The autumn sun slanted across the flagstone paths of Hehua Village, yet it could not disperse the malice hanging thick in the air.
Mu Qingxuan’s words, "He is indeed my lover," fell like a stone into a deep pond, instantly stirring up a thousand ripples. The surrounding villagers widened their eyes; Cripple Zhao’s mouth hung agape, wide enough to swallow an egg, his face a mask of shock and disbelief.
Auntie Wang’s face turned bright red, like a boiled shrimp, the veins on her forehead bulging. She brandished the shoe sole she had been working on, hopping with rage as she cursed, "How truly shameless! You are a disgrace to public morals!" Her spit flew, tracing sickening arcs in the sunlight.
Chapter 113