Winter of the 14th year of the Republic of China, Beiping 'The ghost is here! The ghost is here!' The crowd of onlookers was making a deafening noise, all focused on one thing. The children waited with bated breath. Forgot to open his mouth, and a puff of white breath escaped his lips
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Capítulo 9
These are all his enemies. Today's guy is a latrine cleaner; he always has a nasty, pungent odor about him, so foul it's disgusting.
"I won't shout. Old turtle! Dung dung!"
"Gah! I'll fuck your mother! Aren't you going to call me dad?"
With a whoosh, the curtain was lifted.
"Put my brother down!" the tablet said indifferently.
The man turned around in the direction of the woman's voice:
"Hey, what 'brother'? Okay, that's it, we'll play again another day. Red Lotus, I'll definitely come, I can't bear not to fuck you! Kid, fuck your mother!"
Red Lotus, first a strong, pungent fragrance hit Zhigao's forehead.
Then I saw a pair of eyes, very dark and bright. Although they were puffy, the darkness seemed even deeper.
Her cheekbones were unusually high, protruding stubbornly and self-deceivingly on her pale, pointed face.
She always laughs, a helpless laugh, a habit of "coaxing" others, and she does the same with her son.
Only in her son could she remember the man from her past, the man whose surname was Lai. Zhigao's father had once praised her hands.
She had a pair of long, slender, but somewhat bony, white hands, with thin, pointed fingers, like a white reed sprouting from cracked soil: once a white flower, nameless. She had received praise, though. A man had once given her a hand-held pot.
Honglian stood before Zhigao, her hands twitching and convulsing as she bound them together, fingers interlocking, unable to understand a single word, yet her fingers seemed to be writing secrets of her heart. She was extremely timid and embarrassed.
She took some money from the tea tray and casually, then apologetically, slipped it to Zhigao.
"Where have you been running around these past few days?"
"That's all, I'm going to find some work."
"Sleep here?"
Just as Zhigao was about to answer, another guest came in from outside. The wind blew against the paper window with a dull thud. By the light of the lamp, Zhigao saw that his mother had bruises on her neck and temples, swaying red.
"red lotus!"
Mother responded and left.
Zhigao left the courtyard quietly. With money in his pocket, he felt a sense of warmth. Where should he go tonight? Perhaps he should spend the night in the kitchen. Although there were no beds, only a thick layer of chicken feathers on the floor, and the walls were sealed tightly with mud and paper to keep out the cold wind, there were always poor people from the countryside and towns huddled together to sleep, as well as beggars and peddlers. A place where everyone could hear each other's voices. Ultimately, it would be more reassuring than here. He could sleep soundly until dawn, and another day would begin.
Alright, let's go to the kitchen. He hurried out the door and hadn't gone far when he saw the man who shoveled night soil carrying a bucket and scoop of night soil and pushing a night soil cart, going from house to house.
Zhigao furtively picked up a small stone and threw it hard, hitting him in the neck. A piercing shout echoed through the quiet night:
"Damn it! You little bastard, you little pheasant, I'll make sure you die a horrible death, you'll be sold when you grow up!"
Zhigao ran a few steps with great enthusiasm, but immediately collapsed. From afar, the song "Cave Dwelling," which he had heard countless times since childhood, drifted from Yanzhi Hutong, accompanying his desolate steps.
"The willow leaves are so pointed, they cover the sky. Your Majesty, listen carefully to what I have to say. This matter arose in our Lan Dian Chang, west of the capital—"
Zhigao's memories came flooding back to him.
He had never seen his father; he had passed away when Zhigao was very young. Why wasn't
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