Lin Qiao tried to decline several times, but couldn't, so she had to accept it. Then, she took a donkey cart back to the village. Her ankle, which she had twisted a few days ago, throbbed slightly with pain, so she bent down and gently pinched it a few times.
By the time she returned to the village, it was already around the fourth or fifth quarter of the Si hour. The women and men passing by frequently looked at her with eyes filled with sympathy, pity, disdain, and views of impurity.
That day, it wasn't just the Song and Lin families who went; others from the village were there too, so naturally, word got around.
She was clearly the victim, so why did she have to endure the strange looks from the people?
The original owner's breakdown and the villain's descent into darkness were indeed a lament of the society of that era; they were not the only ones—there were many more like them.
But after all, she was not a teenager anymore. She ignored them and quickly went home.
