My 108 Dads

I was abandoned when I was just five days old.

But for some reason, my birth mother left me on the doorstep of the Black Talon gang in Southside.

To survive, when I was staring into the fierce eyes of those desperate men, still in my swaddling clothes, I instinctively blurted out Daddy.

The rough men instantly furrowed their brows.

"Maybe... we could keep her?"

From then on, I had 108 fathers.

But my family seemed to be a magnet for wanted posters.

So, to avoid causing trouble for my dads, I lived an utterly ordinary life for over a decade.

Until I encountered bullying in high school.

A rich girl, Chelsea Thorne, with her cronies, cornered me in the bathroom, doused me with cold water, tore my clothes, and filmed me with a camcorder.

"What are you staring at? You charity case, acting all high and mighty! You trash, thinking you can go to college!"

But I was hit so hard, I screamed and pulled Chelsea, dragging her with me as I plunged from the third floor.

When I woke up, the school nurse, Mrs. Davison, pointed at me and yelled:

"She hit you, so you tried to kill her, is that it?! When others hit or scold you, you don't reflect on yourself, but plot revenge!!"

"Get your parents here, now! I want to see them! If they don't show up, you'll stay here today and rot!"

My hair stood on end. I meekly replied:

"Ma'am, are you sure you want to call my parents?"

The words hung in the air, then SMACK, a sharp crack.

"Sure? I'm sure your ass!"

"You little brat! How dare you lay a hand on my daughter! You will call your parents to come apologize to me!"

Chelseas dad, Mr. Thorne, slapped me across the face, his eyes blazing with vicious fury.

I instantly fell to the ground, half my face stinging with a fiery pain.

Mrs. Davison, however, acted as if she hadn't seen a thing, immediately bowing and scraping, fawning over Mr. Thorne.

"Mr. Thorne, rest assured, the school will handle this strictly and without leniency!"

She turned her head, screaming at my face.

"Willow King! Look at what you've done to Chelsea Thorne! Call your parents immediately to pay her medical bills!"

I lowered my head, my nails digging deep into my palms.

A metallic taste spread in my mouth.

"No, it was Chelsea, she was the one who first cornered me in the bathroom with her friends, poured cold water on me, and tore my clothes. I was just"

But I didn't finish my sentence.

Chelsea, lying weakly in the infirmary bed, burst into tears.

"Dad! She's lying! I was just passing by, and Willow King suddenly went crazy and pushed me down the stairs She's just a scholarship student, jealous because our family has money. She's always hated me!"

"You clearly" I immediately retorted.

But Mrs. Davison gave me no chance to speak.

"Silence! Willow King! The facts are clear; you deliberately assaulted her!"

She grabbed me and dragged me out of the medical room.

Roughly pulling out my phone, Mrs. Davison slammed it against my face with a smack.

"I don't want to hear your nonsense! Now, immediately! Call your parents! Tell them to get their butts over here and pay up!"

Instantly, the eyes of teachers and students in the hallway focused on me, a mix of curiosity and schadenfreude.

But I clutched the cold phone, looking at the busy contacts list, yet I couldn't bring myself to make the call.

I had 108 fathers.

But Dad One was a gang boss, Dad Three trafficked weapons, Dad Fifteen ran black market loans, Dad Seventy-Eight owned an underground casino...

Although they always loved to give me black cards and then stroke my head, saying:

"Sweet Pea, don't cause trouble outside, but if you're ever in trouble, always come to Daddy. If anyone lays a finger on you, Dad One will make their whole family disappear from the face of the Earth."

"That's right, if anyone dares to upset you, Dad Three will come with two knives and chop them up!"

But they were all Southside's most wanted criminals.

A shiver ran down my spine.

I remembered how they always left early and came home late, covered in scars and blood, grumbling about running into "the Feds" again today.

I remembered the "Crackdown on Organized Crime" headlines constantly scrolling across the news.

I I couldnt put them in harm's way.

Looking up again, I tried one last desperate plea.

"Ma'am, my dads they're all working out of town, very far away, they can't make it."

"Could I just write an apology, get a detention, even a suspension, just please, don't call them?"

Mrs. Davison let out a sneer.

"Working? No wonder you turned out to be such a shameless child! And they can't make it?"

"No way!"

"Chelsea Thorne's medical expenses, her emotional damages, so much money! You, a child, can pay for that? Call them now, don't waste time!"

She looked at me with utter contempt.

"How much? I can" I was about to say I could pay for it myself, as I hadn't even touched the black cards my dads gave me.

But Mr. Thorne came out and immediately handed Mrs. Davison a bank card.

"Mrs. Davison, here's half a million for the school's donation."

"My demand is simple: get her parents to come here, apologize, and compensate us!"

