The family's courtyard wall wasn't high—Qiao Qingyu could easily jump in. However, spinning her eyes around, she decided to use the wooden stick in her hand to smash the lock instead.
An open door is always a bit safer than one that's locked tight.
Moreover, making some noise is better than keeping silent.
The wooden stick in her hand was no ordinary one; it was made from elm, a wood that's tough, with a fine grain, hardly inferior to an iron bar.
That's why there's a saying about elmwood knots.
Inside the humble, dilapidated mud brick house at this moment, Xiao Hu and He Xuerong were terrified.
Xiao Hu's hands were tied with rope. He Xuerong stared wide-eyed, unblinking as if her soul had left her body at this time.
She sat quietly on the dirty kang bed, her eyes unfocused yet in no way diminishing the delicacy of her features.
The middle-aged man kept smacking his lips, fixated on He Xuerong. It was the first time he'd seen a girl as pretty as her.
