Chapter Thirty-Two: Change Arises from Adversity

Perhaps it was because of the “**”, but the streets were deserted, and business at my fruit stall was abysmal. I could barely earn a few coins a day, and sometimes I even worried about where my next meal would come from. Wang Dong would often mutter, half to himself and half to me, as he gnawed on a dry bun, “Heaven must want to starve the blind sparrows.” I wondered if I needed to show some courage at the right moment. If things went on like this, starving myself to death wouldn’t be difficult at all. Strangely, during those days, the word “robbery” kept popping into my mind.

Those mornings, the sunlight was always bright and golden, but my mood was as dismal as our stall’s business. One sunny morning, our signboard had vanished from the tree where we’d hung it; it lay among the scattered fruit on the ground, looking like a filthy diaper. Wang Dong was shouting loudly at a man in an urban management uniform, his leather jacket discarded on the ground, one shoe missing, the veins in his neck protruding like chopsticks, his face flushed as if smeared with too much rouge—a skinned monkey, that’s what he looked like.

I had just come from home and stood there dumbfounded for a long while before shaking my head and laughing quietly. We deserved it—after all, we’d been too reckless. We weren’t supposed to set up our stall here.

Wang Dong saw me, pushed the city officer aside, and rushed over, yelling, “Second Brother, are you going to do something about this or not? These bastards took our tricycle, and now they want our fruit too!”

I motioned for him to stop, then walked up to the officers, who all wore expressions of righteous indignation. “You did well. After all, you’re just maintaining the city’s image. I accept the penalty.”

Wang Dong lunged at me, about to shout, but I kicked him off balance and sang loudly, “First rule for inmates: remember the prison regulations!”

Standing atop the seawall at the Great Lagoon, I slung my arm around Wang Dong’s shoulders. “Look, brother, the sea is so vast—just like my heart.”

Wang Dong grunted and squatted down. “Damn it! Vast, my ass!”

I squatted beside him and pointed at the seabirds soaring over the waves. “You should learn from them. Their minds are empty, nothing but food from the sea.”

Wang Dong rolled his eyes at me. “I am looking at my food, aren’t I? But who’s going to let me eat it?”

I smiled. “Others won’t let you eat, but you’ve still done well for yourself. You’ve eaten many things you weren’t supposed to, with me by your side. Isn’t that so?”

Wang Dong paused, then broke into a wide grin. “That’s right, damn right!”

My heart sank. “Didn’t Kuai Bin once say? In the Gospel of Matthew, it says, ‘Do not worry about what you will eat or wear...’”

Wang Dong cut me off. “Bullshit!”

Once more, I saw that seagull perched in the tree, and was again struck by how out of place it looked. How could such a beautiful, free-spirited bird squat in a tree? It was almost an insult to its own image. The sea wind ruffled its wings, and each time, it twisted its head back to smooth its feathers with its beak. Leaning into the wind, I stared at it in confusion. Its stubbornness was remarkable—it knew the wind would only mess up its feathers again, but still it kept smoothing them. I was the same way. I knew there might not be flowers waiting for me ahead, yet I insisted, over and over, that there must be flowers waiting there. How much self-deception was in that belief? I’d often thought about leaving this muddled life behind, but I lacked the courage to face the hardships ahead. It seemed I’d grown used to walking the razor’s edge.

On the way home, Wang Dong grumbled as if something had bitten him. “Do you remember that song we used to sing as kids? Make the mountains bow, make the rivers give way...”

I said, “That’s not how it goes. Listen: ‘Break open the mountains and the mountains yield, bring in the water and the water comes. Every village and community learns from Dazhai, and Dazhai’s red flowers bloom everywhere!’”

Wang Dong grimaced as if he’d swallowed a fly. “What the hell! Back then, we thought the world belonged to us.”

I left him behind, hands clasped behind my back, and recited, “Our great leader taught us, the world is yours, and ours, but in the end, it belongs to you...”

That night, Lin Baobao asked why I hadn’t gone out with the stall. Was business bad? I told her the stall was gone. She grabbed my hand and said, “Dakuan, you mustn’t be idle. Our family needs you. If you don’t work, how will we eat?” I replied, “Heaven won’t let the blind sparrow starve. There will be bread.”

I skipped dinner, shut myself in my room, and stared blankly at the pitch-black window. The wind lifted a corner of the curtain, revealing a patch of sky the size of a palm. The sky was gray and murky, illuminated by the lights outside, like a spider’s web thick with dust. I walked toward this web, and it grew larger and brighter, until it shone like a pool of water. At first, the water was a deep green, then, as the sunlight shifted, it became a tranquil amber. The setting sun hung almost vertically above the water, and the evening glow colored the sky, the trees, and the silk-like ripples of the lake. The water began to shimmer with a myriad of colors—so beautiful! I braced myself and slowly walked toward the boundless lake. A flock of waterfowl, startled, took off toward the bloody sunset. The surface of the lake parted, the crimson water seeming to fear me, surging to either side and opening a golden avenue...

How did I end up on the street? I was confused. Who had led me there? What was I doing there?

My chest swelled, my legs grew stronger, my arms swung decisively, and my face was solemn and heroic—yet inside, I was filled with sorrow. The wind howled past my ears as I walked, drenched in sweat...

Snow began to fall, the flakes large as fans, drifting slowly from the sky. The snow fell so slowly, as if in slow motion, but my steps remained steady and unyielding... I was almost home, almost there! I saw the building blanketed in pure white snow. That was my home. Inside, there was a warm bed, and my beloved Yang Bo was waiting for me—she was sad, she was crying, she needed me to comfort her.

“Dakuan, come back—” It was Lin Baobao calling out to me. Under the dim yellow streetlight, her hair was loose around her face, and she looked like a ghost floating above a tomb path.

“Sister-in-law, go home!” I shouted at her. “I’m going back to my own home. Yang Bo is waiting for me!”

“Oh child…” Lin Baobao clung to a tree and slid to the ground in despair. “Dear heavens, has he lost his mind too?”