"Otherwise, I'll call the police directly! I'll accuse her of intentional assault! Once she has a criminal record, she can forget about ever going to college!"

Seeing the bank card, Mrs. Davison's eyes instantly lit up. She turned to me, her tone becoming incredibly stern.

"Willow King, did you hear that? This is your last chance!"

"Either call your working parents now to come pay and apologize!"

"Or you get a criminal record and forget about college for the rest of your life!"

A criminal record

The two words, like needles, instantly pierced my mind.

I couldn't have a criminal record.

I still had to go to college, still had to earn money to support my dads in their old age.

Looking at that bank card, looking at Mrs. Davisons snobbish and ugly face.

Tears welled in my eyes. My trembling fingers finally lit up my phone screen.

"Ma'am, please! Don't call the police. I'll I'll call my parents."

My trembling hand touched "Dad One" at the very top of my contact list.

Although he was a gang boss, he was still the most "normal" among all my dads.

I hoped, I hoped he could pretend to be an ordinary person and get through this.

"Beep, beep" The call was answered the instant it went through.

Dad One's gentle, smiling voice came from the receiver: "Sweet Pea?"

"Dad One," I pressed my lips together and spoke: "My teacher wants me to call you to school. I"

"To school?" He instantly sounded excited: "Oh, my girl won another award, didn't she! It's the first time you've asked Dad to come get a certificate! Wait for it, Dad's coming now!"

"No"

A pang of sorrow hit me. I was about to say no.

But then, a clear gunshot suddenly echoed from the other end of the line.

Followed by the screams of unfamiliar men and a series of dull thuds.

I froze instantly.

I faintly heard a very soft "clean it up."

Childhood memories flooded backDad One always came home with blood on him, but hed lie and say it was ketchup.

His breathing seemed a little unsteady, but when he spoke to me again, his voice was still gentle:

"No what? Honey?"

The thought of him possibly doing something dangerous, or being injured, made my heart pound.

The words on the tip of my tongue twisted into:

"Nothing... it's nothing. I can just get the certificate myself. You're busy, I'm hanging up."

"Hey! You didn't even say anything, why are you hanging up!"

Hearing me, Mrs. Davison yelled and reached out to grab my phone.

Instinctively dodging, I quickly hung up.

But the next second, "SMACK!"

Another harsh slap landed on my face.

Mrs. Davison's face was twisted with fury: "You caused such big trouble and you're still trying to hide it from your parents!"

Mr. Thorne also slammed his fist against the wall, pointing a finger at my nose and cursing:

"Don't think hiding it from adults means nothing will happen! I'm telling you, in this part of Southside, I'm the local kingpin! I have people in the police department! If you dare touch my daughter, I'll make your whole family of low-wage workers disappear in minutes!"

Chelsea hobbled out, limping, and sneered at me:

"You're so pathetic you don't even dare call your parents, probably because your family is too poor to put food on the table, right? So where did you get the guts to push me? Ridiculous!"

I lowered my head, my voice as faint as a mosquito's buzz:

"My dads really can't come I'm sorry, Chelsea Thorne, it was my fault, I shouldn't have pushed you."

"I can kowtow to you in front of the whole school, be your lackey for a year, or you can hit me back, but please don't call the police, okay? I don't want to be expelled"

Chelsea laughed with disdain, but Mr. Thorne roared and reached out to snatch my phone.

"You're trying to negotiate terms now?"

"Give me your parents' number, I'll tell them myself!"

Mrs. Davison immediately chimed in: "Willow King, give Mr. Thorne your phone! Don't be stubborn, you need to show a willingness to solve the problem!"

The man lunged forward to grab it, but I fiercely protected my phone, backing away repeatedly.

Finally, I ended up clumsily kneeling on the ground.

My knees hit the cold tiles, a searing pain bringing tears to my eyes, but I kept kowtowing and begging:

"Please, please, don't go after my dads. Chelsea, please, I'll do anything I just saidapologize, atone, let you hit me backjust please don't call my parents, okay?!"

Dull thuds echoed on the floor until my forehead was bleeding. Only then did a look of triumphant pleasure appear on Chelsea's face.

Stopping her dad, she raised her voice: "Alright then, just apologizing publicly isn't enough. Tomorrow, you have to kowtow to me 100 times, until I'm satisfied! Only then will I not call the police."

"Alright." Clenching my fists, I agreed to all her conditions.

My heart bled with humiliation, yet I felt it was worth it, as long as I didn't implicate my dads.

But that evening, when I, wearing a baseball cap, wearily returned to the small apartment Dad Two rented for me.

I saw three men bustling in the kitchen, cooking up a storm: Dad Sixty-Six, Dad Seventy-Nine, and Dad Ninety-Three.

