A shrill gust of wind whistled past the ears of a six-year-old boy. His small legs trembled with nervous energy as he stumbled toward the house, panting, "Mom! It's going to rain!"

Inside, a young woman sweeping the hall froze at the sight outside. She dropped her broom in a panic, scooping the child into her arms with her left hand and rushing toward the inner room. With her right, she yanked the quilt from the bed, then flipped open the wooden bed plank beneath, revealing a hidden compartment. The boy blinked up at her with innocent confusion. "Mom?"

"Xiaohan, stay here. Don’t come out. I’ll be back soon," she urged, her voice tight with fear. She lowered the plank and smoothed the quilt back into place, but the child’s desperate cries still pierced the air. Her face twisted in anguish, yet she steeled herself. Raising both hands, a shimmering light coalesced in her palms. With a swift motion, she sent glowing orbs flying to the four corners of the bed. A flash—then silence. Even the boy’s sobs vanished.

Time blurred. When the plank was lifted again, the child lay curled in sleep, tear tracks still glistening on his cheeks. The one who opened it was a towering, sweat-drenched man. The moment he saw the boy, he snatched him up and fled.

From then on, the house stood abandoned, untouched by anyone. The boy grew into a teenager, now sitting alone by the riverbank, lost in thought.

"Mom… where did you go?" he whispered, watching his tears ripple into the water. This was Yang Han—the same child hidden under the bed five years ago.

Just then, a frantic voice cut through the air. "Xiaohan! Something terrible’s happened!"

Yang Han sprang to his feet, spotting the village elder, Old Li, hurrying toward him. "Grandpa Li, what’s wrong?"

"What else? Your father’s in another fight—worse than before!" the old man gasped.

"Drunk again? Where is he?" Yang Han demanded.

"The village entrance—"

Before Old Li could finish, Yang Han was already sprinting. As he ran, memories flashed through his mind—his father, Yang Lin, had never been the same after pulling him from that hidden space. A shell of a man, drowning in liquor, picking fights the village tolerated out of pity.

But today, outsiders had arrived. No one knew why Yang Lin had clashed with them. By the time Yang Han reached the scene, his father had already been carried home by kind neighbors. The middle-aged stranger stood frowning nearby, his gaze locking onto Yang Han the moment their eyes met.

Flushing with shame, Yang Han hurried forward. "Uncle, I’m so sorry—my father, he…"