Chapter 5 The scumbag dad with stick education (5)

It was quiet outside the house, and Zhang Zihao knew that at this time, his father must have finished making breakfast and went to the orchard early.

And today is Monday, and he wants to study.

Slowly retracting the palm of his left hand, Zhang Zihao finally stood up.

Zhang Zihao is over eight years old, but his father Zhang Yuanxiao has taught him to be independent since he was a child. He learned to eat by himself when he was two years old, bathe and dress himself when he was three years old. Now he is even more orderly in taking care of himself.

After changing clothes and washing up, Zhang Zihao came to the living room.

The living room is simply furnished, with an altar table and black-and-white portraits of grandparents hanging on the wall. In the portraits, the two old people smile kindly.

Zhang Zihao has never met his grandfather, but his grandma loves him very much and often hugs him and kisses him. However, his grandma also passed away more than two years ago.

There is also a wooden coffee table in the living room, with a kettle, cups and other items placed on it.

A small square table was stacked up, which was specially used for his homework.

There is also a small square table, which is the dining table for the father and son.

The home was very simple, but very clean. Zhang Zihao knew that his father must have cleaned it when he got up in the morning.

Zhang Zihao once tried to pick up a broom to sweep the floor, but his father took the broom away and gave him a spanking.

When Zhang Zihao came to the Xiao Sifang dining table, the first thing he saw was a small pot of white porridge with a fried egg, which his father must give him every morning. There was also a dish of minced pork and eggplant. There was very little eggplant but a lot of meat.

This dish looks untouched.

Zhang Zihao knew that his father must have never touched it, and it was specially prepared for him to eat.

As for what dad eats.

Zhang Zihao's eyes fell on the jars on the small dining table. There were jars containing pickled radish, spicy cabbage, pickled beans...

These pickled vegetables are the dishes that dad prepares for him every meal.

Zhang Zihao once wondered if his father always ate those pickles because they were delicious. He once expressed his desire to eat them, but his father refused. Later, when he went to eat them secretly, his father discovered them and received a slap from his father.

Zhang Zihao was ignorant at that time, but he felt that the pickles were not delicious.

Zhang Zihao picked up the bowl, made porridge for himself, added vegetables and eggs, and sat down at the small dining table with his small body, sipping the porridge in his mouth.

It's just that the injury to his left hand is a bit inconvenient. Sometimes when he makes a big move, he will gasp in pain.

Soon, after eating, Zhang Zihao put on his schoolbag, closed the door, and headed to school, Qingshui Elementary School...

-

"I asked you to hit people. Do you not want to study or become a gangster?"

"Instead of waiting for you to become a gangster and go out of society to be taught a lesson, why don't I beat you to death now, you bastard?"

In the small room, the man picked up a stick casually, his face was ferocious and full of anger.

The boy of seventeen or eighteen years old knelt on the ground, his head hung down, silent and did not speak, but his fists were tightly clenched.

The wooden stick as thick as an adult's arm fell on the boy's back, and the strength in his hand became stronger and stronger.

He didn't know how long he had been beating, but suddenly, the young man raised his head suddenly. He exhausted all his strength and turned slightly sideways.

The wooden stick that was originally going to fall on the young man's shoulder fell towards the young man's head.

Then there was blood.

The young man slowly fell down, his fair face with a dazzling bright red. He slowly fell down, with a relieved and relaxed smile on his usually indifferent and distant face.
Chapter completed!