Top 10 Essays where the character Chị Dậu retells the excerpt 'Tức nước vỡ bờ' in the most compelling way

I had to make the heartbreaking decision to sell my firstborn daughter and our dogs just to pay the taxes for my husband, only to discover I was also forced to pay a tax for my late brother-in-law, Uncle Hợi, who had passed away the previous year. My husband had been tied up, beaten to the brink of death multiple times, and when they finally returned him to me, he was in a 'near-death' state.

The following morning, barely awake, trembling as he tried to take a sip, the bailiffs and the village headman’s men barged in, planning to drag my husband away. My husband was so frightened that he 'collapsed and could barely speak.'

At first, when I saw the thugs storming in to take my husband, threatening his life, they didn’t immediately resort to violence—they only yelled and mocked us. I still pleaded with the cruel bailiff: 'Please, sir, he just woke up! Please let him be!' But when they rushed toward my husband to tie him up again, I was already pale with fear, but I still tried to hold onto the bailiff's arm, begging, 'Please, sir.'

When the bailiff punched me in the chest and advanced to bind my husband, I couldn’t take it anymore—the floodgates of my anger opened. I grabbed his throat and shoved him out the door. The weak, trembling bailiff couldn’t keep up with the force of a strong woman like me, and he fell flat on the ground... Meanwhile, the village headman also met his end when I grabbed his hair and threw him forcefully to the ground.

I was heartbroken to sell my firstborn daughter and our dogs, yet still could not raise enough to pay the taxes for my husband. My husband, unable to pay the tax, had been imprisoned and brutally beaten until yesterday when they carried him home. He looked like a lifeless corpse. Thankfully, some relatives came to his aid, and neighbors shared rice and cooked porridge to help him regain his strength.

After the porridge was ready, I brought it to him. He had just sat up, still holding the bowl, but before he could eat, the bailiffs and the village headman’s men stormed in, carrying whips, rods, and ropes. The bailiff slammed his rod on the ground and demanded that my husband pay the tax. Terrified of being beaten, my husband quickly set the bowl down and collapsed without saying a word. The village headman’s man mocked him cruelly.

Faced with such dire circumstances, I could only bow my head and beg the headman’s men to let us delay the payment. The bailiff cursed us terribly. If my husband, already sick, didn’t beg, I feared he wouldn’t survive.

Suddenly, the bailiff yanked the rope from the headman’s man and rushed to bind my husband. I quickly placed my child on the ground and ran to plead for mercy. 'Please spare him! Please!' I begged, but he slapped me in the chest and continued to move toward my husband. I shouted, 'He’s sick! You cannot torture him!'

He slapped me again. This time, I could no longer beg. A surge of strength coursed through me, and I gritted my teeth, saying, 'You tie him up, and I’ll show you!'

I grabbed his throat and shoved him out the door. He fell, still yelling to bind us. The headman’s man charged at me with a club. I understood his intentions, grabbed the club, pulled his hair, and threw him to the ground.

I still don’t understand where I found the strength to defeat those two thugs. Perhaps it was the instinct of a wife, seeing her husband so oppressed, that awakened in me.

My family was destitute, struggling just to get enough food and clothes, and we couldn’t even afford the tax... I had to run around in every direction to raise the money for my husband's tax. When the deadline came and I still didn’t have enough, the bailiff and the village headman’s men came to collect the debt and barged into our house, dragging my husband out to the village hall. He was later returned to me in a condition that looked like he was already dead.

Out of pity, an elderly neighbor gave me some rice to cook porridge for my husband. I hurried to prepare the porridge, hoping it would help him regain his strength, as he was utterly exhausted. I thought that after eating it, he would feel better.

When my husband lifted the bowl to eat, but before he could take a bite, the sound of the door being slammed open announced the arrival of the bailiff and the headman’s men. My husband, startled, quickly set the bowl down and collapsed on the mat. I was terrified and begged them:

'We’re already poor and had to pay the tax for my brother-in-law as well, that’s why we’re in this situation. I wouldn’t dare neglect paying the government tax! Please, have mercy and allow me to pay later.'

