Chapter 3

Besides hitting me and forcing me to memorize lottery numbers, Mom was actually quite kind to me in other ways.

Since my parents never worked, our family usually only had potatoes to fill our stomachs.

But I was the only one in our house who got to eat an egg every day.

Because Mom said if I ate well, my memory would improve, and I'd memorize the lottery numbers faster.

What's more, even my three older brothers had chores, but I was exempt from everything.

So, even though Mom hit me, I still thought she was the best mother in the world.

Until one day, Grandma Martha came to visit.

After Grandma Martha left, Mom pulled Dad into the bedroom.

She said Grandma Martha had apparently told them I needed a "brain swap"—that only by changing my brain could I become smart.

At the time, I had just had numbers stitched onto my arm by Mom, and it was still painful and itchy.

I didn't quite catch how one was supposed to "swap brains."

But I was willing to do it.

I felt guilty for not being able to memorize the lottery numbers and preventing my parents from living a good life.

So, that evening, when Dad said he was taking me to a special place, I eagerly followed him.

On the way, to make Dad happy, I even excitedly recited lottery numbers.

But I never expected Dad to take me to a graveyard.

Before I could even figure out what was happening, Dad led me to an open coffin.

Standing beside it was a dirty, disheveled old man.

My dad pulled five hundred dollars from his pocket and handed it over.

"This 'brain swap' you talked about, does it really work?"

The old man, Silas, leered at me with a disgusting, knowing smirk, shaking his head and laughing. "Of course! The guy in that coffin? He was a genius, a top scholar in his day. If his family wasn't out of town, who would dare dig up his grave in the middle of the night?"

"Alright, have your daughter lie in there. Just three days with this genius scholar, and I guarantee you'll have a smart daughter back."

Though I was young, I still understood the old man's words.

I turned to run, but Dad grabbed the back of my neck, holding me in a death grip.

"Maya, what are you running from?"

I stared in horror at my favorite dad.

After a two-second stunned silence, I began to struggle violently.

Because I had seen the face of the person lying in the coffin.

To call him a "person" felt wrong. He was nothing but a collection of putrid, reeking bones.

But Dad paid no attention to my cries and pleas.

He roughly grabbed me and flung me into the coffin.

I cried out, trying to scramble back out.

Dad pressed my head down hard, and my body slammed back into the coffin.

Finally, he coldly pushed the coffin lid shut, blocking out the last sliver of moonlight from the sky.