"Son, Mrs. Xiao."
Ping’an suppressed the discomfort in his heart and stood on the periphery, quietly observing everything before him.
Inside a two-entry courtyard, the vermilion gate had already collapsed, and the gray bricks, tiles, and carved window lattices revealed the wear and tear of time.
Inside the open door, clothes from the wardrobes were casually discarded all over the floor, drawer contents were scattered everywhere, and the bed was stripped of its bedding and pillows.
Cabinets and the bed were moved aside, and the quaint old-style suspended floor was pried up piece by piece; the ancient tiles were stepped on and flipped onto the ground, shattering into piles of rubble.
Soil from overturned flowerpots was scattered everywhere, ashes from the stove, the dust under the floor...
Both inside and outside, the place was a complete mess, almost a ruin.
However, apart from a few pieces of porcelain and a pile of miscellaneous gold and jewelry found in the soil, no trace of any correspondence or shadow could be found.
In the courtyard, an elderly man in his eighties, small in stature and hunched over, was trembling as he leaned on a cane, his eyes filled with the sorrows of a lifetime, witnessing everything in terror.
After countless raids and confiscations, those enthusiastic Red Guards, with their bright red armbands, went about their ransacking easily and skillfully.
Their comfort and composure starkly contrasted with the timid inexperience of the young Red Guards.
The leader began to orate to the elderly man with an interrogative tone about the critical significance of breaking the Four Olds and policies, asking his family not to be stubborn, to recognize the situation, and actively cooperate by honestly confessing where any contraband was hidden at home.
The place turned into a ruin in just two hours.
Terrified, with seven spirits lost and only one remaining, the sickly old man mumbled grievances incomprehensibly, prompting the furious leader to finally lose his temper.
He immediately ordered four or five competent subordinates to first tie up the old man’s two elderly sons and their spouses. After a storm of violence, aside from the vanished younger generation, three elderly people, bloodied and battered, were hung with signs and paraded through the streets.
"These damn bad elements still resist stubbornly! Beat them hard for me."
"Look at this gold, all stained with the blood of us common people."
"Still crying innocence? Old and unyielding, not a single one of your brats is spared."
The crowd, brimming with passion and energy, paraded the three elderly people, their chants reaching the heavens.
At the long procession’s tail, Ping’an raised his arm high, chanting slogans with everyone. Compared to the insignificant disturbances before, his young heart was shaken to the core.
The vanished younger generation, the miscellaneous gold and jewelry dug out from the soil, the surroundings filled with these "victors" resorting to any means as if they owned the place...
Filial piety and conscience, human evil, evidence and defense...
Who was right, who was wrong?
— Was this the reality his parents wanted him to truly see and deeply understand?
Not far behind, "bystander" Zhang Guoqing followed along with the onlookers, keeping an eye on his son in the parade, with a hint of worry in his eyes.
Previously, it was either listening to speeches from advanced activists or visiting exhibitions of ransacking achievements. This time, it was rather significant.
He decided that after this occasion, he would have his son stabilize at home first. Accelerating growth might not be beneficial; understanding the situation reasonably well was enough for an eight-year-old to gain some insight.
After the parade ended, the next activity was reportedly to hand over the day’s findings to a two-story building repurposed as an office, and to visit recent achievements there.


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