A Prophet - Chapter 25 (Part 2)

Chapter 2 - Telling Grandfather's Wife and Child the Complete Secret

The older a person gets, the clearer their memories become. The messy fragments of life churn in the mind from time to time, making you unable to stop, and when tired, you often dream. It is still that era, those brothers, wielding blades and guns with a pounding heart, to the point that sometimes you can't tell what is reality and what is a dream.

As my children grow taller and older, my remaining days grow fewer and fewer. The bygone years, whether right or wrong, are bound to follow me for the rest of my life and eventually enter the coffin with me. Sometimes, as I sit on the sofa quietly watching the children frolic and chat in front of me, I feel this is the greatest happiness in life. Sometimes, when my wife is cooking, I will gather around to help her prep. Life is plain and simple, yet my heart feels grounded and secure.

People who have never weathered great storms always seek thrills and excitement, while those who have experienced them yearn for simplicity and peace. Human beings are creatures that become bolder the younger they are, and more timid the older they get.

After my son and daughter entered junior high school, my wife and I worried even more. The daughter was better—obedient, academically accomplished, with a cheerful and outgoing personality like her mother, and was even named a "Three-Good Student." The son, however, was always unruly and gave me massive headaches. My wife often said, "Our son takes after you—a subdued bandit."

He truly was a subdued bandit; usually quiet and unassuming, but once he stirred up trouble, it would be earth-shattering and leave you with no way to clean up the mess.

One day while I was at home reading books on Yijing philosophy, my daughter came running back from school in a flurry, crying, "Dad, Dad, go take a look quickly, Older Brother beat someone to death."

I already suffered from high blood pressure, and upon hearing my daughter's cry, everything went black before my eyes. I hurriedly rushed to the school with my daughter, where students in the class said the teacher and principal had already carried the unconscious student on their backs to the hospital.

It turned out my son had gotten into a fight with a classmate. Since my son wasn't as tall as the other kid, he had taken a beating. In retaliation, my son found a brick on campus, hid it in his school bag, and during self-study, taking advantage of the other kid's inattention, he quietly snuck up behind him and smashed the brick into the back of his head, knocking the kid cold into a state of shock right then and there.

Upon hearing this, my legs shook with rage. I first rushed to the hospital to check on the child. Fortunately, the child was successfully resuscitated. Later, the child's parents both arrived, crying and making a scene, and shortly after, my wife rushed over as well. Together, we offered our apologies and kowtowed, saying, "Let's treat the child's illness first; whatever the cost, we'll cover it. Whatever issues the child has in the future, we'll take full responsibility." My wife also went out and bought a large quantity of tonics, piling them across an entire table.

After tossing and turning all day, upon returning home that evening, the moment I stepped inside, I saw my son casually eating noodles at the table as if nothing had happened. I thought to myself, you brat, you can still actually eat?

The moment my daughter saw me arrive, she immediately stood up and poured me a glass of water. My son was still eating. Enraged, I slammed my hand down on the table with a loud crack: "You're still eating!"

I had never lost my temper like this with my children. Since it was the first time my daughter had seen me fly into such a rage, while my son remained unfazed, my daughter was terrified, her eyes welling with tears and her whole body trembling. My wife hurriedly led the daughter into the inner room.

My son put down his chopsticks, wiped his mouth, stood up, and remained silent.

My wife brought me a chair. I sat down and asked him, "Why did you beat that kid like that?"

My son made no sound.

"Speak!" I roared, the sound making the entire room ring.

My son's body quivered as he said, "He bullied my Third Brother."

Hearing this, I didn't quite understand: "What brother?"

My son said, "Third Brother?"

I was completely baffled: "Which Third Brother?"

My son said, "Wang Sheng."

I said, "That child from your Uncle Wang Ping's family? How did he become your Third Brother?"

My son replied sullenly, "A few of us classmates swore a sworn brotherhood! I am the eldest brother, and we swore an oath to share blessings and endure hardships together—not seeking to be born on the same day of the same month and year, but wishing to die on the same day of the same month and year!"

