I stood there holding my phone while the old lady snorted impatiently. She pushed my hand away with force. "What are you looking at? Don't wave your phone in front of me. I can't read. I'll just sit here today. Why can't I sit here?"

"Ouch!" I stood there clutching my wrist, my face contorted in pain. Tears instantly welled up in my eyes. It hurt like hell!

The old lady's push had sent my hand crashing into the most challenging part of the seat back in front of me. My entire wrist throbbed with a burning pain.

I was so annoyed I wanted to hit something. "Sure, you can sit, no one's stopping you. But this seat? I paid for it! Sit anywhere else, but where am I supposed to sit if you're in my seat?"

Some passengers in the compartment couldn't stand it anymore and started to smooth things over. "It's just a seat, why don't you two just switch? They're both seats, what difference does it make?"

"Exactly," another added. "It's no big deal. Young lady, you're being a bit too stubborn. Learn to be flexible."

I held back a torrent of words. Was it wrong to sit in the seat I paid for?

Finally, after a moment of silence, I said, "Fine, you can sit here. What's your seat number? We can just switch."

I winced as I nursed my aching wrist. It would be fine as long as I could go home.

I looked around the compartment, trying to spot her seat. But everywhere I looked, the seats were occupied. Strange. Was her seat not in this compartment?

The old lady's face twitched slightly, avoiding my gaze. The excitement of going home for the holidays had vanished entirely. Now, I just wanted to get home as quickly as possible.

After a long pause, under the pressure of the other passengers, the old lady finally muttered reluctantly, "Second class, seat 06F."

"What?" I was stunned. Second class? I was beyond speechless, silently cursing my bad luck for the millionth time.

"I bought a first-class ticket and you're offering me a second-class seat in exchange?" I stared at the old lady, her face indifferent and couldn't believe it.

The price difference between a first-class and a second-class ticket on this train was over $100. I'm not stupid. Why would I trade a seat worth $100 more for no reason?

"It's a second-class seat. Take it or leave it! If you want to sit, go sit in second class," she huffed. "First-class tickets are so expensive. Who knows how a young girl like you could afford one? Aren't you embarrassed to brag about it?"

I was too furious to speak. "There's a $100 difference between the seats. Why should I go to second class when I bought a first-class ticket? Why don't you sit in the seat you bought?"

It would have been fine if I had bought a second-class seat, just like the other passengers said. Changing seats in the same compartment was no big deal, but now the difference was $100.

The old lady was emboldened and clung tightly to the seat. The wrinkles on her face formed a fierce expression. "If you'd gotten on the train earlier, this wouldn't have happened! I thought no one was sitting here, so I did. It's not my fault you came late."

"I'm even giving you my seat now. Why don't you just take it? These days, young people have no respect for the elderly. Didn't your parents teach you any manners? Were you raised by wolves?"

I was so infuriated I felt like I was about to have a stroke. My eyes burned as I choked out, "You're the one with no manners! Give me back my seat, or you have to pay me the difference! You did this on purpose!"

Her behavior was simply outrageous. The old lady retorted arrogantly, "Sit or don't sit, I don't care. This seat is mine now."

The high-speed train began to move and the compartment buzzed with commotion. I glared at the old lady before me, my teeth clenched in frustration. I couldn't hit her; if things escalated, she'd probably turn it all around on me.

The conductor soon approached. "What's going on here? Why all the noise? Everyone, take out your ID cards. We're checking tickets."

I pulled the conductor aside and explained the situation. The conductor examined the old lady's ID and ticket, then sternly said, "Mrs. Zola, your ticket is for a second-class seat. You can't sit in first class. Please return to your assigned seat."

Standing next to the conductor, I watched the old lady's face twist in sudden realization. She stood up and pointed at us. "Ah, I see now. You two are in this together, bullying an old lady like me. Why is my life so miserable?"

"You're all ganging up on me! How can I go on living like this? It's because we're poor and can't afford better tickets. And now, an old lady like me is being scolded to my face." She sat on the floor, wailing and slapping her thighs dramatically.

I had never witnessed such a scene before and was momentarily stunned. The old lady's performance was so convincing; it really seemed like I was the one bullying her.

The conductor's expression remained serious. "Mrs. Zola, these are the rules. Please return to your seat. And don't spread false accusations about us."

The old lady ignored her and continued her dramatic crying.

With no other option, the conductor called for the train police over the radio. As soon as the officer arrived, Mrs. Zola cried even harder, shouting about how she was being bullied and couldn't go on living.

A young woman nearby stood up and spoke on my behalf. "That's her seat. You have your own seat. Why are you bullying this young lady?"

"You're a grown adult. Why are you picking on a young girl? Everyone's ticket costs money!"

"It's just terrible how some bad people grow old. Shameless!"

I glanced gratefully at the woman. Once she had spoken up, others began to voice their opinions.

"Exactly! This old lady took someone else's seat and refused to get up. She wants to swap her second-class seat with a first-class one without paying the difference. Who does that?"

I pulled out my phone and showed her the payment code. "One hundred dollars. Let's round it down to ninety dollars. Transfer the money and you can have this seat."

"Why should I give you money? You young people should give up your seats for us. I'm honoring you by sitting in your seat! I wouldn't even want your seat on a train! You young people just want to be comfortable and have no respect for the elderly anymore."

She remained seated on the floor and I crouched down, holding my phone in front of her. I couldn't help but laugh hearing her words. "If you like comfort, why not try the business class seats? They're even better."

Her face darkened and she glared at me more fiercely. I became even more confident that she knew exactly what she was doing. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been looking around so cautiously when she boarded the train.

She wouldn't have pulled this if she didn't see that I was just a young woman sitting alone. That was why she dared to sit here so confidently.

If it had been anyone else, especially a man, she wouldn't have dared. She was using her age as a shield, assuming that I was too embarrassed to make a fuss.

Seeing that I remained unmoved, still looking like I was demanding money from her, the old lady's resentment grew deeper.

I initially thought the old lady would not dare to do anything in front of so many people, but to my surprise, she grabbed my phone and smashed it onto the ground with all her might.

The phone flew far and the sound of the screen shattering echoed clearly.

Before I could react, she grabbed my hair and slapped me hard across the face. All the while gritting her teeth and shouting, "You want money? I'll show you! How dare you ask me for money! You should be grateful I even took your seat. My son is a big boss, just wait until we get off this train."

Pain shot through my scalp and face. Instinctively, I fought back and we started to grapple with each other.

Everyone around was stunned for a moment, then quickly jumped in to separate us. Chaos broke out in the compartment as people rushed to pull us apart. I held my throbbing head as someone led me to the crew's rest area.

As soon as we got off the train, my parents took me to the hospital. Word spread quickly that I had been hospitalized right after returning.

A few days later, I was sitting on the couch, fiddling with my new phone. Then I saw a man following my father. It was Finn Coleman, a supplier for our factory.

He looked concerned as soon as he saw me. "Yvonne, your face hasn't healed yet? My mom made this special soup for you. It's great for recovery. She specifically asked me to bring it to you."

He added, "It's strange, though. Ever since my mom got off the train, she's been injured and constantly cursing at home. But she won't say why when we ask her."

My father smiled but didn't respond, instead asking me to take the soup to the kitchen. As I stepped out, someone grabbed my hair. "You little brat! How dare you show up here! I'll beat you to death this time!"

I cried out, not even able to see who was attacking me. Hearing my scream, everyone in the living room rushed over.

"Mom? Mom, what are you doing?"