Gu Ning organized her funeral, his face expressionless as he stared at the photo on the tombstone, the black and white image capturing her everlasting smile, and the old man huddling against the gravestone with his white hair bristling.
A gust of wind suddenly blew across the sky, stirring the leaves on the ground to dance in the air.
In the early light, at sunset, within life, outside life.
Souls yearn...
The remnants of the sunset dyed half the sky scarlet, then faded into crimson.
Tang Yuxin was awakened by a burst of quarreling.
She blankly opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling above her head, where the plaster had peeled off. This was a long, distant memory, so distant that she had almost forgotten when it happened.
The only time she'd seen the walls at home peel like this was in her first home, her father's house. She hadn't returned since she left. She'd forgotten much, lost many memories over time. But she hadn't forgotten this ceiling, stripped of its plaster, nor the rusty ceiling fan above it, which was covered in a layer of dust.
"Tang Zhinian, let me tell you, why should I give you my daughter?" A woman shouted angrily, shaking the whole house, causing another piece of tattered plaster to fall from the wall.
"Tang Zhinian, I'll definitely take Xinxin. You're a grown man who can't even feed himself. How can you raise a daughter?"
"I can't," the honest farmer squatting there responded, his eyes red, his face drawn, and a thick layer of blueish-gray under his eyes.
"I can't give you Xinxin. I have nothing left, only her."
"It's not up to you," the woman sneered, "She's my daughter and she's always loved me. Let's leave it to her. When she wakes up, ask her who she wants to live with."
The man said nothing, but he could be heard choking on his words.
But no tears fell, perhaps he swallowed them all.
Tang Yuxin listened to the incessant quarreling outside. She stared blankly at the ceiling for what felt like forever, until she closed her eyes again, not knowing whether she was sleepy or dead.
When she opened her eyes again, the sunlight filtering in through the broken glass was warm.
She died in autumn, an autumn chillier than winter, an autumn icier than winter, and yet, it now felt like spring.
"Yuxin, come eat."
A man walked in, a simple-looking young man bearing a bowl. His clothes were washed to a pale color, his skin tanned and dark. His big hands, like palm-leaf fans, held a small bowl.
The man smiled, a foolish yet affectionate smile.
He placed the bowl in front of Tang Yuxin and playfully ruffled her hair with his big hand, "Finish your food first, and then dad will take you fishing, okay?"
Tang Yuxin stared at the man for a long time. She instinctively reached out, but her hands were pitifully small. She stared at her own hands for quite a while, but didn't move.
"What is it, you don't want to eat?" the man asked, brushing the top of his daughter's head again, "You tell me, what do you want to eat? Dad can cook it for you. Oh, don't we still have eggs at home? My dear Yuxin, do you want to eat steamed eggs? Your dad will make them for you."
The man quickly finished what he was saying, set down his bowl, and hurried to the kitchen to make a steamed egg for his daughter.
As he left, Tang Yuxin reached out and gazed down at her own hands. They were tiny, with short, slender fingers like miniature chicken feet. Her skin was as soft as cotton. Biting her finger, she carefully climbed down from the bed and went in search of a mirror, according to fragments of memory she had.
The rural home they lived in was self-built. The only mirror was a large one embedded above the wardrobe. She ran to the mirror but was not even half its height yet. The three-year-old child reflected in the mirror was her.
Big eyes, small face, and hair tinged with a dry yellow hue.
Her hand reached to touch her face and, simultaneously, the child in the mirror did the same. Then, she pressed her face against the mirror.
Had she returned? Was she back home?
"Xinxin…" Unable to find his daughter inside the house, Tang Zhinian was panicked. Where did the child go? Could she have wandered to the toilet on her own?
"Xinxin?" Putting down the bowl in his hand, he was preparing to search for his daughter when he turned around and saw Tang Yuxin standing in front of the mirror. Both her tiny hands clung to the mirror, standing there barefoot, her feet stark against the floor, neither socks nor shoes on.
"Why aren't you wearing your shoes?" Walking over, Tang Zhinian gently picked her up and placed her on a chair. He then wiped her small feet with his hand. His rugged face bore an unwavering expression of love for his little girl.
Tang Zhinian was a big, strong man with a kind and honest demeanor. His biggest pride in life was his daughter, Tang Yuxin. Seeing how fragile and endearing she was, he was certain she would grow up to be a beautiful young woman.
"Daddy will get the egg for you," he teased, touching her cheek before standing up to go to the kitchen. Little did he know, as he turned away, Tang Yuxin's typically cheerful eyes turned dark, devoid of any light. Suddenly, two big tears squeezed out of her eyes. She quickly wiped her face clean with her sleeve and reached down to touch her soft and tender toes.
A three-year-old child. Yes, that's it—a three-year-old child.
Not long after, Tang Zhinian returned, looking much younger than he would be in thirty years. His back was straight, his waist unwrinkled, and his hair was black. He labored in the fields to support his family. There was nothing wrong with earning a living by the sweat of one's brow.
He squatted down, took the spoon, and began to feed his daughter.
Tang Yuxin ate her food bit by bit without being as fussy as she used to be. She remembered how picky she was as a child, rejecting this and that dish, yet her father always pampered her, preparing all kinds of delicious food for her. Yet, ever since her parents divorced, she ended up living with her mother, Sang Zhilan, and she had to correct all her spoiled tendencies because of her younger yet more spoiled stepsister, Wei Jiani. Every good thing, be it food or clothing, always went to Wei Jiani first, and she ended up wearing Wei Jiani's cast-offs.
Paragraph comment
Paragraph comment feature is now on the Web! Move mouse over any paragraph and click the icon to add your comment.
Also, you can always turn it off/on in Settings.
GOT IT