Chapter Three: A Father's Plea
"Besides, Widow Zhou... she's skilled at communicating with spirits. Do you think she can help with our child's issue?" My mother was reluctant to voice the idea, fearing that it would shatter the last hope my father held onto.
"I know, but she's the only one in the area with such abilities. Who else could we turn to? Even Liu Wenbo's wife mentioned it to me—she suggested we ask her," my father said in a low voice. After thinking for a moment, his tone shifted, and he suddenly grew more hopeful. "Do you remember Wang Gou'er's child? Wang Gou'er, who I used to play with as a child? His son, Wang Zhu, was possessed by a spirit when he was two, and for days, he felt cold, acted like a fool, and drooled uncontrollably. Didn't Widow Zhou help him get better?"
"Then let's go see Widow Zhou. But you must be careful. Don't let anyone catch on to what we're doing, or our whole family will be ruined," my mother sighed helplessly. For my sake, both my parents had finally decided to take a great risk.
After my parents decided to ask the widow Zhou to see me, my father began visiting her house frequently. To avoid any gossip, he would always choose to go after 9 p.m.
In the countryside, there were no entertainment options, and the days grew dark early in winter. Widow Zhou lived at the west end of the village, while our house was at the east. The path between us meandered through narrow, uneven field roads. Due to his caution, my father didn't dare use a flashlight, and over time, he stumbled countless times. Yet, despite his efforts, he still couldn't bring himself to ask for her help.
Was his heart not sincere enough? Far from it! Every time he went, he brought gifts—at the time, rare powdered milk, hard candies, and even the treasured preserved meat that our family couldn't bear to eat. He even promised to give half of our family's grain.
But each time, Widow Zhou's response was nearly identical: "Ah… Old Chen… We're just villagers, you know… If I could help… I wouldn't dare accept all these things… In this world… You know better than I… If anything were to happen to me… It wouldn't just be my orphaned child who suffers… I'd bring trouble to my husband's family as well… Please, don't make it harder for me…"
Her answer, much like the unsettling sound of her hiccups, was painful to hear. But what could my father do? He had no choice but to go again and again.
As time passed, my father's visits became more frequent, and soon the Zhou family began to grow suspicious. They called her over for questioning and discovered the reason behind his visits. First, the old man Zhou spoke up: "Old Chen, this is dishonorable! Aren't you putting our family in danger? Forget whether my daughter-in-law can help your child—what if she can? Do we dare risk it? Your child is a life, but so are the lives of my family members! Go, go…"
But my father, undeterred, persisted in his visits. Then Zhou Er, without a word, picked up a hoe and threatened him. It seemed the situation had reached a deadlock.
Meanwhile, my health continued to decline. Especially when I cried, my broken, gasping sobs seemed to echo as a mournful hymn in our home, amplifying the cloud of despair hanging over us.
It was still winter. The fire in the stove blazed brightly, yet there was no warmth in our hearts. Even my two older sisters, deeply worried, would stare anxiously at my parents whenever I cried. They were frightened by the sound of my father's heavy sighs and the sorrow in my mother's eyes.
Another round of sniffles, and I began to cry again, this time with particular intensity. As usual, my mother cradled me, rocking me gently, but nothing seemed to help.
"Could it be that the child is hungry? Maybe you should feed him some milk? There's still some left from today, I'll heat it up." A child's cries were usually a sign of hunger—this was a simple truth known to all rural folk. Hearing my pitiful cries, which sounded like I was being choked, my father couldn't bear it. He rose from his seat, went to heat some milk, and placed it on the stove.
The atmosphere in the room grew heavier. No one spoke. The only sounds were my mother's soft murmurs as she tried to soothe me.
Finally, the milk was hot enough. The silence was broken as my father poured it into a bowl, blew on it to cool it, and poured it into my bottle before handing it to my mother. The whole family stared at her with hopeful eyes, watching as though this small amount of milk might somehow improve my condition, for my cries were heartbreaking.
A minute later, my mother's panic-stricken voice shattered the fragile calm: "Old Chen… Old Chen… What's happened to our little one?"
Her lips trembled, and my father quickly rushed to her side. The moment he saw me, his face turned ashen.
The milk had barely touched my lips before I choked violently. This was no ordinary choking—there was no way I could swallow. My face turned blue, and the strangled wheezing sounded like that of an elderly man. It was the worst I had ever looked since birth. My father, seeing the bulging veins on my tiny neck, began to panic for the first time.