When my wife and I heard this, we were both dumbfounded. We looked at each other, not knowing what to say. In the 1980s, the trend of swearing brotherhood was popular in society for a time. Small-time punks calling each other brothers constantly drifted through the streets, singing loudly, "The big shock, that big epidemic, sing the Xintianyou songs for the plainclothes police to hear," sporting disheveled hair, wearing jeans, clenching cigarettes, swinging their shoulders, and walking swaggeringly as if they were above the law.

As parents, everyone fears their children going astray. Before every time the children went out, my wife and I would offer endless admonitions never to cause trouble. Never did we expect that our son would secretly swear a sworn brotherhood behind our backs and play at underworld chivalry. Looking at his stubborn, foolish mug, I really wanted to kick him under the table. I thought to myself, you brats are still playing at this; back in the day, your old man started by playing this exact game, and it ended up playing himself straight into a massive prison. I entered the underworld because I had no choice, but you lot are ignoring a peaceful life just to manufacture your own thrills.

"Tomorrow, you are to tell those classmates of yours right away that you're canceling the sworn brotherhood. Everyone remains classmates and you can be friends, but cut out this miscellaneous nonsense. From now on, as soon as school is over, you and your sister are to come straight home, and you are not allowed to wander around aimlessly outside!" I sternly said to my son.

"Dad!" my son protested, "Why on earth? I heard people outside say you used to be super formidable, with lots of brothers who all called you Fifth Master. Now I'm the eldest brother, and I'll be the big boss in the future."

Before I had a chance to erupt, my wife had already lunged forward and slapped my son hard across the face: "Scoundrel!"

Sensing the situation turning south inside the room, my daughter cried as she ran outside, and shortly after, she brought her second aunt over. It was always like this—whenever my wife hit our son and we couldn't manage the situation, our daughter would fetch her second aunt. As soon as Second Aunt stepped through the door and saw this formation, she sensed something was amiss because previously my wife and I always played the roles of good cop and bad cop, but this time both of us seemed menacingly furious.

Second Aunt asked, "What's going on here?"

I hurriedly smiled and said, "It's nothing, Second Sister. This brat got into trouble again and cracked a classmate's head open, and now the kid is still lying in the hospital."

Upon hearing this, my son tilted his head: "He hit me first!"

My wife roared, "I dare you to talk back again!" and raised her hand to hit him once more.

Second Aunt hurriedly intercepted my wife, saying to her, "Look at the state of you, and you're supposed to be in education!"

Weeping, my wife said, "I can educate other people's children, but I can't educate this piece of work!"

I knew that the reason my son was so fearless was also tied to my wife working at the education bureau. Prominent teachers from several schools in the city all knew my wife and frequently visited our home. Accustomed to this from a young age, neither my son nor my daughter feared teachers. This placed my wife in a very awkward position; at every parent-teacher conference, she would tell the homeroom teacher, "Beat him if he needs it, don't spoil him." But despite saying that, who would actually dare to hit him?

I also knew my son wasn't lying. So many years had passed, yet I had always carried a stone on my back through life. Although people around me didn't say it to my face, they surely gossiped about it in private, with or without reason. There was no helping it; facts were facts, and the karma one created had to be redeemed by oneself. The reason I flew into such a fierce temper when my son caused trouble this time was because it reminded me once again of the bygone years. I had long grown weary of the fighting and killing, and I deeply understood the difficulty of seeking redemption after committing wrongs. My own first half of life had not gone well—full of ditches and ridges, escaping death by a hair's breadth—and I did not want my son to make any further mistakes.

For decades, I had constantly pondered why Grandfather had pulled me into the trade back then and why he favored me at every turn. He knew full well I was not material for a hoodlum, yet he broke protocol to promote me to "Boss Leader." Later on, I finally figured it out: all of this was actually Grandfather's grand scheme. Grandfather died, everyone made it ashore, and Grandfather's greatest harvest was the continuation of his own bloodline. Out of a deep, desperate love for his child—much like myself now—he had exhausted every possible means in that blood-soaked era to keep his wife and child alive and living better. Now, with the times having changed, looking at the stubborn son before me, I wondered if he understood the deep, painstaking efforts of his old man.

Recalling every scene of Grandfather, it seemed that everything he did still retained a shred of kindness; he was desperately propping up human nature, and Heaven seemed to have noticed this, sparing him from having his lineage cut off.

