“What… what kind of deal?”

Liu Qingqing’s voice trembled, her lips quivering as well—clearly shaken to the point of collapse by this unnamed male operative’s cat-and-mouse game.

The man let out a soft cough, adopting an air of solemnity as if he were about to discuss a serious business arrangement, and whispered to the woman slumped on the floor, “Of course it’s a good deal!”

As for who this “good deal” benefits or favors, the man wouldn’t say a single word.

Seemingly deliberately prolonging the cat-and-mouse routine, he fell silent once more, calmly tapping out a rhythm with the hammer in his hand.

That melody…

That tune…

Liu Qingqing’s very soul seemed to tremble, for she suddenly realized that the seemingly casual rhythm the man was producing with his hammer was, in fact, the nightmare of her entire life—the sound she had always dreaded hearing since childhood, a demon deeply rooted in the very core of her being.

It all began when she was very, very young, living with her mother under the care of the man whom biology calls a father.

Back then, she wasn’t yet known as Liu Qingqing; her name was Liu Qin.

As for why she was called Liu Qin, it was simple: the man who was technically her biological father bore the surname Liu, so she took his surname as well. And the character “Qin” came from the fact that, on the day she was born, his mother—the woman who was also her grandmother—had just bought a bunch of celery on her way home. When she returned, she asked her mother, who had just endured the grueling ordeal of giving birth to her in that small room filled with the smell of blood, what exactly she had delivered.

The man surnamed Liu didn’t seem particularly pleased that his wife had given birth to a daughter. He snapped at his mother-in-law, “A girl with no penis—what a waste of money! All our efforts were for nothing.”

“What? Another one without a penis? I told you to go to the clinic and get an ultrasound, at least to find out whether it’s a boy or a girl. Now look what we’ve got—a girl again! What kind of karma has our Liu family accumulated? Is there really no way to have another big, chubby boy?”

The old lady complained bitterly, paying no heed to whether her daughter, still lying in that small, blood-scented room after giving birth, could even hear her. She vented her frustration, cursing heaven and earth, then turning her wrath on her “dear father,” before finally lashing out at her mother and at herself, who knew nothing at all.

Later, no one knows exactly what the old lady and her “dear father” discussed, but as they continued their tirade, the old lady suddenly blurted out, “What’s the point of picking a name? A dead little girl, a money-loser—what good name could possibly suit her? Let’s just call her ‘Celery’!”

And so, for many years afterward, she was known as “Celery”—even though her mother strongly objected, the old lady refused to budge. It wasn’t until it came time to register her household that her mother finally managed to sway things slightly, forcibly shortening “Celery” to simply “Qin.”

Yet in the old lady’s mouth, that one missing character made no difference at all. Whether inside or outside the house, she would still call her “Celery,” and if the girl showed even the slightest sign of reluctance or displeasure, the old hag would grab her ear and twist it hard while unleashing a torrent of abusive words.

And every time she was beaten or scolded, that same tune would fill the house. Of course, even when the old lady wasn’t yelling at her, the tune would still play—because it wasn’t coming from their own home, but from some tasteless shopkeeper downstairs.

End of Chapter 260: Counterattack 187