My mother always wanted a son, so she adopted the son of a distant widowed relative. I warned her, “That family is full of ungrateful people. You can’t raise a child like that to be loyal.” She stubbornly refused to believe me and even sent me to live with a neighbor while she raised him. Later, whenever my brother misbehaved, my mom would yell at him, “Your sister was right. Bad seeds produce bad fruit. You’re nothing but a curse. I was blind to choose you over my own daughter.” My brother harbored resentment and, when no one was around, set a fire that led to my tragic death. When I opened my eyes again, my mother was visiting her son at the widow’s house. I gently said to my mom, “If you like him, go ahead and raise him.” After my death, the police questioned my brother, “Where were you when the victim died?” My brother patiently replied, “I was at home having dinner with my parents. They can vouch for me!” He winked at my parents. My father said sorrowfully, “He was with us at home that day. My daughter hadn’t been in touch with us for a long time.” My mother remained silent throughout, nodding along blankly. The police asked my father a few more questions, and he started complaining. “That girl was so ungrateful. All these years, she only cared about work and never visited us. Now she had to die away from home. How are we supposed to face our relatives?” My brother, unusually obedient, promised my father that without me, he would be twice as filial to our parents. Everyone present was moved by his show of devotion. In the end, the investigation concluded it was an accidental fire caused by old wiring. I watched as my charred, deformed body was carelessly placed on the ground by my family. At that moment, my brother angrily walked over and kicked my corpse several times, scattering the blackened bones. “You bitch! Your big mouth got me beaten and scolded so many times. Today, I, the ‘bad seed,’ am paying you back with interest. Die without a proper burial!” My father quickly pulled him away. “That’s enough. The relatives from our hometown will be here soon to offer condolence money.” My mother stared blankly at the ground, muttering, “In your next life, may you be born into a good family and be a cherished child.”
When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day my mother took me to pick up my brother. The widowed relative, Fiona, was pushing a dirty little boy towards us. “Child, this is your mom and sister. You’ll have everything you want at their house. It’s much better than staying with me.” The little boy immediately started crying and rolling on the ground. “I don’t want to go! You’re all lying to me! I want to be an only child. I don’t want a sister!” My mother laughed, bending over with amusement. “This little guy is so smart. He’s already fighting for attention before even coming home. But you have to come home with me first.” The boy suddenly stopped crying and pointed at me, asking my mother, “Choose her or me? You can only pick one!” Without hesitation, my mother coaxed him, “I choose you! We don’t need a sister.” The boy quickly pushed away from his mother and obediently took my mother’s hand. My mother excitedly asked me, “What do you think? Isn’t he adorable?” Suppressing my intense hatred, I replied understandingly, “Mom, if you like him, go ahead and raise him.” In my previous life, after giving birth to me, my mother couldn’t conceive again. She was obsessed with having a son, believing that only a son could provide security in her old age, no matter how much I tried to reassure her. She wanted to adopt this child from our relative. I advised my mother that if she wanted a son, she should adopt from an orphanage. This relative’s family was known for causing trouble and fighting. Bringing home an eight or nine-year-old boy would surely lead to problems. My mother wouldn’t listen. She firmly believed that a child with some blood relation would be better. But it was this child, whom my mother thought was perfectly suitable, who always caused trouble and turned our home into chaos. Back then, my mother would beat and scold my brother, saying, “Your sister was right. Bad seeds produce bad fruit. You’re nothing but a curse. I was blind to choose you over my own daughter.” He would glare at me viciously each time, his eyes like those of a wolf ready to tear me apart. Until I discovered he had stolen our house deed, and after an argument with him, on New Year’s Eve, he set fire to my rented apartment, burning me alive. No matter how much I begged and struggled, no one came to save me. In this life, I will make sure everyone pays the price.
After returning home. My mother put my brother’s luggage directly into my room. She carelessly said to me, “Lyra, you’re the older sister. From now on, you have to give your brother the best of everything. He’s suffered a lot in the past, and now that he’s come to our family, we should make him feel the warmth of home.” My brother followed my mother into the room smugly. I, on the other hand, was forced to move into the storage room with my grandmother’s memorial tablet. In my previous life, I had made a big fuss about this at home. My mother said I was selfish and accused me of not understanding her and my brother. She even said outright that I was a daughter who would eventually marry out, and only my brother would be there to support them and care for them in their old age. She told me I should always be grateful to my brother. After several arguments, she even sent me to live with the neighbor, claiming that since my father was always away on business trips, she couldn’t take care of two children alone. Living under someone else’s roof, I couldn’t eat or sleep well. A child with a home lived like an orphan. This time, I didn’t argue or make a fuss. I accepted being an outsider. After my brother came to our home, my father returned once and gave him some pocket money. To bond with my brother, my mother was incredibly attentive, waiting on him hand and foot. She even carried him to the bathroom when he needed to pee at night. Whatever my brother wanted, she fulfilled. He got the best of everything – clothes, food, housing, and transportation. He went from feeling uncomfortable to taking it all for granted. I, on the other hand, was neglected. Learning from my past life’s lessons, I had already planned everything for myself and started working part-time jobs while studying to earn money. My brother was also enrolled in the city’s most famous private boarding school, thanks to my parents’ substantial financial investment. On the day we sent him to school, my mother asked me to make his bed and organize his clothes. She held my brother’s hand reluctantly, instructing him to study hard at school. Thinking about his troublemaking nature from my past life, I calmly waited for the show to begin. Sure enough, trouble arose after just a few days.