The bailiff glared at me, shouting angrily in my face. I continued to plead, hoping to just get through this day, hoping they would let us be for a little while longer. But the bailiff paid no attention. He snatched the rope and stormed over to where my husband lay, intending to tie him up. In my panic, I ran to beg for mercy. He responded by slapping me hard in the chest. I couldn’t bear to watch him harm my husband any longer and shouted back:

'My husband is sick! You have no right to torture him!'

He slapped me again, and this time I was no longer begging. Rage built up inside me as I gritted my teeth and yelled: 'Tie him up if you dare, but you’ll see what happens next!'

Ignoring my words, he moved closer to my husband. I grabbed his throat and shoved him out the door, delivering a few blows to his stomach. Then I grabbed a stick, and we struggled back and forth, until I grabbed his hair and threw him down on the ground. It felt like the strength of a woman in furious defense was enough to overpower him. Even after that, I couldn’t let go of my anger and continued to beat the bailiff until he was battered.

My husband, frightened, begged me to stop, fearing I’d be arrested. But I was resolute—I’d rather go to prison than let them continue to torment us like this.

There are some memories, some stories, that although time has passed, we can never forget. The story of my family’s suffering under the oppressive taxes is a painful memory I will always carry with me.

When the tax season arrived, it felt darker than the end of the world, at least for my family. The deafening sounds of drums, gongs, and horns filled the air, alongside shouting, beatings, and cries that echoed as though a manhunt was underway. My family was no better off than others. In recent days, my husband and I had been desperately running around, trying to gather enough money to pay his tax. But where could we find it when every family was burdened by such exorbitant and unreasonable taxes? That day, my husband was seized by the headman’s henchmen. My heart was in agony, filled with fear not only for the tax but also for the brutal treatment I knew he would face. As his wife, how could I not feel sorrow and pain? I tried everything to save him, but I was powerless. In the end, I had no choice but to sell our son, Tí. He was just seven years old, our firstborn, so obedient and wise beyond his years. I thought about it for a long time, and no mother can ever bear the thought of selling her own child, the one she carried in her womb and nurtured for so many years. But if I didn’t, my husband would be beaten to death. I couldn’t think any longer. After giving Tí a last word of advice, I took him to Nghị Quế’s house to exchange him for a few silver coins to pay my husband’s tax. I hoped everything would calm down, but no! They were so cruel, demanding that we also pay the tax for my husband’s late brother. How unreasonable could it be? In the middle of the village, I collapsed and cried out in despair: I cried for my husband’s brutal beating, I cried for my little son being torn away from me to work for others, and I cried for the injustices my family was suffering.

That night, they returned my husband. I called to him, shook him, but he wouldn’t wake. I panicked, not knowing what to do. At that moment, a dark thought crossed my mind—was he gone? Tears streamed down my face. But the villagers, hearing my cries, came to help, and with their aid, my husband finally regained consciousness. I felt immense relief, as though I had forgotten the harsh world outside and the gnawing hunger in my stomach. An elderly neighbor, feeling sympathy for us, brought me some rice to cook porridge for my husband.

The porridge was ready, and I served it out in bowls, blowing on them to cool them down. As I finished, the drums and horns sounded once again, loud and jarring. The elderly woman hurried over to warn me to hide my husband before the bailiff arrived. I took the porridge to my husband, urging him to eat a little to regain his strength, when the bailiffs stormed in, carrying ropes, whips, and sticks. They threw their tools on the floor and yelled at him:

'You! We thought you were dead last night, but you’re still alive? Pay your taxes! Hurry up!'

