On the west side of the village stood a high hill, from which one could see most of the village. On top of the hill stood a tigerish boy of about five or six years old, gazing at the village with emotion.,“Mother, oh, it hurts, it hurts! I'm not a child of two or three anymore,” Zhu Ping’an cried for mercy, his chubby little hand clutching Chen’s arm, tiptoeing to lessen the pain.,"Old Third, don't plead for him! That scoundrel is just a troublemaker who can't stay out of mischief for three days." Mrs. Chen said, grabbing Little Zhu Ping'an by the ear and dragging him into the kitchen.。