Billionaire Parents Dumped Me in Outlaw Village

The day my billionaire parents came to take me home, everyone in the village reluctantly saw me off.

But as soon as I arrived at their house, they forced me to donate bone marrow to my sister, Claire.

I yanked out Claire's oxygen tube in response.

Seeing this, my parents locked me in a room to reflect.

That night, while they slept, I climbed out the window and turned on the gas before leaving.

Unfortunately, I was caught red-handed.

Unable to tolerate me any longer, they blindfolded me, packaged me up, and dumped me in the infamous Outlaw Village.

As soon as we arrived at the village entrance, my dad immediately threatened me:

"Everyone here is a criminal. A kid like you won't even have bones left after three days."

My mom pretended to persuade me:

"Vivian, if you donate the bone marrow, you'll still be our precious daughter. But in a place like this, you'll die here."

I stubbornly shook my head.

My mom's fury peaked. She ripped off my blindfold and shoved me to the ground.

I looked at everything familiar before my eyes.

Why didn't anyone tell me that the village I'd lived in for twenty years was called Outlaw Village?

I looked up at Uncle Sam, the village chief not far away, my eyes lighting up.

I wanted to speak but couldn't make a sound. I only felt my cheeks burning with pain.

My mom leaned against the car door with a satisfied smile.

"A new product from the company. It'll keep you quiet for a while."

My dad added his threats from the side:

"Behave yourself sooner rather than later, or you'll regret it."

I curled my lip in a cold smile.

Hmph!

It was only because they couldn't force me.

Every time they tried to drug me or drag me to the hospital, I turned the tables on them.

Plus, they were important people who cared about their reputation.

I was different. If they dared to touch a hair on my head, I'd kill them.

Seeing my silence, my dad pulled out a video and shoved it in my face.

He gripped my chin, forcing me to watch the content.

"Think carefully. If you don't agree, you'll have a spot in there."

Looking at a group of people lying in a pigsty, stuffing rotten fish and shrimp into their mouths from the manure pit, I rolled my eyes.

Idiots.

The one person I'd never fear was Uncle Sam.

When did he develop a hobby of keeping people like pigs though?

Uncle Sam dealt with human traffickers like these every year.

At first, I thought I'd been abducted by them too.

Day and night, I prayed for God to tell my biological parents to come take me home.

But gradually, I realized the uncles and aunts in the village were all very kind to me.

Slowly, I let go of that hope.

But when news came from my biological parents, my heart couldn't help but skip a beat.

Mom and Dad should be different from the uncles and aunts, right?

So I caught the earliest train before dawn to meet them.

But now it seemed these parents were better off dead.

I pressed my lips together, butted my head forward, and knocked the phone away.

I struggled to my feet and ran toward Uncle Sam.

My dad's last bit of composure vanished. He grabbed my hair and yanked me back.

Furious, he raised his hand and slapped my face several times.

"I see you won't cry until you see your coffin."

I was beaten until I saw stars, collapsing limply to the ground.

Blood trickled down from my nose.

He immediately let go in disgust, hurriedly pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the blood from his hands.

Seeing this, my mom raised her hand to check her watch.

She tugged at his sleeve.

Not to plead for me, but to tell my dad to hurry up.

"Claire needs to take her medicine soon. If we're not there, she'll throw a tantrum."

My dad glared at me, the muscles on his face taut.

"Claire can't stand the smell of blood, and this disaster deliberately got it on me."

"If she wasn't still useful, I'd really want to lock her in this village forever."

Watching their careful, anxious manner, and the natural tenderness in their eyes when they mentioned Claireif I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would have thought that in my memories, Mom and Dad would treat me the same way.

That they'd see me as precious, worry about me being sick and not taking my medicine properly.

My mom stared at the tears flowing from the corners of my eyes and paused.

Then she frowned:

"So ugly. If it weren't for the paternity test, I'd really doubt whether I gave birth to her."

"Darling, hurry up and deal with her. I really don't want to stay in this godforsaken place for even one more second."

My dad nodded and pulled out an iron rod from the back seat.

He grabbed my collar and dragged me dozens of meters, tossing me aside like garbage.

Then he aimed at my right leg and smashed down.

As he prepared to strike a second time, I whimpered and cried, crawling toward Uncle Sam who had walked over.

He stared at me, a trace of reluctance showing in his eyes.

"This must be the person sent here to learn obedience."

"That's enough. Leave her to me to handle."

My dad dropped the iron rod and pulled a bag of cash from the car, tossing it on the ground.

He glanced at me dragging my broken leg, desperately trying to escape.

With a fake smile, he said:

"This time is different. We'll stay to supervise personally."

My mom, who had been about to leave, paused at these words.

But when it involved Claire, she nodded without hesitation.

