The meat looked totally normal. Nothing seemed off, there was no weird look or unusual smell. I stared at it for a long time, but couldn’t find anything wrong. Even when they ate it, no one noticed anything unusual.

I honestly thought the butcher had tricked me.

But the next morning, when I woke up, I smelled a new stench. It was coming from my father’s body, mixed with a burnt smell.  

Nervously, I stepped closer and the burnt smell on him grew even stronger.

Suddenly, the butcher’s words echoed in my mind.

“The eviller deeds one commits, the more meat they eat and the stronger the odor becomes, to the point where one can even smell their malice.”

That burning odor smelled like the aftermath of a massive fire. A mixture of the scent of charred wood, resin and meat. This instantly conjured up images in my head of a house engulfed in flames.

Without thinking, I asked, “Dad… was there ever a fire in our house before?”

My father paused, his sharp gaze darting toward me, including my mother and younger brother. Their eyes grew serious.  

“Why are you asking such a thing?”  

“Oh, no reason,” I said quickly. “I just saw a pretty fresh burn scar on your hand and I couldn’t remember how you got it. So, I ask.”

My father withdrew his hand, as if relieved and casually made up an excuse. “Oh, that? It's nothing. I burned myself while helping your grandma back at the old house. You were too young to remember, so we never brought it up.”

I nodded and dropped the subject, but I was even more confused than ever.

I didn’t even have any memories of my grandmother either. It was as if she had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

When my grandmother was on her deathbed, we all went to see her one last time. I saw her bid farewell to everyone with kindness, but when I approached her, she ordered everyone to leave and glared at me with a hideous expression.  

There was no trace of kindness on her face. She grabbed me with all her strength and bit my ear, leaving a gaping wound that remains to this day.

Amidst the blood, my grandmother’s hoarse, weathered voice whispered a sentence in my ear, “You’re not one of the Ford Family. You monster, get out!”  

And with those last words, she passed away.

After that, my parents hated me even more. They believed that I had said something to provoke Grandma, causing her to die with hatred. They didn't take me to the hospital to treat my ear, leaving a noticeable gap.  

Moreover, I remember that grandma's family was among the first to be relocated to a new rural area and they had long since stopped using firewood. She had many children and most of the time, they took turns staying at their parents' homes. The old house was mostly locked and they rarely cooked there.

The strong smell of smoke filled my nose, bringing to mind vivid images of fiery infernos—but these scenes were not from Grandma’s house. This only strengthened my belief that my father was lying to me!

Even my brother got weirdly serious when he heard me say “fire.” He kept watching me closely from the corner of the room

After lingering for a while, my parents went out to work and my brother returned to his room to play games.

He never had a job. He spent all day livestreaming himself playing games and barely earned anything, usually ending each month broke. But my parents never complained about it. In fact, they fully supported him mooching off them. Meanwhile, they were constantly harsh with me and demanding that I hand over my paycheck once I started working.

As my mom put it, “You’re the older sister. It’s your duty to sacrifice for your brother. You’re supposed to give in to him, no matter what.”

Seeing how “that family” of mine was all acting and thinking in sync only made me even more curious about the locked cabinet.

If opening it would bring disaster upon our whole family…

Well, that didn’t really matter to me.

I was beginning to understand a female character from the film "The Three-Body Problem" and why she pressed that reply button without hesitation.

After calming my awful mood, I headed back to the butcher shop. “Sir, give me another two pounds and four ounces of pork,” I asked.

The shop owner paused when hearing this special quantity. He quickly realized I had begun to uncover the truth.  

“Did you smell the stench again? And the malice?” he asked.

I nodded in silence, too scared to say anything. My eyes darted behind me to signal to the shop owner that I was being followed and I urged him not to say anything more.

I had already noticed my brother was tailing me, not far behind and giving a report to my mom.

I tried calling my mom a few times to ask what vegetables I should buy, but her line was constantly busy. I called my brother, too and it was also busy. That’s when it hit me.

The butcher got the message. He weighed out two pounds and four ounces of pork for me and instructed me to come back every day for seven consecutive days.

My dad gave off a burnt odor, my mom reeked of rust, my brother had a blood scent and the cabinet in the kitchen gave off a foul stench...

The four smells mixed together until our home felt like literal hell on earth.

And yet none of them could smell a thing!

On the seventh day, when I bought the pork again, the butcher leaned in and whispered something to me, “Tonight’s the seventh day. After dinner, they’ll get drowsy and fall asleep. At midnight, when the yin energy is strongest, the hidden malice inside them will resurface. You must be extra careful.”

"Oh!" he continued. "During this time, you can open the locked cabinet, find a secluded spot and burn or smash the contents inside. Just make sure to damage them. The next day, expose them to sunlight and your issue with the foul odor will be resolved. This opportunity is rare, so you must seize it.”  

“If you fail, your memory might get tampered with again and you’ll have to start all over. You told me yourself that your childhood memories are fuzzy. So, I think whatever’s in that cabinet might be connected to that. They probably used some special method to erase your memories.”

As the truth began to unfold before my eyes, I fully trusted the butcher's words and prepared two pounds and four ounces of meat for them to eat.

They were unaware of anything and after dinner, they indeed began to feel sleepy. By ten o’clock, they were all asleep, leaving me the only one awake and waiting for midnight to arrive.

Perhaps because I was too nervous, I fell asleep. At midnight, I was suddenly awakened by a series of urgent knocks on the door.

When I opened the door, I saw my father, his eyes closed. He was sleepwalking. Using a kitchen knife in his hand, he banged it against the door hard.

I didn’t dare make a sound. I covered my mouth and crouched beside the door. Then I watched as my dad raised the knife and started slashing my bed like a madman!

The bed frame creaked with each blow and cotton stuffing flew everywhere, as my father, who was panting heavily, shouted through his gritted teeth over and over again, “Die! Die! Die!”

Hearing the commotion, my mother came running over. She also appeared to be sleepwalking.

She stopped my father and began searching the bed. Suddenly, she froze and tugged at my father's sleeve.

Both of them turned toward the door at the same time. Even with my eyes closed, I could still feel the icy chill emanating from their bodies, filled with murderous intent, their voices cold enough to send shivers down my spine.

"She ran out through the door!"