Fearful, my husband dropped the bowl and collapsed back onto the bed, unable to speak. They didn’t relent, mocking him, then turning to shout at me. I pleaded, begging them to allow us to defer the tax payment for my late brother-in-law. The more I begged, the more they pushed forward. Their taunts, their threats to tear down our house, and their orders to tie my poor husband up and beat him were unbearable. I begged until my voice was hoarse, but the only response I received was slaps and blows. At that point, I could take no more, gritting my teeth and snapping:

'Tie my husband up, and you’ll see what happens next!'

Without another word, I lunged at one of them, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him out the door. The headman’s men moved toward me, ready to strike with their clubs, but I quickly stopped them. After a brief struggle, we all fell to the ground. Their strength was no match for a woman driven by rage and desperation. In no time, I had them by the throat, throwing them onto the ground. My children, witnessing the commotion, could only cry out. My poor husband, too weak to rise, could only beg me to stop beating them in a faint whisper. But I was beyond listening to him. My anger had reached its breaking point, and I ignored his pleas, hissing between clenched teeth:

'I’d rather go to prison. I won’t stand for them tormenting us any longer.'

My memories were abruptly interrupted by the cry of my newborn child. I returned to the reality of my life, but the intense feelings of standing up to the bailiff and the headman’s men remained as vivid as if they had happened just yesterday. Even a worm can only be squashed so much—when a person’s patience reaches its limit, the dam breaks, and the floodgates of anger burst forth. I’ve never regretted what I did that day, and I will continue to teach my children to stand up for what’s right.

I am Le Thi Dao, and after marrying, I was called Dau, following my husband's name. My family was middle-class, and after marriage, we managed to make ends meet. Unfortunately, times are hard now: the price of rice is high, and food is scarce, while the family is growing with the passing of my mother-in-law and brother-in-law, which cost nearly 14 dong for the two coffins. My husband has been sick for a long time. Now, my household is among the poorest in Dong Xa village.

To make matters worse, it's tax season, and outside the communal house, the loud drums and gongs are constantly reminding us to pay our taxes. We are struggling, my husband is constantly ill, and our children are young. The burden of the household falls entirely on me. How can we pay the tax when we can barely survive? In desperation, I decided to sell my child, Tieu. It's heartbreaking, but our home is too poor, the food barely enough. At Nghi Que's house, at least we can eat and have clothes. Though it pains me, for my husband's sake and the future of my children, I had to sell my own flesh and blood. Life is cruel, I even had to sell a few puppies that had just opened their eyes, and some sweet potatoes I thought would cover the tax. Yet, when I reached the communal house, I found there was another hidden tax for my deceased brother-in-law from last October. It's outrageous! They are robbing poor people like us. They won't even spare the dead.

My husband is still being beaten and tied outside the communal house because I haven't raised the money for the tax. The bullies act as if physical punishment will make people suddenly cough up money. My husband has been sick for two days, hasn't eaten, and then he was savagely beaten, causing him to lose all his strength and faint. That night, as I was comforting Tieu, I was shocked to see my husband being dragged home like a lifeless body. They threw him onto the floor, said a few words, and left. I was devastated, calling his name, screaming for his spirit. The children were terrified and cried uncontrollably. By the grace of the villagers, my husband slowly came to in the morning. A kind elderly neighbor brought rice, and I cooked porridge for him. But, just as my husband was about to eat, I heard the tax collectors and the local official's relatives storming into our house with sticks and ropes, looking menacing. The tax collector acted arrogantly, slamming his stick down to assert dominance, yelling:

- Hey! You thought you were dead yesterday, but you're still alive? Pay the tax now! Quickly!

My husband, terrified, hastily put the porridge aside and collapsed back onto the cot, still haunted by the brutal beatings. The local official's relative sneered and told the tax collector:

- He's probably going to get another beating like last night.

I was extremely worried. We didn't have enough money for the tax, and we couldn't even afford rice. My husband was sick, and I feared they would drag him out and beat him again. What if he died for real this time? I broke into a cold sweat just thinking about it. No! I couldn't let them take my husband again...

