My brother has been missing since 1990. At the time, he was only 20 years old.

He said he went to the city to pursue a career, and then went silent.

My whole family did their best to search, post newspapers, send photos, and ask questions everywhere, but there was absolutely no clue.

My parents lit incense and called their son’s name every day, hoping he would one day return.

Time seeps in… More than 30 years have passed.

My father’s hair was gray, my mother’s back was handcuffed, and the entire family considered him disappearing.

However, one afternoon, the entire village was stunned when they saw a billion-dollar car stopped in front of the house.

The door opened, and a middle-aged man got out.

It’s my brother! My mother was crying when she saw him, and my father was trembling against the wall.

In his hand were three certificates of land use rights.

All the relatives rushed out, all thinking, “He’s succeeded! Now he’s returned to pay homage to his parents!”

The atmosphere was filled with excitement.

However, when he placed the three certificates of land use rights on the table, he said coldly:

“This isn’t a gift of filial piety. These are three pieces of land that… My parents sold cheaply to people in the past so they could find me. I paid the ransom money. But I didn’t bring it back to offer it, but to… claim your share.”

The whole house was stunned. My mother was stunned, tears in her eyes. Dad sat back in his chair, his hands trembling.

He continued, his voice choked but firm:

“For 30 years, I haven’t been missing. I left because of the imposition and injustice in this family. I’m coming back today, not to be a filial child, but to reclaim what should have belonged to me.”

The air is stifling, as the joy of reunion momentarily turns to tragedy.

The tears of happiness that had just fallen turned to grief…

When the family understood: The child thought to be missing has now returned, but he is no longer a support, but a kn:i:fe cut straight into the heart of the person left behind.