He had a son as early as 1946, and from that time onward, he began arranging his posthumous affairs. I estimated he had constantly been searching for someone—someone who could handle his funeral arrangements. Finally, that person appeared in 1948: me, an unremarkable, dull-witted individual. I wondered what my life would be like if I had never met Grandfather, where I would be now, what I would be doing, who my wife would be, and who my children would be?

I was dragged onto the boat by Grandfather, but I had no regrets. When Grandfather died, I cried for a long time, feeling as though the sky had collapsed. I didn't know what kind of feelings my son and daughter would have when I eventually died. In their impression, I was an honest person; as for the gossip outside, as they slowly grew up, I couldn't block it out either, since people ultimately had to live in this broad social environment. I only hoped they would never repeat my mistakes. Grades didn't matter, poverty and wealth didn't matter—as long as they walked the righteous path, I could close my eyes in peace.

In truth, my son and daughter inherited more of my wife's genes. Both of them were very smart, unlike me, who was quite dense and slow-witted. Grandfather's only evaluation of me was "sincere and honest." He once said, "Smart people are a dime a dozen, but honest people are hard to find."

Actually, for these past years, I had constantly hesitated over whether or not to tell Grandfather's beloved and children about his past. For decades, they had been kept completely in the dark. Grandfather had instructed me to keep his secret for a lifetime, and I had previously believed the same. Yet when reading that prison monologue of Grandfather's, I felt I might need to change my mind.

The reason Grandfather didn't want me to tell that mother and child was, firstly, that he didn't want them to be implicated during that era; and secondly, he didn't want his wife and son to know he was a swindler. Now, with the political winds shifting and nearly half a century having passed, the times had changed, and I was also old. Not knowing on which day I might die, entering the coffin carrying this lie left me unable to close my eyes in peace.

If I hadn't read that monologue, I might have managed to hold out, but after reading it, I knew that although Grandfather had committed evil all his life, he ultimately performed a great act of kindness. Everyone makes mistakes at times; the crucial thing is whether they turn back. Grandfather turned back, and I believed his wife and child would understand as well.

Grandfather's wife was already over sixty years old, and his son was past forty. In the past, it was always I who frequently went to check on the mother and child; in recent years, however, it was instead Grandfather's son who visited me more often.

Shangguan Yue had performed great feats of merit during the Sino-Vietnamese Self-Defensive Counterattack and later been promoted to regimental-level cadre. He knew nothing whatsoever about Grandfather or the Jiangxiang Faction, so every time he came to visit me, he would call me "Uncle Liu." He only knew my name was Liu Tianliang, that I used to be an antique dealer, and that I was his father's apprentice. In terms of seniority, however, he should have called me Elder Brother.

The young man radiated uprightness, and the older he grew, the more he resembled his father. Once when he went on a business trip to Guangzhou and passed through my city, he paid a sudden evening visit. My old eyes were failing, and he gave me such a fright that I thought Grandfather had arrived.

In the spring of 1989, I finally made up my mind. I once again boarded the train bound for Shandong.

Guan Jingxiang was very surprised by my sudden visit. The two sixty-something elders tightly grasped each other's hands: "Old Liu, why didn't you give a word before coming so I could have prepared in advance?"

"Grandma, who is this person?" A young boy of about ten walked over.

Guan Jingxiang said, "This is a friend of your grandfather's. Come here, come call him Grandpa."

I hurriedly said, "This must be Xiao Yue's son. I'd heard his father mention him before, and today I finally get to see him."

Guan Jingxiang smiled and said, "Yes, yes. He rarely stays in his hometown, always staying in Jinan with his parents. Now that it's winter vacation, he insisted on staying here until school starts. He's just too mischievous; with his parents watching, he doesn't get to play freely and constantly gets beaten. With no one managing him here, he refuses to leave."

My heart was filled with joy. Not only did Grandfather have a son, but now his grandson had grown this big as well.

Guan Jingxiang truly loved Grandfather deeply; all these years, she had never remarried.

I was pondering how to tell her about Grandfather—how should I start, and what consequences would break out once spoken?

I said, "Master's Wife, how is your health?"

Guan Jingxiang smiled and said, "I've told you so many times not to call me Master's Wife. How nice it would be to just call me Old Guan—look at how I always call you Old Liu! My bones are as sturdy as ever; after retiring, I couldn't stay idle, so I opened a private clinic."