Suddenly, the tax collector pointed at me:

- You asked for an extension until tomorrow, right? Go talk to the chief and tell him to intervene. But my boss won’t let you delay even an hour.

I stammered, trying to convince them:

- We are in hardship, and I had to pay extra for my husband's tax. That’s why we’re in this mess. Please, let me speak to the chief...

Before I could finish, the tax collector glared at me and shouted angrily:

- Are you trying to talk to your father? This is the state tax, and you're asking for an extension!

- Damn it! We don’t have it. Even if you curse me, it won’t change the fact. Look at our situation!

The tax collector growled:

- If you don’t pay the tax now, I’ll tear down your house, not just yell at you!

He turned around, barking orders to the official’s relative:

- Stop talking to her, tie her husband up, and drag him to the communal house!

The official's relative hesitated, unsure if he should beat a sick man. Perhaps he still had a shred of humanity left. Frustrated, the tax collector grabbed the rope from his hands and stormed towards my husband to tie him up.

I panicked, placed Tieu down, and rushed to my husband's side. As I ran, I saw Dan, still terrified in the corner, who quickly took Tieu and ran back to the safe spot. My heart ached seeing him act so bravely.

I managed to grab the tax collector's arm. I looked up and pleaded desperately:

- Please, my husband just recovered a little, spare him!

- Spare him? Spare him?

He slapped me in the chest a few times, then glared and continued to tie my husband. The pain was unbearable. I could hardly breathe.

The pain pushed me to my limit. I don't know where I found the courage, but I stood up to them:

- You can't torture my sick husband!

Without warning, a sharp slap across my face stunned me. The tax collector brushed it off and went on with his business. The pain from the slap was nothing compared to my anger. I had to protect my family, protect my husband, no matter what.

Through gritted teeth, I snarled:

- Tie him up then, I’ll show you!

With surprising speed, I grabbed the tax collector’s throat and shoved him out the door. He looked stunned that a woman like me would stand up to him. How could his weak, drugged body compare to mine? He fell hard to the ground, still mumbling about the tax money. Just as I was about to approach him, the official's relative came rushing at me with a stick, his eyes bulging with rage. Immediately, I grabbed the stick and tried to wrestle it from him. Before I knew it, I was holding his hair and pulling him out of the house. The two men stumbled, utterly defeated. I felt a great sense of satisfaction. I never expected I could overpower such brutal men, who moments ago seemed unstoppable.

As they got up, I saw no sign of their allies. They had probably disappeared after witnessing me defeat these bullies. The tax collector and his companion left, but not without throwing hateful glares and shouting threats:

- You bastard! Just wait and see!

I thought to myself, “They are nothing but cowards, preying on the weak.”

My husband, too tired to intervene, sat muttering: “Don’t do that, let them beat us. If we beat them back, we’ll go to jail.”

But my rage hadn't subsided:

- I’d rather go to jail. I can’t let them keep doing this to us. We can’t just sit back and let them decide whether we live or die.

The elderly neighbor returned, taking Tieu in her arms. She looked at me with concern and said:

- Why did you do that? Hitting them only satisfies your anger, but the consequences could be worse!

Looking at her, I answered:

- I know, but we’re poor, oppressed people. Opposing them is already too much. And as a woman, it’s not something to be proud of. But if I let them torture us, if my husband or children die, that’s a much worse pain.

The old woman didn’t say anything else. I went inside, urging my husband to eat a bit of porridge and comforting my crying children. I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but at least for now, I could keep my husband from being taken and beaten. I just wanted peace, even if only for a day.

Outside, the drums and horns were still sounding, relentlessly urging us to pay the tax. Each beat, each call echoed in my ears, haunting me...

Today is the 2nd of September. Time flies so quickly, and it has been several decades since then. On this peaceful, cool autumn day, with the streets adorned with flags and flowers, and the country at peace, my heart is filled with nostalgia for the past, those years when 'the whole nation was starving amidst the straw and dust,' before the Revolution came...