My mother frantically patted me, trying to comfort me, while my two sisters, terrified, began to cry. But afraid of making things worse for my parents, they dared not make a sound. My father's breathing grew heavier, and his eyes reddened. Those who knew him well could tell—it was a sign that he was furious.
Thus, after a brief moment of silence, my father suddenly bolted out of the room, rushing into the kitchen to grab a kitchen knife, before storming back in, wildly waving it around as though possessed.
"D*mn you! In my whole life, I, Chen Junhong, have never done anything crooked or underhanded! Why are you messing with my son? If you want to do something, come for me, come at me, but leave my child alone! D*mn it, how dare you harm a helpless little one? Come out here, you son of a b*tch, get out here! I'm going to take you all on!"
My father's behavior seemed as though he had lost his mind, but who could blame him? After the village clinic had found nothing wrong with me, he hadn't given up. He took me to several hospitals—not only the one in town but even one in the city. Yet the doctors all said I was not sick, just malnourished.
If I wasn't ill, especially with no issues with my respiratory system, how could my condition be explained? Moreover, both of my sisters, based on their memories, said I looked as if someone were choking me!
Originally, due to Liu Wenbo's warnings, my father had started to believe that something might be haunting me, and the more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that something sinister was at work. That was the cause of his frantic outburst that night.
My father's commotion finally frightened my two sisters into tears. The situation in our house grew even more dire, but my mother, displaying a unique, resilient strength that only a woman could possess, remained the calmest of all.
She gently patted me while, with one firm motion, she seized my father's arm, still clutching the knife. "Old Chen, we don't only have our little one here. If you keep this up, who will take care of us? Look at how frightened the girls are. Get yourself together."
Her words finally broke through to my father. Strangely, though, after his violent outburst, my condition seemed to improve slightly.
I no longer struggled to breathe. My agonizing cries began to subside, and my face, once dark blue, gradually returned to its usual pale hue. Seeing me stabilize, my father finally calmed down.
My mother gently laid me on the bed, comforted my sisters, and then ushered them to their own room to sleep.
Once she returned to the room, she looked at my father with a calm expression and said, "Old Chen, I'm going to find Widow Zhou. I'll go tonight."
"Everyone says ghosts fear evil people. Xiu Yun, I now fully understand what's wrong with our son. I think the same. Let's go tonight. If we wait any longer, I'm afraid we won't be able to save him." My father agreed wholeheartedly with my mother's decision.
Once they had made up their minds, my parents hesitated no more. They were resolute. This time, they left immediately, carrying me in their arms. Perhaps the shock of my condition had spurred them on, for my father, for the first time, took out a flashlight. The life of his son was at stake, and in that moment, he couldn't afford to be cautious. All he cared about was getting to Widow Zhou's house as quickly as possible.
Through the biting wind, they walked in silence. The usual twenty-minute walk felt much shorter, as my parents hurried through the streets in barely ten minutes. As I reflect upon it now, I often wonder if they could have gotten there even faster if they hadn't been carrying me.
Human potential is limitless. The mysterious 'mountain' in metaphysics symbolizes self-cultivation. Put simply, it is the unlocking of latent potential.
When they reached Widow Zhou's house, it was only around eight or nine o'clock, but in the countryside, where entertainment is scarce, the night had already fallen and all the doors were tightly shut.
The door to Zhou's house was also locked. My father didn't say a word. He rushed forward and knocked forcefully on the door. In the stillness of the night, the loud knocking was especially jarring.
Perhaps the knocks were too frantic, too loud. Soon, voices could be heard from within the yard. It was Zhou Er's voice: "Who's there?"
My father remained silent, refusing to let my mother speak, and continued knocking even more urgently. He feared that if Zhou Er recognized our voices, he might refuse to open the door. My father's persistence had certainly begun to annoy the Zhou family.
"Who's that, d*mn it? Say something!" Zhou Er's voice grew louder, clearly irritated by the persistent knocking.
But my father did not relent. After another round of knocks, Zhou Er, in a fit of anger, finally threw open the door, holding a chopping knife. It seemed he mistook us for troublemakers.
Seeing Zhou Er at the door, my father, without saying a word, rushed past him into the yard. His sudden movement startled Zhou Er.
"Stop! What do you think you're doing, barging into someone else's house?" Zhou Er shouted, trying to stop my father.
