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墨書 Inktalez
Half a year had passed since returning from Decheng, and my mother suddenly called at three in the morning.
“Jing Jing, what should I do? Your dad suddenly collapsed. Your older brother took him to the hospital. You need to come see him quickly. He loved you the most when you were little,” my mother’s voice trembled with tears. Yes, my dad loved me the most. But why did he love me? Because I helped him sell goods since I was six, never taking a day off during summer and winter breaks. Because I was easy to raise; when I stayed in the countryside during elementary school, as long as there was enough flour, I wouldn’t starve. Because since graduating high school, I had never asked my parents for money again. And also because every year during the New Year, I would give them money. How could he not love me?
“I’ll be there right away.” I remembered that when I was a child, no one in the village wanted to play with me. They only invited me to their fields when they needed help picking Sichuan peppercorns. Under the scorching sun, with fingers burning from the heat, I found my small value in pleasing others; only by working could I play with them and make them forget that I wasn’t born to my parents. Later, when I felt wronged, I had asked my mother about it, but her evasive gaze always made me hesitate to ask further.
I got dressed, grabbed the car keys, and stepped onto the quiet and empty highway at night, the only sound being the pounding of my heart.
When I arrived at the hospital, I parked quickly and rushed toward the emergency room.
“Mom, where’s Dad?”
“He’s in surgery…” My mother said softly, her eyes red.
“The doctor said it might be liver cancer. You know how he often gets angry and argues with me. He fights with everyone at home—your older brother and your second brother too.” Looking at my mother’s pale hair, I realized she was no longer young; her hair was thinning from the torment of illness, revealing her fragility.
“Mom…”
“Jing Jing,” she suddenly spoke up, “actually… actually you…”
“Mom,” I interrupted her, “I know that even though you’re not my biological parents, you raised me. I haven’t lived well, but when you were so poor in 1990, you didn’t abandon me just because I was adopted. I acknowledge your kindness.”
My mother froze, tears streaming down her face as she stepped forward to hug me, but I took a step back.
The lights in the emergency room went out, and the doctor came out to say we could speak to the patient one last time. I walked to the bedside; my once tall father now seemed small and frail. Tears welled in his murky eyes as his bony hands trembled.
“Jing Jing, I’m sorry for you. I should have let you go to… college,” he choked out.
“I don’t blame you,” before I could finish speaking, my brothers pushed me aside.
“Dad, how should we divide the house? Why does the second brother get the barbecue shop and want to take over the yard too? That’s not fair!” My older brother’s voice was filled with anger.
“Why can’t Dad give this to me? He opened a shop for you; I even helped buy you a house,” the second brother had already raised his fist.
“Dad, look at him! The second brother…” My older brother shouted at our father with wide eyes filled with rage.
Unfortunately, our father who favored his sons could no longer speak.
“It’s all your fault! It’s all your greed!” The arguing did not stop with our father's passing.
The quarrel escalated into a fight, and soon both sides were injured.
In that moment of bidding farewell to my father and sister, I suddenly understood that while blood ties may determine one’s origins, love is what decides one’s return path.
And I had long found my own way home; I longed to embrace my child and hold onto the re-raised version of myself.
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