My family was one of the poorest in the village, struggling to even get enough rice to eat, and clothes were scarce. Our situation was made even worse by the heavy funeral customs, with two successive funerals in our family—my mother-in-law and my brother-in-law, Uncle Hợi. The oppressive taxes imposed by the colonial feudal system had driven my family to the brink of ruin. To pay for my husband's taxes, I had to sell our eldest daughter, Tý, just seven years old, to a wealthy family in the neighboring village. I hoped she might get at least a decent meal there, for she would have starved living with us. I even sold a litter of puppies and a load of sweet potatoes just to pay the taxes. Yet, my husband, Nguyễn Văn Dậu, was still not freed because we still owed the tax for Uncle Hợi who passed away last year. The officials came again, binding my husband and dragging him to the town hall, shackled and beaten.

After being tied up at the town hall for a whole day, my husband was sent back to me, weak and lifeless, like a corpse. I was terrified and heartbroken when he didn’t respond to my calls. Fortunately, some neighbors came to help, and slowly, he opened his eyes. Tears streamed down my face, I couldn’t understand why people could be so cruel to one another.

Our kind neighbor brought me some rice to make porridge for my husband. After receiving the food, I hurried to cook and served him, as he had been exhausted from the beatings and hadn’t eaten for days. How could he survive the ordeal?

But life, as always, was full of irony. Just as my husband was about to take a sip of the porridge, there was a loud knock on the door, and in stormed the town officials and their henchmen, with whips, rods, and ropes, their faces full of malice. My husband, terrified by their violent presence, dropped the bowl of porridge and collapsed onto the mat, unable to speak.

The chief officer of the officials slammed his whip onto the ground and arrogantly demanded,

- Hey, you, Dậu’s wife, have you paid the taxes or not?

I tried to stay calm, carefully placing Tý on a torn mat, clasping my hands and begging the officials to allow me to delay the payment:

- My family is struggling, and we still owe for my husband’s uncle’s tax. Please, I am not neglecting the state’s tax! Kindly speak to the headman and allow us some more time...

Before I could finish my plea, the chief officer glared at me with contempt, his eyes full of rage, and yelled at me as though to release his anger. For my husband’s sake, I desperately begged, hoping for just a little more time. But the officer ignored my pleas and coldly ordered his subordinate,

- Stop talking to her. Tie up her husband and take him to the town hall!

His subordinate hesitated, looking uncertain, perhaps fearing to further abuse an already sick man, but suddenly, with a swift motion, the chief officer grabbed the rope from the subordinate’s hand and marched straight to my husband to bind him. My heart sank in fear, and I rushed to stop him, pleading,

- Please, just a little more time! He’s just recovered, please spare him!

Suddenly, the officer struck me in the chest, hitting me several times, and yelled,

- Spare you? Spare you?

As though not satisfied with tormenting me, he lunged at my husband again. For me, my family was everything. I could endure the pain and humiliation, but I could not watch my husband and children suffer this way. Filled with rage, I finally fought back:

- You can’t treat my husband like this! He’s ill!

He didn’t stop, and slapped me hard across the face. As I staggered from the blow, my fury reached its peak. I had endured enough; pleading and reasoning had failed, and I couldn’t wait any longer. I gritted my teeth and shouted,

- Tie him up, if you dare! You’ll regret it!

The officer approached my husband with fury in his eyes. Without thinking, I grabbed his neck and shoved him out the door, striking him in the stomach several times. I seized his stick, and we struggled fiercely. In the end, I pulled his hair and threw him to the ground. Despite his strength, my resolve, fueled by rage and frustration, proved stronger. I was a simple woman, but I would fight to protect my family.

As I stood over him, my anger still boiling, the officers, sensing they had lost control, scrambled to their feet and gathered their weapons, retreating in haste. As they fled, they threw a final threat:

- You’ll regret this!

