Surrounded by seven or eight fierce-looking village men, the old man stood amidst a few women whispering to each other behind them.
In front, Ma Dongqin, supported by a few military wives, had disheveled hair and her clothes were torn and tatty. Her face and hands were wounded. Beside her, her four-year-old son Shuanzi clutched the hem of her clothes. His red-rimmed eyes and the tear tracks on his cheeks, along with his shock and fear, made him all the more pitiable.
