Chapter 2: Truths and Scars

I stood frozen, my mouth wide open in shock.
The man in the basement—wasn’t my real brother?
Then who was he?

Uncle continued calmly,
“The person locked in the basement is actually the son of an old comrade of mine.
That comrade passed away years ago, and before he died, he asked me to look after his son.
So, I took him in and let him call you his sister—for appearances.”

So that’s the truth? Suddenly, everything seemed to make sense.
My confusion was gone, and I followed Uncle home.

Uncle picked up a delivery parcel—it was a box of medicine, beautifully packaged.
“This is an imported drug from abroad,” he said. “It’s specifically for treating amnesia. Very effective.”

I took the box. The label was entirely in Russian—I couldn’t understand a word.
Uncle opened one pack, showing me capsules inside.
“Take three capsules at a time, three times a day. Start right away.”

Feeling a bit tired, I took the medicine to my room.
I told Uncle there was water inside and I’d take it in private.

Unexpectedly, Uncle followed me in.
He said he wanted to make sure I swallowed the pills.

Something about his eagerness didn’t sit right with me.
Why was he so desperate for me to take this medication?

I poured a glass of water and placed it on the table.
Then I opened my laptop. “You can leave now, Uncle. I’ll take the pills in a moment.”

Maybe he sensed my discomfort—he turned and left.

I snapped a photo of the foreign text on the pill box, intending to research it online.
Something about this drug felt off. I needed to know exactly what it did.

While I searched, a chill crept up my spine.
I turned and saw it—the door was slightly ajar.
Uncle’s eye was peering through the crack, watching me silently with a cold, eerie gaze.

Startled, I stood up abruptly.
“Uncle! I thought I asked you to leave.
Spying on me through the door like that is terrifying!”

Uncle gave a dry, creepy chuckle.
“I just wanted to make sure you took the pills. You need to take them on time to recover.”

I grabbed the capsules and pretended to swallow them, gulping water dramatically.
Uncle, satisfied, left with his hands behind his back.

But I never actually swallowed them.
I slipped them under my tongue and spat them out afterward.
I couldn’t trust that medicine—not until I knew what it really was.

Later, I heard a car starting—Uncle had left the house.

I headed for the underground garage again.
He told me not to go, but I was filled with suspicion.
I wanted answers from the man in the basement.

The mute resisted handing over the key, but I forcefully took it.

As I unlocked the basement door, my “brother’s” face lit up when he saw me.
But I stayed cold and stern.

“I have a birthmark. Do you know exactly where it is?” I asked slowly.

He froze, confused.
Then he said, “On your thigh—your right thigh.”

I nodded.

That was correct—yet I never exposed my thighs, even when wearing short skirts.
There was no way anyone could know unless they had seen it long ago.

“We used to catch fish and play in the mud by the river when we were kids,” he said. “We wore shorts, got filthy all over. I saw that birthmark back then.”

That eased my doubts a little.
I pushed further.
“I have an old injury. A scar. Do you know where?”

He squinted, thought for a moment, then slapped his forehead.
“On the top of your head—a crescent-shaped scar.
You got it when you were nine. A brick fell off the courtyard wall while you were chasing crickets.”

I nodded again, reaching up to touch it.

That scar was still there. Because the brick damaged the hair follicles, no hair ever grew on that spot.
It was the size of a fingernail, smooth to the touch.
Covered by long hair, no one could have seen it—unless they were family.

It had to be him. My real brother.

Overwhelmed, I rushed forward and grabbed his arm, tears streaming down my face.

“Uncle said you’re the son of his comrade, not my real brother.
But you just proved it—he lied.”

My brother looked serious.
“Uncle didn’t just lie. He murdered our parents.”

My breath caught.

“He did it for our grandfather’s inheritance.
Grandfather left everything to our mother—nothing to Uncle.
Furious, Uncle poisoned them both.”

“But… Uncle is Grandpa’s own son. Why would Grandpa cut him out?”

“Because he was unfilial,” my brother said bitterly. “Their relationship was broken. Grandpa left everything to Mom instead.”

Suddenly, everything clicked.
Uncle murdered our parents out of resentment and greed.
Then he locked my brother away to seize the estate for himself.

“I’m calling the police!” I cried. “We have to report him and make him pay!”

“No!” my brother shook his head frantically.
“Uncle is vicious. Our parents died years ago—there’s no evidence.
If we report him now and they can’t convict him, he’ll kill us too.”

His warning rang true. I paused.

He was right. I needed proof—solid, undeniable evidence.
Once I had it, not even the craftiest liar could escape.

I decided to start with our grandfather.

I tricked Uncle into revealing Grandpa’s old address, then drove over 500 kilometers to Mao'er Mountain.

That’s where Grandpa had lived.
I brought gifts for the villagers and asked around.

They were friendly and told me Grandpa had passed away over ten years ago.
He’d run a large-scale livestock farm, worth tens of millions.

I visited the farm myself.

The current manager, Mr. Liu, confirmed my identity after checking my ID.
He explained that Uncle now owned the farm—Mr. Liu just worked for him.

At lunch, Mr. Liu was about to serve the meal when Uncle suddenly arrived.

He looked furious.
“You came all the way here without telling me?” he snapped.
“What’s the meaning of this? Are you investigating me?”

I slammed my chopsticks down, equally angry.
“This farm was inherited by my parents—meaning it rightfully belongs to my brother and me!
Why didn’t I know this?
And why is your name listed as the legal owner?”

Uncle pulled me into a private room and shut the door.

He whispered:
“Your mother was a married daughter.
Dad wouldn’t leave her anything.
As his only son, I naturally inherited the estate.”

Then he pulled out a will from his bag.

I read it—clear as day.
Grandpa had supposedly left everything to Uncle.
There was a signature, a seal, and even notarization.

I stared at it, silent, and nodded slightly.