I wasn’t afraid. I returned inside, comforted my children, fed my husband, and braced myself for whatever would come next.

Outside the house, the entire neighborhood was shaken by the sound of drums and gongs urging people to pay their taxes. The air was thick with tension, and my home was no exception. My real name is Le Thi Dao, but after marrying, I adopted my husband's name, Dau, and everyone in the village calls me Sister Dau. Before marriage, my family had some wealth, but after marrying, life became filled with hardships. The price of rice and taxes kept rising, and after burying my mother-in-law and brother-in-law, our financial situation worsened as my husband fell ill again and again.

During tax season, my family was in a dire situation. We had no money, yet five mouths to feed and my husband’s medical bills to cover. I couldn't make ends meet. There was no rice to eat, let alone money to pay the tax. I was consumed with worry.

Then, I made a painful decision, even though it broke my heart. I sold my daughter, the little Ty. What kind of mother could do this? No mother could bear to part with her child, but in such dire straits, I saw no other option. I couldn’t care for her, but I hoped she’d have a better life with a richer family. The family of Mr. Quế was wealthy and could provide for her better than I could. So, the next day, I took little Ty to their home.

But that wasn’t all. I had to sell the puppies and a basket of sweet potatoes, the only means of livelihood we had. Even then, it was barely enough to pay the tax debt for my husband. They still demanded payment for the tax my brother-in-law had owed, even though he had passed away last October. How cruel they were, feeding on the misery of the poor, plundering with no remorse. But this was not the time for anger; I had to get my husband back and take care of him.

Because I couldn’t pay all the taxes, my husband was captured, bound, and tortured for two days without food or water. His health was already fragile, and now they had him in chains. My heart burned with fear, knowing something terrible could happen. As I was soothing little Ty, I saw my husband being dragged home. I was horrified; he was tortured so badly he was unconscious, carried home like a lifeless corpse.

Before I could help him, they threw him on the ground, threatening me before leaving. How could I bear to see the one I loved in such a state, half dead before my eyes? If we didn’t pay the taxes, they would come back, and he wouldn’t survive it. I cried out, my heart sinking like I was falling into an abyss, while my children clung to me, sobbing.

After calming myself, I helped him to the bed and took care of him. Luckily, some kind-hearted neighbors helped, and he survived the worst. I stayed up all night, never resting. The next morning, an old woman came by with some rice and asked me to cook porridge for him. I was so grateful, but words couldn’t express my thanks. As I finished cooking, I helped him sit up, but just as he was about to take a bite, “Bang!”—the tax collector and his thugs barged in.

They swaggered in, each armed with a whip or a stick, their faces filled with malice. One of them slammed his whip on the ground to intimidate us, and my husband, frightened, dropped the porridge and collapsed back onto the bed. One of them shouted:

- Hey, you! Thought you’d die last night, but you’re still alive! Pay your taxes! Now!

One of the thugs pointed at my husband and told the tax collector,

- He’s about to face what he did last night again!

I heard every word they said, and I was terrified. I feared they would drag my husband away and torture him again. He had just come back from the brink of death, and if they took him again, it would surely kill him. The more I thought about it, the more frantic I became. Then the tax collector pointed at me and said:

- You’re delaying your payment until tomorrow, right? Go tell the chief to get the authorities involved! My boss, the village head, doesn’t have the power to delay your payment any longer!

After hearing this, my hatred for them grew, but for my husband and children, I had to suppress my anger and beg. Before I could finish my sentence, he barked orders at me. Unable to get what he wanted, he turned to his thugs and ordered them to take my husband away, ignoring my desperate pleas. This was too much! I had no money to pay, and my husband was as good as dead. Panicked, I rushed over and pleaded:

- Please, sir, he just woke up, let him rest!

- Rest? Rest?

He slapped my chest hard, then glared at my husband.