Seeing me return, they immediately gathered around, beaming.

"Sweet Pea's home!"

At the dining table, Dad Sixty-Six chuckled and squeezed my cheek:

"Sweet Pea, I heard you're getting an award at school? Why didn't you let an old dad go collect it for you? By sequence, it should be my turn, shouldn't it?"

Dad Seventy-Nine expertly massaged my shoulders, refuting him: "My turn, you fool! It's my turn!"

Dad Ninety-Three pushed a bowl of soup in front of me: "Drink up, brain food, so you can get into a good college."

My nose stung, and I almost burst into tears.

But I forced a smile and explained: "It's just a small award, no need to trouble you. I'll call you for a big award next time."

"Alright, we won't argue. You eat first, honey."

The men excitedly served me food. As I was eating, Dad Sixty-Six suddenly grew serious and stood up to answer a phone call.

But I faintly caught a few words.

"That shipment being watched again jumped into the river Damn it, this money is so hard to earn"

Instantly, my heart tightened again.

Fearing they might get caught, I took a deep breath and put down my chopsticks.

"Dads, in the future can you can you stop doing that kind of work? I'm grown up now. I'll get into a good college and support you."

"So, can you find some stable jobs?"

The three big men froze simultaneously, then, deeply moved, burst into tears and promised they would.

Two hours later, the three of them gave me a few more instructions, left me three black cards, and then quickly departed.

I stood at the doorway, watching them disappear down the hallway, my eyes stinging.

"Remember to change jobs!"

"Got it!"

But the moment the door closed, old Dad Sixty-Six looked at his brothers beside him, puzzled.

"Strange, our daughter doesn't like my nuclear submarine research?"

The other three were equally bewildered.

And I, closing the door, looked at the group chat on my phone, "Loving Family (108)," which already had 999+ messages.

My dads were all asking:

"Sweet Pea, are you tired from studying today?"

"Do you have enough money? Don't skimp, Daddy has plenty!"

My eyes warmed again. I sniffed, and finally typed a line into the chat box.

"I'm fine, everyone. Don't worry. Dads, you're busy with work, please also pay attention to your safety."

Send.

The next second, staring at the constant stream of caring messages popping up on the screen, I made up my mind.

I would never cause my dads any more trouble.

Willow King, you must hold on.

Just until after college entrance exams, everything will be fine.

On Monday's flag-raising ceremony, a dense crowd of students packed the field below. I knelt on the ground, mechanically confessing my sins.

"It was I who, filled with resentment, pushed Chelsea Thorne down the stairs I was jealous of her, I'm a worthless person"

My voice echoed across the sports field, but every word felt like a knife cutting my throat.

Chelsea sat in a wheelchair, pushed to the very front by a few classmates, watching me with a smug look, her eyes filled with excitement as I knelt and kowtowed, apologizing.

Beneath the stage, whispers coalesced into a buzzing din of noise.

"I heard her family is really poor; she's here on scholarship."

"Such a malicious mind, just jealous of their money."

"Look at her pathetic, penniless self, serves her right."

"Born without a mother's raising, just no upbringing."

All the malicious words were like needles pricking my flesh, a bone-chilling pain.

But I was already numb.

Done reciting, I slowly bent at the waist.

Thud.

The first kowtow, on the cold platform.

Fifty kowtows, one hundred kowtows. I slammed my head down, again and again. My forehead went from numb to agonizing pain, then to a warm stickiness.

Blood streamed down my brow, blurring my vision, plunging everything into darkness.

The ground was covered in crimson.

When the confession was over, I walked off the stage, my face covered in blood.

The crowd parted for me as if I were carrying a plague.

Chelsea, surrounded by her entourage, deliberately walked past me.

She said in a voice that was neither too loud nor too soft: "Ugh, some people are just lowly. An apology isn't enough, is it? From now on, when you see me, you call me 'Grandma.' Got it?"

Clenching my fists, my nails dug deep into my flesh. I said nothing.

I just silently returned to my seat, took out a wet wipe, and vigorously tried to rub off the red paint from the table.

But the paint had already seeped into the wood grain, spreading and smearing with each wipe, like ugly scars.

All day long, I was surrounded by malice, until the dismissal bell rang, and I couldn't hold back anymore, rushing out of the classroom.

Afraid to use the main entrance, I took the secluded alley behind the school to leave.

But after only a few steps, at the alley entrance, Chelsea and her three cronies were already blocking the way.

She stood up from her wheelchair, stretched her limbs, and walked towards me, step by step.

"Didn't you say you'd be my lackey? The boss hasn't left, but you're running fast, are you messing with me, Willow King?"

"Sorry, you didn't call me"

"Whether I call you or not, you're going to follow me around like a dog!"

