Transmigrated as the Villain Boss's Mother

Linjiang Town, nestled beside the moat of the Qi Kingdom, was a thriving town. These days, the most talked-about topic among the townspeople was the death of the only son of the wealthy Song family. The Song family claimed the cause of death was sudden, but everyone knew that Song Hui, the only son of the wealthy Song family, was a dissolute man who frequented brothels. He eventually contracted syphilis and died from it.

The Song mansion was draped in white mourning clothes, and many prominent figures from Linjiang Town came to pay their respects. The maids and servants were all grieving, though it was unclear how many were truly sorrowful.

Song Lin's hair turned white overnight after Song Hui's death. Having had few children, Song Lin adopted a son years earlier, and through the adopted child's help, Song Hui was born. Naturally, Song Lin cherished Song Hui dearly and was reluctant to discipline him excessively.

"Master, it's getting late. You should go back and rest. Tomorrow, the young master will be buried. He's a filial son, and it pains him to see you taking such a risk to your health!" The steward bent down and advised Song Lin.

"No, I must see Lin'er off on his final journey. If he leaves, the Song family line will end! My son, how could you be so heartless as to abandon your father and mother! My son, my son, where can I find another son?" Song Lin, perhaps having suppressed his emotions for the past few days, could no longer hold back and burst into tears.

The butler sighed inwardly. He knew his young master's character all too well; to put it bluntly, he would die a horrible death from a woman's belly.

"Master..." The steward didn't know how to comfort him. Losing a son in old age is a great tragedy.

"My son, my son. How could you bear to leave your mother like this? Son..." Madam Song cried until she fainted. She had just recovered when her maid helped her to the mourning hall.

The old lady was filled with grief, wishing she could go with her son.

The next day, Song Hui was buried. The old lady collapsed, "What terrible thing have I done? Why is God punishing me like this? Punishing me, ah..." Madam Song beat her chest and stamped her feet.

Seeing Madam Song like this, a thought suddenly popped into Song Lin's head. Although he and his wife had amassed considerable wealth throughout their lives, it was all earned slowly and honestly after Hui'er was born. If there was anything immoral about it, it was that child!

He remembered it clearly: that night, snow was falling heavily, and the family was preparing to leave Xujia Village in a horse-drawn carriage to do business in the town. He took Hui'er with him when they left.

"Husband, is it alright if we keep that child?" Madam Song asked hesitantly.

"Hey, I don't know. Let's hurry up and move our things. We don't have the money to raise a child. We were doing just fine before we were born, weren't we?" Song Lin was busy loading large and small boxes onto the carriage. It wasn't that he didn't want to take the child with him; he had lost money in business and was struggling to support his own son. Let alone an adopted son who was almost grown up. Didn't they say that a half-grown boy would eat his father out of house and home?

The carriage clattered away, and the snow fell thicker and heavier!

"Wait, wait for me... Dad, Mom... wait for me!" A little boy called out from not far away as he ran.

"Husband, what should we do?" Madam Song asked Song Lin anxiously.

Song Lin didn't say anything, but he whipped the horse harder, and the horse, in pain, galloped away.

A hint of reluctance flashed in Madam Song's eyes. Although she hadn't treated her stepson well, she hadn't skimped on food or drink. After all, people are still people, and feelings develop over time.

The teenagers ran swiftly, oblivious to the snow whistling into their bellies, their vision blurred by the snow, their ears bright red. With each breath, they exhaled misty breaths.

After running for a long time, perhaps understanding his parents' intentions, or perhaps realizing he couldn't catch up, the little boy gave up, his face ashen. He slowly squatted down on the ground, his tears falling onto the snow, creating puddles.

That year, there was a heavy snowfall in winter. For the common people, it was a sign of a bountiful harvest; for him, it was a time of suffering.