerful and would always call out “Brother, Brother” around me.

Surprisingly, I didn’t mind it; instead, I felt her voice was like a silver bell, ringing in my heart.

Vaguely, it seemed I couldn’t do without her.

She was nine years old when I was twelve.

One day after school, I waited all evening but didn’t see her.

I panicked and quickly asked my parents.

My mother, surprisingly indifferent, said, “Oh, she went missing. The driver didn’t pick her up after school.”

“Then we should hurry and find her!”

“We’ve already reported it to the police. They said they can only file a case after 48 hours, so let’s wait.”

Unfortunately, what we waited for was a call from the kidnappers, saying they wanted two million to return her.

Two million was quite a sum back then, but for our family, it was just a drop in the bucket.

Yet my parents remained unmoved.

“Why aren’t we rescuing her?”

“She’s just an adopted daughter. If she’s gone, she’s gone. There’s no need to spend that money.”

Such blunt words, such naked hearts.

That was the first time I felt disgusted with my parents.

The parents I once idolized had become so cold, so utilitarian.

Perhaps they had never changed; this was their true nature.

My parents didn’t care, and the police took no action.

I couldn’t imagine where she was being held by the kidnappers, hungry and scared, as she was still so young.

I hated myself for being powerless, the police wouldn’t listen to me, and I couldn’t come up with two million.

The only thing I could do was beg my parents.

I knelt in the study all night, hoping they would soften their hearts and save my poor sister.

The next morning, my mother agreed to save her, on the condition that I not have any improper thoughts about her, as she was to be arranged for a marriage alliance in the future.

My father’s expression was more direct, telling me not to have any sordid thoughts about her.

At the time, I didn’t quite understand, only thinking to save her quickly, so I hastily agreed.

Fortunately, she was fine, unharmed and unhurt, just a bit gloomy.

Later, I gradually understood what “improper thoughts” meant.

The more I understood, the more I had.