But my father acted quickly, pulling my mother inside and slamming the door shut behind them. "Zhou Er, it's me, Old Chen," he said, his voice firm.
Zhou Er relaxed and let out a sigh. "Old Chen, what are you doing…" Clearly, he had been worried we were there to cause trouble. After all, in these times, who wouldn't fear the sudden intrusion of strangers intent on wreaking havoc?
But Zhou Er, despite his anger, couldn't help but find my father's actions both infuriating and somewhat amusing. Therefore, his tone was far from cordial.
"Zhou Er, we're all from the same village, family friends. Can we go inside and talk? You know I, Old Chen, would never force your family to do anything. Just let me speak my piece tonight. You, of all people, tell me—have I, Old Chen, ever been anything but kind to your family, to you and yours?" My father spoke with a blend of gentleness and firmness, his words carrying the weight of a man who, despite his rural background, had mastered the art of persuasion under pressure.
In the past, as a well-liked and upright man in the village, my father had often visited the Zhou family. These memories, coupled with his plea, softened Zhou Er's demeanor. In those days, people's relationships were simple and sincere, and with my father's reassurance, Zhou Er's harsh expression finally melted, his voice now muffled with resignation, "Alright, come in and speak, I can't exactly stop you, can I?"
My father exhaled with relief. Zhou Er had always been the most difficult person in the Zhou family to deal with. Now that he had passed this first obstacle, it seemed there might be hope.
Entering the Zhou home, the family was gathered around the hearth, warming themselves by a blazing fire. Several sweet potatoes lay by the stove, their golden skins crackling. The Zhou family had clearly mastered the art of wintering—warmth from the fire and the smell of roasted sweet potatoes filled the air.
When the elderly Zhou patriarch saw my father, he merely glanced up. His expression remained impassive, a low grunt escaping his nose. But upon noticing my mother, holding me in her arms, his face softened, though he couldn't suppress a weary sigh.
Widow Zhou seemed to want to speak, but after a couple of hesitant burps, she fell silent.
With a cigarette dangling from his lips, the elderly Zhou patriarch took a long drag, then said, "Yue Shuang, take Zhou Qiang and Zhou Hongjun to bed."
Yue Shuang, Zhou Er's wife, immediately responded with a quick "Ah," as she ushered the two children—Zhou Qiang, the son of Zhou Da, and Zhou Jun, Zhou Er's own child—out of the room. Both were of elementary school age.
"No, Grandpa, I want to eat my roasted sweet potato first!" Zhou Qiang protested.
"I want to eat too!" Zhou Jun joined in, following his brother's lead.
Zhou Er shot them a sharp look and barked, "The sweet potatoes won't sprout legs and run away! Go to bed now, or I'll give you a good beating!"
Clearly, Zhou Er had earned the respect of his children, for his fierce command silenced them immediately. Both children obediently followed Yue Shuang out of the room.
"Junhong, I know why you're here, but I've made myself clear. We're family, but you can't force us to do anything," Zhou patriarch said, tapping his tobacco pipe and speaking in a tone that brooked no argument. His voice remained steady, betraying no hint of softening.
It wasn't that they were heartless—considering the uncertainty of the situation, and the potential risk of a slip of the tongue, they couldn't afford to act recklessly. Furthermore, Widow Zhou was already under public scrutiny, and they could hardly afford to add to the trouble.
My father gazed at the elderly Zhou patriarch with pleading eyes, his jaw clenched, as though wrestling with a difficult decision. After a long, tense silence, a single tear fell from my father's eye. Without another word, he sank to his knees in front of the elder. Seeing this, my mother, still holding me, followed suit, kneeling beside him.
A man's tears are seldom shed, for they are not easily moved—except when the heart is broken.
In his life, my father had cried very few times. This, however, was a moment of true sorrow. He mourned the fate of his only son, and the thought that this proud, stalwart man would be brought to his knees before another, was a deep and painful realization.
The burden of parental love is a debt that cannot be repaid in one lifetime, a debt so heavy that filial piety remains the greatest of virtues. To fail one's parents is a great sin.
"Junhong, what are you doing? Why are you kneeling?" The elderly Zhou patriarch, clearly taken aback by my father's unexpected action, sprang to his feet in alarm, his voice betraying a hint of panic.
In the countryside, the older generation placed great significance on such rituals. For someone to kneel without cause was considered a dire omen, a sign that one's fortune might be diminished.