I fell to the ground, my chest burning with pain, knowing that these heartless men didn’t even spare a woman. My frustration boiled over. I stood up and shouted:

- My husband is sick! You cannot treat him like this!

Before I could finish, he slapped me so hard it felt like the world was collapsing. My face burned with the sting. That slap was the final straw; I had endured enough. Without thinking, I stood tall and shouted at them:

- You tie him up, and I’ll show you!

With that, I grabbed the tax collector by the neck, and before he could react, I threw him to the ground. He cried out, demanding payment. When his associate saw what happened, he rushed at me with a stick, his eyes bulging with rage. As he raised the stick, I spun around and snatched it from his hand. We struggled briefly, the stick flew away, and in a fit of fury, I yanked his hair and threw him out of the house.

Watching them flee in disgrace, I felt a sense of satisfaction, though I was surprised at how quickly I had overpowered them. While we fought, their comrades vanished, and soon they were all running away. As they left, they shouted:

- You’ll regret this, you bitch!

Despite my momentary satisfaction, I saw how cowardly they were. My husband, who had been silent until then, tried to stop me, but since he had just recovered, all he could say was:

- No, don’t do it! If they hit us, we say nothing, but if we hit them, we’ll go to jail!

Everyone around me seemed to watch in stunned silence, unsure whether to fear for me or be shocked by my defiance against the tyrants. An old neighbor quickly rushed over, scooped little Ty into her arms, and expressed her concern for what I had just done.

I understood her worry. I knew the consequences of opposing them, but if they hadn’t pushed my family to the edge, I would never have fought back. As a woman, I couldn’t just stand there and watch them take my husband away. I had to act, for I knew that if I kept enduring, the suffering would never end.

I went back into the house, helped my husband sit up to finish his porridge, cleaned up the mess from earlier, and reassured my children. From inside, I could still hear the drumbeats urging taxes. I didn’t know what the future held, but today, I had driven them away. My husband wasn’t taken, and for now, we had some peace.

My family is among the poorest in this village, barely scraping by. We don’t even have enough food to eat or clothes to wear, and now we're behind on our taxes... These past few days, I’ve been running around trying to raise money to pay the tax debt for my husband, Mr. Dậu. The deadline is here, but I still don’t have enough money, and now the tax collector and the village chief’s men have come to demand payment. They stormed into our house and dragged my sick husband out to the village hall...

"Oh my God!" I cried out in despair as I saw my husband being returned to me, lifeless, as though he were already dead. I called his name, but he didn’t respond. I was terrified, and my heart broke seeing him like that. Luckily, the neighbors came to help, and slowly, he opened his eyes. Tears streamed down my face. How could people be so cruel to each other?

A kind old lady from the neighborhood brought me some rice to cook porridge. Grateful for the small bit of help, I hurriedly cooked the porridge and brought it to my husband. He was so weak from the beatings and hadn’t had anything to eat in days. I thought, once he ate this porridge, he would be well again.

But life is truly cruel. Just as my husband was about to take a sip of the porridge, the door slammed open. The tax collector and the village chief’s men barged in, loud and menacing. My husband, startled, dropped the bowl and collapsed onto the bed, unable to say a word. My heart ached seeing him like that. I felt so guilty... Trying to hide my panic, I forced myself to remain calm and nervously begged for more time to pay.

- We are already struggling, and now we have to pay this tax debt for my husband too. That’s why everything’s in such a mess. I’m not trying to evade the tax, please, ask the chief to grant us an extension...

Before I could finish my plea, the tax collector glared at me with disgusting, menacing eyes and shouted in rage. I kept begging, my heart only wanting an extra day to survive, just one more day would bring me relief… But the tax collector ignored my desperate pleas and barked orders at the village chief’s man.

- Don’t waste time talking to her. Tie her husband up and drag him to the village hall!

The village chief’s man hesitated, looking unsure about dragging a sick man in his condition, fearing something might happen to him... Suddenly, the tax collector grabbed a rope and rushed to tie my husband up. I was terrified, pale with fear, and I rushed to stop him, pleading desperately.

