Chapter 3 — The Photograph in the Pocket

I looked straight into the eyes of this unhinged woman. Her son led a pack of thugs to corner my daughter in a secluded alleyway and brutally beat her.

"Nonsense! My son is the most well-behaved boy in the world! You and your people must have started this trouble!"

"Then let us go get formal injury assessments right now."

"Whatever injuries my daughter sustained, and whatever wounds are on your son's head, whoever bears the responsibility shall pay for it."

The older woman froze for half a second before she abruptly collapsed onto the ground, throwing her head back and wailing at the top of her lungs.

"There is no justice left in this world! The law has completely abandoned us! A martyr's family member is beating up innocent children right at school! Look at how they bully the helpless!"

Outside the school gates, a dense crowd of students had gathered to gawk at the spectacle, their mobile phones raised high, recording every second.

"The police will be here shortly. What are you screaming about? Does whoever shouts the loudest automatically become right?" I stared down at her with chilling detachment.

My daughter gripped my hand fiercely, her tiny fingers refusing to loosen their hold. The police arrived promptly, taking official statements from both parties and mandating formal medical examinations for the children. A few days later, the forensic medical reports were released. My daughter suffered severe soft tissue contusions across her face, numerous scratch marks along her arms, and massive bruising on her stomach and back from being repeatedly kicked. Meanwhile, Jiang Zhenghan had a laceration at the back of his head that required five stitches. Both sets of injuries were classified as minor, placing them on roughly equal footing in terms of physical harm. Armed with the report, the boy's mother immediately laughed triumphantly. "See that? My son was injured too, so this whole matter is a wash!" That smug expression vanished the moment the police retrieved and played the surveillance footage. On screen, Jiang Zhenghan could be seen leading three other youths as they dragged my daughter into the narrow alley, yanking her hair, slapping her face, kicking her stomach, and stomping on her spine. The four of them surrounded and tortured the helpless child for more than ten minutes. An officer hit pause and turned his gaze sharply toward the boy's mother.

"I have reviewed this surveillance video more than once. The nature of this offense is exceptionally clear and deeply malicious. This was not a simple schoolyard fight; this constitutes deliberate assault!"

All the color drained from the woman's face. "What if my son was just disciplining the spawn of a home-wrecking whore? A hussy who gives birth to a child only raises another little hussy!"

"Your son initiated the attack, four against one, for more than ten minutes. Do you seriously call that discipline?"

"But her family member fought back as well! Both sides got hurt, so this should cancel each other out!"

The police officer frowned deeply.

"Whether the parties choose to reach a settlement is entirely up to them, but the legal classification of intentional assault will never change!"

The woman's lips quivered. "I refuse to accept this! You people are openly biased toward a martyr's family! She must have paid you off with dirty money! I am going to find reporters and expose the lot of you!" I turned to the police officer and stated clearly, "Since the opposing party refuses to acknowledge their wrongdoing, I decline any reconciliation." Cursing and spitting venom, she dragged Jiang Zhenghan toward the exit, pausing at the threshold to shoot me one last venomous glare.

"Li Jing, do not think you have won yet. My son is a minor, so at worst we pay a bit of money. But the shameful way you seduced my husband will not be swept under the rug so easily. Just you wait and see."

That very evening, a heavily edited and maliciously spliced video began circulating wildly across the internet. The sensational headline blared: Martyr's family member commits violence at school, legitimate wife's son suffers head wound requiring five stitches. In the footage, I was shown pushing Jiang Zhenghan away, causing him to hit his head and bleed. There was no context showing what happened beforehand, nor any trace of my daughter being swarmed and beaten. The topic was scandalous enough to trigger a viral explosion, and the share count rapidly surpassed ten thousand. My phone number, my workplace, and all my personal social media accounts were ruthlessly dug up and exposed. Private messages flooded in like a towering tidal wave.

"A martyr's relative acting as a homewrecker and then beating up the legal wife's child, what an absolute beast."

"Someone needs to dig up this bitch's background, how can anyone be this arrogant!"

"This vile woman is dragging the reputation of all martyr families through the mud! Strip away their privileged status immediately!"

Even my daughter was not spared. Her social media profiles became targets of relentless cyberattacks. The comment section was deliberately flooded with a grotesque image crafted from a photograph of my late husband's funeral portrait. The overlaid text read: "My wife is cheating on me, press 1 to resurrect me." Shortly after, an official suspension notice arrived from my company. My supervisor called, his tone dripping with awkward hesitation. He explained that over a dozen people had been gathering outside the office gates daily to film videos, and corporate clients had started making uncomfortable inquiries, forcing him to ask me to take an indefinite leave of absence to assist with the investigation. The moment I hung up the phone, the doorbell rang sharply. Looking through the peephole, I saw the boy's mother accompanied by several fierce-looking relatives, their phones held out to record. They began pounding furiously against the door, shouting threats over the loud thuds:

"You will either issue a public apology admitting you seduced my sister's husband and injured Jiang Zhenghan, or the next people who show up at your door will not be just a few of us."

After they finally departed, I took clear photographs of the dented, vandalized door and the buckets of paint that had been sloshed across the walls. Pulling back the curtains, I looked down to see that the street below was now crowded with tripods, protest banners, and camera lenses pointed directly at my living room windows. The moment I became visible, the mob erupted in a fresh wave of jeers and camera flashes. I took a snapshot of the crowd before firmly drawing the curtains shut. The evidence was now overwhelmingly complete; this pathetic circus had reached its final act.

"Lawyer Chu, we can begin now."

"Are we not going to wait a little longer? The public outrage could still be stoked higher."

"It is enough." I glanced at the upcoming livestream schedule the woman had just posted online. "Perfect. She is scheduled to broadcast her stream at ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

Through the receiver, Lawyer Chu's voice remained steady and resolute.

"Very well, then we commence tomorrow morning."

The livestream interface opened up, and the viewer count steadily climbed. The broadcast was titled "Widow of a Martyr Bullies Ordinary Citizens." Sitting directly in front of the camera, the woman remained silent, ignoring the flood of questions from netizens, and simply began to weep.