When I arrived at the school, my mother was fiercely shielding my brother, arguing with another parent. My mother was cursing loudly, “You bitch, how dare you hit my son! Kids play rough sometimes. At most, I’ll pay for the medical expenses!” The other parent, a woman, was so angry her eyes were bloodshot and she was on the verge of tears. “Is that how a human being talks? My son is the victim here. That big iron bead could have been sucked into his lungs and killed him! I’m telling you, I won’t let this go. I’m going to file a complaint! I’ll make sure your son, that little monster, gets expelled!” The teacher was stuck in the middle, trying to mediate. It turned out that during recess, my brother had stuffed two iron beads into his deskmate’s nostrils. By the time the teacher discovered it, the child had already passed out. Shocked by this, my mother heard my brother’s sobbing behind her. He said pitifully, “He called me a wild child adopted by mom and dad.” My mother became even more furious and started pulling the other parent’s hair. The woman didn’t back down and grabbed my mother’s clothes, ready to fight back. I felt someone pull me from behind, and I took a hard slap meant for my mother. The pain made me dizzy, and my nose started bleeding immediately. Later, the woman received a phone call, probably saying her child was okay. My mother used the excuse that both I and my brother had been hurt by her to settle the matter with just some medical expenses. Afterwards, my mother sternly criticized my brother, telling him never to do such dangerous things to his classmates again. To show her punishment, she directly deducted his pocket money for the month. My mother didn’t notice my discomfort at all and complained to me, “How did your brother become so mischievous? He seemed so well-behaved before.” I laughed coldly inside. This wasn’t mischief; this was my brother’s true nature. In my past life, he said doing such things was fun. I pretended to comfort her, “Mom, you should be glad. This isn’t mischief. It’s because he cares about you that he got angry at what his classmate said. He just chose the wrong way to retaliate.” My mother, hearing this explanation, actually found it reasonable. She looked at my brother with even more affection. I pulled my brother over and said to my mother, “Mom, he’s still young, just a child. Don’t deduct his pocket money. We’re not short on money. He should still have his allowance.” My brother, who had been sulking, suddenly spoke up, “Mom, I did it for you. If you really want to deduct money, take it from my sister’s allowance. I’m the only boy in this family. If you starve or tire me out, how will I take care of you in your old age!” Seeing that my brother was getting angry, my mother quickly hugged him and tried to calm him down. As for me, whom no one cared about, I had to go to the hospital alone because of my dizziness. After rushing around for several hours, when I saw the test results, I was stunned. What on earth was going on?
The incident with my brother at school ended up being just a minor episode. My mother, because of what my brother said, actually reduced my allowance by half and added it to his. I remained calm and didn’t object. Because my mother said, “The older sister should always give in to her younger brother.” Although the teacher would still occasionally contact my mother about my brother throwing someone’s backpack away, cutting someone’s clothes, or kicking over someone’s chair, my mother, under my persuasion, always turned a blind eye. As long as our own child wasn’t hurt, it was fine. My brother’s bottom line was gradually eroded with each incident. In the blink of an eye, I was about to graduate from college and enter my internship phase. While my classmates were busy looking for jobs, I had already saved enough money from my part-time jobs over the years to open a bustling bubble tea shop in the university district. When I received a call from home, I had just finished a day’s business and was happily counting the cash. My mother cried on the phone, “Lyra, please come back quickly and borrow some money to save your brother. Your brother, he…” It turned out that a classmate in my brother’s class had mocked him for being an adopted wild child. In a fit of teenage anger, my brother had beaten the boy unconscious. Now that boy was in the ICU, still not out of danger. The boy’s parents only had this one child. They refused any mediation and directly sued both my brother and the school. I comforted my mother for a bit and promised to return home immediately. Then I calmly dialed a familiar number. By the time I leisurely arrived at our front door, chaos had already erupted. Apparently, the injured boy’s family had come to make trouble, demanding medical expenses from my parents every day. They even threatened to send my brother to juvenile detention no matter what. My brother’s birth mother, Fiona, had arrived earlier than I expected. She was hugging my brother, crying and scolding my parents loudly, “I gave you my well-behaved son, and this is how you promised to take good care of him!” When my brother looked up and saw me, he seemed to see hope. He kept saying, “I can’t go to jail. I can’t go to jail. Let my sister take my place! I’m the boy in our family. I’m supposed to take care of mom and dad when they’re old. I can’t have anything happen to me!” After saying this, he looked at our parents with hopeful eyes, thinking this reason would move them. My mother scolded him with a pained expression, “Did you need to say that? It’s one thing to fight normally, but this time you went too far. You’re killing us! ” Hearing this, Fiona frowned and started arguing with my mother. My father, who had been silent, suddenly shouted, “Enough! Let’s quickly think of a way to raise money!” I came back from the bathroom to find everyone looking at me, waiting for me to produce some money. I sighed and took out a bankbook, handing it to my father. “Dad, I’m not working yet, so I really can’t come up with much. To save my brother, I can only reveal mom’s secret savings.”
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