- Please, I beg you, he’s just recovered, please spare him!

Without warning, the tax collector struck me in the chest, several painful blows, and shouted, "Spare you? Spare you?"

It seemed that his cruelty was insatiable. He advanced to tie my husband up. To me, my family was everything. I could endure the pain and humiliation, but I couldn’t stand seeing them hurt like this. Filled with rage, I could no longer hold back and fought back:

- My husband is ill! You have no right to abuse him!

He didn’t stop. With a slap that felt like a hammer, he hit me across the face and kept moving toward my husband. I had been pushed to my limits, I could no longer bear it. I had tried pleading, but that didn’t work. I couldn’t accept being helpless anymore. Clenching my teeth, I shouted:

- Tie my husband up, and let’s see what you get!

The tax collector continued toward my husband. In a flash, I grabbed his neck and shoved him out of the house, punching him a few times in the stomach. I grabbed his stick, and we struggled. Finally, I pulled his hair and threw him out the door. My strength, driven by years of hardship and the burning fury inside me, proved stronger than his brutal force.

Even after throwing him out, my anger didn’t subside. The thought of my husband being tortured again made my insides burn. I no longer cared about the consequences. I knew that confronting the tax collector and the village chief’s men was like defying “heaven,” and I might never live in peace again, but what could I do? I had endured for too long, and now I had reached my breaking point.

My husband, seeing all this, seemed worried. He looked like he was about to say something but was too weak and trembling. He barely managed to whisper:

- You shouldn’t have done that, they can hurt us, but if we fight back, we’ll go to prison...

But I was resolute, determined:

- I’d rather go to prison. I can’t stand seeing them torment us like this any longer.

Desperation led me to the heartbreaking decision to sell my firstborn daughter along with a litter of puppies, yet the money wasn’t enough to pay the taxes for my husband, or even for Uncle Hợi who had passed away last year. My husband was still imprisoned, enduring brutal beatings outside the village hall. It wasn’t until yesterday that they carried him home, looking like a lifeless corpse. Thankfully, the neighbors came to our aid, and he regained consciousness. With their help, I was able to cook some rice porridge to restore his strength.

My husband tried to sit up and hold the bowl of porridge, but before he could bring it to his mouth, the tax collector and the village chief’s men stormed in with whips, rods, and ropes. It was a nightmare! The tax collector slammed his whip on the ground, shouting at my husband to pay the taxes immediately. In panic, my husband dropped the bowl and collapsed back onto the bed, unable to speak. The village chief’s man mocked me with cruel and cutting words.

In that moment, all I could do was bow my head and beg them to ask the village chief for an extension. Despite their harsh insults, I continued pleading, unable to think of anything else. How could I not beg when my husband lay sick before me?

But then, in an instant, the tax collector snatched the rope from the village chief’s man and marched toward my husband to bind him. I turned pale, my heart racing, quickly putting the baby down and rushing to stop him, pleading for mercy. “Spare him! Spare him!” I cried, but he struck me in the chest several times before pushing forward to bind my husband. Furious and unable to bear it any longer, I fought back:

- My husband is ill! You have no right to treat him this way!

He slapped me across the face and moved toward my husband. At that moment, no more pleading would do. A surge of strength came over me, and I bared my teeth, standing firm against the face of authority:

- Tie him up if you dare! I’ll show you!

I grabbed his neck and shoved him toward the door. He stumbled to the ground, still shouting to tie us up. Seeing this, the village chief’s man raised his staff to strike me. I immediately grabbed it, pulled his hair, and threw him to the ground.

Even now, I still don’t understand where I found the strength to knock down both of these cruel men. My husband, terrified, tried to stop me, saying, “You shouldn’t have done that!” But I replied, “I’d rather go to prison. I can’t stand seeing them torture us any longer.”