Actually, my asking this question was out of fear that she might have a heart condition, worrying that if she heard about Grandfather and got too excited, something might happen, which would spell trouble.

After speaking, she went off to brew tea for me.

I sat on the sofa, pondering, pondering, and pondering further. Later, I thought to myself, I simply won't say anything; I'll just eat the meal and head back.

At that moment, Grandfather's little grandson walked over: "Grandpa, Grandpa, tell me a few stories. I love listening to stories."

A wave of sorrow clutched my heart. Stories? This was far more than a story; it was a legend. At that moment, Guan Jingxiang finished brewing the tea, grabbed a teacup, poured me a cup, and said, "Try this tea, Biluochun brought by our son."

Picking up the teacup, my mind was flooded with scenes of Grandfather drinking tea. I could no longer hold it in, and I said, "Master's Wife, I'm going to tell your grandson a story. You listen along too."

Guan Jingxiang smiled: "What do I have to listen for! You two generations chat away, this child is just a pest, I'm going out to buy some groceries."

I hurriedly said, "You really should listen!" As I said those words, my voice even changed timbre.

Guan Jingxiang paused in surprise: "Oh... listen... at my age and I'm still listening to stories? I am a story myself."

"You truly are inside a story!" I said.

Guan Jingxiang was stunned: "I'm inside a story?"

I said, "Sit down. This story is very moving."

Guan Jingxiang looked at me and slowly sat down on the sofa, while the little grandson also sat down beside us.

I took a sip of tea and slowly began to recount it.

Once upon a time, there was a man who always wanted to be a good person, yet fate assigned him the role of a swindler. On one hand, he committed frauds; on the other hand, he used the money he swindled to do good deeds. When he turned ruthless, he murdered, set fires, and swindled—doing everything. When he turned charitable, he was like a Buddha. He was ruthless yet possessed iron loyalty and a gall of daring. He was an orphan who ruled over a gang of several hundred people. He was a two-faced man whom people in the underworld called "Grandfather."

In 1945, he met a woman he cherished deeply, and she was the only love of his life. They united, and later they had a child. He loved his wife and child so dearly. Knowing he was a swindler, he bitterly concealed his identity. Outside, he was the boss of the underworld; at home, he was a good husband and a good father. Just like that, he constantly shuttled between the killings of the underworld and a peaceful life, living intermittently together for seven years.

Later, he was sentenced to death by the government. Until his dying breath, he refused to tell his wife the truth. He did not want his wife to know he was a triad boss, nor did he want his wife and son to be implicated as a result. He hoped his wife and child would live ordinary lives—plain and simple lives.

He was far too exhausted in this lifetime; he grew weary of the slaughter, yearned for peace, and didn't fear death—he only harbored an infinite attachment to his wife and child. He entrusted his wife and child to a subordinate, telling his subordinate to keep this secret forever.

His subordinate kept that secret faithfully. Over thirty years passed, and now his subordinate had grown old, and his wife had grown old too...

Guan Jingxiang listened quietly, unmoving, as if frozen in place. I knew that telling her these things was too severe a shock.

The little boy asked softly, "Grandma, what's wrong with you?"

Guan Jingxiang pulled her grandson into her arms, and tears rolled down.

I fished that copy of Confessions out of my carry-on bag and handed it to Guan Jingxiang. "Take a look, the third article."

Guan Jingxiang wiped away a tear, accepted the book, and after finishing it, buried her face in her hands and wept bitterly.

After weeping for a long time, she picked up the telephone, called her son, and told him to hurry back to his hometown. Afterwards, she said to me, "Tell me about him in detail."

Thus, I recounted everything I knew about Grandfather's life from beginning to end in complete detail.

It caused Guan Jingxiang to shed tears several times; she finally understood her husband clearly and thoroughly! In the end, holding that book, she wept and said, "You made it hard on yourself! And you made it hard on me too! What harm was there in telling me? I am your wife; whether you live or die, I am your wife. You hid your identity and kept others from telling me—do you know that all these years, I didn't even have a place to cry, and I didn't even know where you were buried!"

I cried as well: "Master's Wife, don't blame me. Grandfather instructed me not to let you know where he was buried, saying he feared that if you knew, you might go to visit his grave and stir up trouble."

