Transmigrated as the Villain Boss's Precious Darling Chapter 15: The Frail Mother

The Thorne family were hardly good people, especially Phoebe Huxley. Barbaric and domineering, she never gave Rosalind a pleasant look and would even make veiled insults, calling her a flirtatious vixen.

Heaven knows, her heart belonged only to her husband; she wouldn’t deign to look at any other man. She wished those scoundrels would just get lost and leave her and her son to live in peace.

But in reality, even in broad daylight, n with ill intentions loitered by her door. The way they looked at her sent a chill down her spine, and she didn’t dare close her eyes at night. If it weren’t for her son protecting her, her virtue would have long been...

Rosalind Green’s eyes reddened again as she looked guiltily at her son. She couldn’t help him; worse, she was a burden.

If it weren’t for her, Adrian Hawthorne wouldn’t be trapped in these mountains. She knew her son desperately wanted to go to the city, but he’d never been able to.

"It’s fine. Go ahead and stew it. I’m going over to Grandpa Tate’s."

Adrian Hawthorne’s expression was impassive as he headed next door. The cold wind outside dissipated his irritation, making him feel slightly better.

’He really... hated seeing that guilt-ridden look on his mother’s face. His father would have found her pitifully endearing and felt a surge of protectiveness, but he was her son.’

Only he knew how much he had suffered over the past four years to protect his mother.

Because of his mother’s beauty, every woman in the village saw her as an enemy, and by extension, they treated him poorly too. At best, they would verbally abuse him; at worst, they would get physical. He could only endure it, unable to talk back, let alone fight back.

Otherwise, he and his mother would lose even this last place they had to call ho.

He knew he couldn’t bla his mother, but he was resentful all the sa.

’He didn’t expect his mother to be like a mother hen, daring to fight off a hawk for her chick—that was too much to ask of her. He just wished she wouldn’t always be crying. In these chaotic tis, tears were the most worthless things in the world.’

Adrian Hawthorne gave a silent, bitter smile and looked up at the sky. It was a brilliant blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds, but his heart was shrouded in gloom.

’How much longer until this is all over?’

The piece of candy, licked until it was paper-thin, suddenly slid down his throat. The rich, fragrant sweetness made Adrian pause, and the tension in his face gradually eased.

’Four years ago, he was only eight, and he’d managed to get through it. Now he was twelve. What was there to fear?’

’Turbulent tis give rise to great n, and he, Adrian Hawthorne, would undoubtedly make a na for himself. He couldn’t possibly stay trapped in this mountain gully for the rest of his life!’

The rich aroma of at wafted out. Rosalind Green was stewing the at, having generously cut half of it. The other half she hung from a roof beam to be eaten in a few days.

With candy in her mouth and at stewing in the pot, the sorrow on Rosalind Green’s face eased. She felt a little more confident about the future. ’Maybe the Thorne family is starting to keep their promise after all?’

’Five hundred yuan is no small sum!’

’The Thorne family is trustworthy after all. My husband didn’t entrust to the wrong people. I won’t complain about them anymore.’

The simple-hearted Rosalind Green felt a pang of self-reproach, thinking she had been uncharitable. Perhaps the Thorne family hadn’t helped before because they had their own difficulties. After all, they’d sent at now, and candy too!

The Hawthorne family’s lunch was more lavish than ever before: a large basin full of potato and at stew, plus another of stead sweet potatoes. They didn’t have much rice, so when farm work was slow, the Hawthornes usually ate sweet potatoes and radishes.

Sotis, even the sweet potatoes and radishes weren’t enough, and they had to go into the mountains to dig up bitter bracken roots to boil and eat. During the famines of the past, that bitter root had saved many lives, but few people ate it anymore.

Policies had relaxed, and every household had cleared so wasteland to plant corn and sweet potatoes. Combined with the grain distributed by the commune, they could basically keep their bellies full. They could even afford to eat at occasionally. Life was much better than it had been a few years ago. Who would still eat those dreadfully bitter bracken roots!

[Translator’s Note: The food ntioned, a type of bitter bracken root, is a local term. These roots are rich in starch and were historically eaten by farrs during famines. Modern bracken root powder is highly processed and much less bitter.]