"That's right. Claire's bone marrow bank can't have any mistakes."

Ha, bone marrow bank.

In the end, in her eyes, I wasn't even human.

I no longer held any hope for them.

My hand tightly gripped Uncle Sam's pant leg as I hummed the lullaby he'd sung to me since childhood.

But the burning pain in my throat made even breathing difficult.

Uncle Sam looked at me questioningly.

As he was about to crouch down to examine my disfigured face more closely, my dad spoke up.

"I remember there's a butcher in the village, a dissection expert who personally killed and dismembered his own wife?"

"Call him over. I've got merchandise."

"The feeling of slicing off flesh bit by bit without killing someone must be quite something."

As he spoke, his gaze fell on me.

He smiled cruelly.

As if certain I'd be scared into obediently going back.

I gave him a look like he was an idiot.

The Mr. Baker he mentioned did indeed have good knife skills, but he was also extremely protective of his own.

When I was little and lost a fight with kids from the neighboring village, he went straight to their house and dealt with the whole family.

If he recognized me here, they'd suffer worse than death.

Seeing I was unmoved, my dad stepped forward and stomped on my injured leg, constantly applying pressure, his face twisted.

"I want to see just how stubborn you are."

My mom beside him held up her phone, signaling to keep the noise down.

"Claire wants you to answer the phone. Don't let her know..."

My dad picked up a dirty cloth nearby and stuffed it in my mouth, then answered the phone with a face full of affection.

"Sweetheart, have you been good and taken your medicine like the doctor said?"

"I'm taking your sister on an overseas trip right now. It's not convenient for her to answer the phone."

"Don't worry, you're the child Daddy and Mommy love most..."

Crying could be faintly heard from the other end of the phone.

My parents immediately panicked, coaxing her as they walked outside.

Taking advantage of the dim light, I gritted my teeth.

I pressed the exposed bone fragment back into the flesh, rolling on the ground in pain.

Uncle Sam looked at me with heartache and brought over crushed herbal medicine.

He applied it to the wound and reluctantly opened his mouth.

"Child, don't blame me. The children in the village need money for school."

Tears streamed down my face as I whimpered and raised my hand to point at myself.

Vivian, I'm Vivian!

Uncle Sam froze.

"Child, what are you trying to say?"

I dipped my finger in the herbal juice, preparing to write on the wall.

But the cellar door was suddenly pulled open.

My parents walked in holding their phone, all smiles.

They were discussing taking Claire for Japanese food on the weekend.

"Claire loves king crab. You'd better perform well then."

My dad smiled from ear to ear.

"Don't worry, honey, I already made a reservation."

"After we eat, we'll take Claire to see the new movie."

Claire's bell-like laughter came through the phone.

The family of three's atmosphere was incomparably warm.

I hadn't eaten in a day and a night and was now ravenous.

Noticing my small movements of swallowing and covering my stomach, my mom's smile remained, but her eyes gradually turned cold.

She scooped out a ladle of slop from the swill bucket in the corner and poured it in front of me.

"Eat. You were born to be lowly."

"Can't let you actually starve to death. What would happen to Claire then?"

The foul smell rushed straight into my nostrils.

My vision darkened as I lay on the ground, struggling to breathe.

Uncle Sam murmured:

"How is this food for humans?"

My mom looked down at him imperiously and glanced at him coldly.

"Mind your own business."

I don't know how much time passed before the door was pulled open.

Mr. Baker walked in, his whole body reeking of blood from years of butchering pigs.

He habitually stroked his beard and looked at me coldly.

He coldly rebuked my parents behind him:

"A girl like this isn't worth my effort. Too embarrassing. I'm not doing it."

With that, he picked up his boning knife and was about to leave.

But after just a few steps, my mom stopped him.

"Don't want the money anymore?"

Mr. Baker's face turned ashen. He glared at my mom.

Muttering curses under his breath, he roughly drove everyone out of the cellar.

"I don't like people watching when I work. Get out, get out, get out."

He took a puff of his pipe and looked at me earnestly:

"Child, I don't want to hurt you."

"You look about the same age as a child who left our village. Just agree to whatever they're asking you to do."

I shook my head desperately with my hoarse voice, tears streaming down my face.

Mr. Baker had always been good to me since I was little. Though he was a butcher, he loved reading and writing.

I learned to read and write from him.

Thinking of this, I slowly moved my blood-stained fingertip across the ground.

But under the severe pain, my whole body trembled and my hand spasmed, turning each stroke into illegible scribbles.

Mr. Baker sighed:

"Girl, I can't understand what you're writing."

"Can you speak?"

I shook my head, gasping nervously.

If I missed this opportunity, it would truly be over.

What else could prove my identity?