I wiped away a tear and continued, "Master's Wife, once Xiao Yue returns, we'll go together to pay our respects at Grandfather's grave."

Shangguan Yue hurried back from Jinan that very day. Guan Jingxiang and I told him about Grandfather. He didn't say a word, walked into the inner room by himself, and silently shed tears.

Three days later, the three of us, along with Guan Jingxiang's grandson, boarded the southbound train.

Guan Jingxiang had bought a mountain of funeral paper money, terrified of bringing too little. After the train arrived at the station, I said, "Let's go home and rest for a moment before going, it's not too late."

Shangguan Yue said, "Uncle Liu, no need to rest, I want to go take a look as soon as possible."

I said, "Alright."

On the way to the cemetery, my mood was extremely heavy. I kept holding back, trying hard to hold back so as not to let myself shed tears. That day, the wind was exceptionally strong, but the sky was unusually clear.

Upon reaching Grandfather's gravesite, I glanced at the mother and son and pointed at a gravestone: "Master's Wife, this is it."

Guan Jingxiang's tears swirled in her eyes. Her breathing grew rapid, she sobbed unceasingly, and as she touched the gravestone, she muttered dazedly: "Last time you said you were going on a long trip, who would have known that once you left, it would be thirty-seven years... Do you know, all these years I've dreamed of you every single night, and every time I'd wake myself up crying..."

Grandfather's son slowly knelt before the gravestone, his long-suppressed yearning finally erupting at this moment. With a heartbroken cry of "Dad—," tears burst forth. I could no longer restrain myself; I dropped heavily to my knees on the ground, tears rolling down in a rush: "Grandfather! Your wife and child have come to see you!"

Master's Wife collapsed onto the ground, hugging the gravestone and crying aloud: "Your son and I have come to see you! Do you hear me? Do you hear me!"

Seeing the adults cry, the child also wailed loudly. Shangguan Yue pulled the child over and said, "Son, kneel down and kowtow to Grandpa."

A fierce wind suddenly blew up, and the vegetation seemed to share our grief. Grandfather had slept in peace beneath this grave for decades; if he had a spirit in heaven, he ought to feel comforted. Grandfather, you can truly rest in peace now.

I had always believed my own life was not easy, but thinking about it now, Grandfather's generation suffered the most. He lost his family at such a young age, wandering lonely and desolate to seek revenge, only to be dragged into the grievances and entanglements of the Jiangxiang Faction. Ever since, it was deception and betrayal, fighting and killing, locking horns with underworld figures for decades before departing ahead of his loved ones. When he was alive, all his family members had died; when he died, his family members were still alive—the lonely one was always him.

The four of us cried for a long time before I wiped away my tears and said, "Master's Wife, let's go home."

Guan Jingxiang softly said, "You guys head back first, I want to have a good talk with my husband."

Shangguan Yue said, "Mom, it's cold, let's go back."

Guan Jingxiang waved her hand. I looked at Shangguan Yue and said, "Let Master's Wife spend a little time alone with Grandfather." Shangguan Yue took off his overcoat and draped it over Guan Jingxiang's shoulders. "Mom, we'll come pick you up in a bit."

Guan Jingxiang nodded.

We left. Looking back from afar at Master's Wife's figure, she was kneeling before the grave, stroking Grandfather's gravestone and speaking in soft, gentle whispers.

When we came back later, Master's Wife had fallen asleep leaning against Grandfather's gravestone. On such a cold day, she slept so peacefully, hugging her husband just like that. For over thirty years, she had finally returned to her husband's embrace.

That night, I set up a banquet table at home to host the three of them.

My wife happily called Guan Jingxiang "Elder Sister," and she likewise happily called my wife "Younger Sister," which left me feeling extremely awkward—what kind of seniority ranking was this anyway?

The next day, they returned to Shandong. From then on every year, Shangguan Yue would bring the child to pay respects to Grandfather several times.

In truth, throughout these years, Grandfather's paper money never ceased. First of all, it was me; whenever the Ghost Festival or Grandfather's death anniversary arrived, I would go burn paper money for him. Sometimes when I arrived late, I would find a pile of already-burned paper ash there, and occasionally offerings and rice wine were left beside it. I knew this must have been done by one of the other Boss Leaders or acolytes. For decades, it had always been this way.