Chelsea pulled out her camcorder, aiming the lens at my disheveled face.

"Come on, apologize again. Say, 'I, Willow King, am trash, and I shouldn't have forgotten to be Chelsea Thorne's dog.'"

I bit my lip, motionless.

Chelsea became even more excited, launching into a new round of torment.

Cold mineral water poured over my head. My soaked school uniform was torn by them. Lipstick was haphazardly smeared across my face.

Chelsea held up the camcorder, laughing maniacally.

"Come on, smile for the camera, say, 'Thank you, Sister Thorne, for the lesson,' otherwise, I'm calling the police and letting your unspeakable dads have a nice chat with the precinct?"

My mind buzzed. I stared at her, disbelieving. Did Chelsea know about them?

But I couldn't risk it. I could only endure my whole body trembling, my voice hoarse as I repeated her words.

"Thank you, Sister Thorne for the lesson."

Only after I said it dozens of times did Chelsea smile, satisfied, kicking me once before leaving.

"Wouldn't it have been better if you'd been this obedient earlier? From now on, after school every day, wait for me here, got it? Whatever I want you to do, you have to do!"

"Alright." She left with her cronies.

Instantly, I was alone in the alley.

I don't know how long passed before I slowly crouched down.

On the ground, a soaked math test, the vivid red "100" glaringly obvious.

Frantically, I fought back the welling tears, reaching out to pick up the mud-stained books and test papers.

However, the moment I looked up.

At the mouth of the alley, four or five men had appeared.

Leading them was Dad One.

And behind him, another four or five dads.

At this moment, their faces were dark and grim, all staring intently at me, silent.

The air in the alley seemed to freeze.

After a long moment, Dad One crouched down, his rough fingers wiping away the bloodstains on my face.

"Who did this?"

I turned my face away, not daring to meet the anger in his eyes, and whispered:

"Nothing I just fell accidentally."

"Fell?"

Dad Five snatched up the math textbook, crushed and mud-stained, pointing at the dirty shoe prints on it, and roared:

"This is falling? This is stomping her to death!"

Dad Three adjusted his glasses, his eyes behind the lenses sharp as blades:

"Sweet Pea, tell us. If you say the word, Daddy will blow up Southside and kill those people."

But I bit my lip tightly.

I couldn't say it.

Mr. Thorne was rich and powerful. Chelsea said even the Southside police listened to her family.

My dads were wanted men; I couldn't get them sent to prison.

I shook my head stubbornly, but tears refused to obey, welling in my eyes.

Time ticked by, second by second. Finally, Dad One sighed, gently gripping my cold hand, yet with an undeniable strength.

"Sweet Pea, do you remember that year when you were five, the chubby kid from the next street stole your candy, and you cried all night when you came home?"

"The next day, that chubby kid's entire family moved out of Southside."

"Your dads aren't good people, but our family rule is, whoever touches you, dies!"

The wind in the alley instantly stilled.

Seeing my dads silently gather around me, their eyes filled with extreme suppressed rage and heartache.

All the humiliation, fear, and shame of these past days instantly broke through my tightly strung nerves.

"Dad"

I flung myself into Dad One's arms, sobbing uncontrollably, gasping out everything that had happened:

"It was Chelsea Her dad is Mr. Thorne, he owns mines She said Southside is all their territory She bullies me every day Today she even filmed it"

Dad Five's latest model phone, in his hand, CRACKED! He had crushed the screen!

"A mine owner, how dare he!"

"Damn it, that bastard Thorne! When I helped him get started back in the day, he was licking my boots!"

"He's gone too far! How dare he touch our Sweet Pea!"

My dads' curses rose and fell, but I listened, stunned.

Dad One simply patted my back, then pulled out his phone, dialed a number, his voice cold as ice.

"Send out the word. All brothers, drop what you're doing."

"One hour, everyone to Southside."

"Our girl, she's been bullied!"

Early the next morning, Dad One told me to go to school as usual.

I nodded, going alone.

Sure enough, at the school gate, Chelsea was again waiting by that flashy luxury car.

Seeing me, she deliberately raised her voice, her face full of sarcasm: "Oh, isn't this the one who knelt and kowtowed to me yesterday"

But before she finished, I walked straight past her, my eyes calm, as if she were just air.

Chelsea instantly froze.

"Willow King!" She flared up in anger, lunged forward, and tightly grabbed my backpack:

"Did I say you could leave? Didn't learn your lesson yesterday, did you? You trash!"

She raised her hand to slap me.

"I'm giving you face"

But remembering Dad One's words, my heart was now filled with unprecedented confidence.

The next second, her wrist was clamped tightly in my hand, stopped mid-air.