I wracked my brain.

Right, the birthmark!

I had a crescent-shaped birthmark on my forearm that everyone in the village knew about.

I was ecstatic and struggled to bite and tear at the cloth binding my hands.

As long as he saw the birthmark, Mr. Baker would recognize my identity immediately.

Perceiving my intention, Mr. Baker put down his pipe and walked over.

Just as I was about to roll up my sleeve, my dad pushed the door open and entered. His gaze fell on my untied hands.

His face darkened.

"What's the meaning of this?"

I whimpered desperately, growling to get Mr. Baker to look at me.

My mom immediately spotted the crooked bloody writing on the ground.

Her face changed dramatically as she drove him out.

I watched helplessly as Uncle Sam left with Mr. Baker, then a slap came flying.

The scratch from her long nails burned painfully on my cheek.

My mom snorted coldly:

"This damn girl is trying to send messages to others."

My dad said nothing. He took down a hammer from the wall.

He pressed me down forcefully and smashed my fingers one by one right in front of me.

"This is what happens when you don't behave."

I screamed and bit down hard on his hand.

I was determined to tear off a piece of flesh.

My dad cried out in pain and struck my head heavily on the spot.

Seeing me bleeding from the head, collapsed on the ground, my mom panicked and rushed forward to check my condition.

She glanced at my dad with displeasure.

"Honey, you've beaten her to death! What about Claire!"

My dad took the opportunity to kick me several times.

He pulled out a handkerchief to press on his bleeding wound and cursed:

"Don't worry, a disaster like her won't die."

I bloodthirstily curved my lips.

With blood all over my face, I stared straight at him, grinding my teeth like a wolf in challenge.

So yeah, don't let me catch an opportunity.

Otherwise, you won't even know how you died.

This action clearly infuriated my dad.

"Looks like you still haven't learned."

He sneered, picked up the rope from the ground, and looped it around my neck.

He knocked out my entire right molar.

Just as he was about to knock out the second one, the door was pushed open.

A delicate figure emerged from behind Uncle Sam.

Seeing who it was, my dad hurriedly released me.

He blocked me behind him, afraid the blood would dirty Claire's eyes.

My mom was both surprised and delighted, stepping forward to pull her outside.

"Claire, how did you get here?"

"Come out with Mom. It's too dirty here, bad for your condition."

Claire had a smile on her pale face.

She shook her head and released my mom's hand.

She walked up to me, tears rolling down in large drops.

"Vivian, it must hurt a lot."

"If you just behave, you won't have to suffer. Mom and Dad really do like you."

"Once I get better, we can study together, go to school together..."

My gaze grew cold.

Looking at her face barely concealing a smile, I spat a mouthful of bloody saliva on Claire's face.

Hmph, in your dreams.

Going through all this trouble to send me here and torture me in every wayit was nothing more than to make me voluntarily become Claire's mobile organ bank.

Everyone knew she had a rare disease and needed organ replacements periodically as they failed.

She wiped her face while screaming and falling to the ground.

My dad kicked me over with one foot.

My mom picked up scissors, about to cut off my mouth.

Seeing this, Claire quickly grabbed them both.

A flash of viciousness crossed her angelic face.

"Mom, Dad, don't blame Vivian. I can understand if she's unwilling."

"Maybe if we change methods, Vivian will agree."

Hearing this, joy spread across my mom's face.

She quickly grabbed her.

"Claire, really?"

Claire nodded, her gaze falling on my lower abdomen.

A meaningful smile appeared.

"The attending physician said that as long as it's direct bloodline, it can save me."

I froze in place.

The next second, my dad called over Uncle Sam.

Pointing at me on the ground, he said coldly:

"Call all the men in your village, regardless of age. As long as she gets pregnant within a year, that money still counts."

Uncle Sam looked at me gasping on the ground.

He looked away and nodded.

Soon, I was married off by lottery to the village watchman.

A lame man with Down syndrome.

The night before I was sent to the old house, Uncle Sam came in.

Looking at me tied up like a dumpling, he silently rolled up my sleeve.

Seeing the scalded wound where the birthmark had been, he shook his head:

"I was so confused. How could it possibly be Vivian?"

I watched his retreating figure in despair.

Claire walked in, arms crossed, looking at me with a cold laugh.

"You didn't really think you could escape, did you?"

"Still wanting to use the birthmark to get someone to pass on a message."

"Don't worry. For the rest of your life, even in death, you can only die here."

Early the next morning, I was carried to the groom's home with my face veiled.

Claire suggested removing my veil and having me kiss the groom publicly.

The moment it was removed, the foolish groom before me paused, clapping his thick, stubby hands.

Drooling, he looked at me and laughed happily:

"Vivian, the bride is Vivian."