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墨書 Inktalez
I followed Zhao Mingkun and two Old Men deeper into the area, and it wasn't long before we spotted some scattered houses not far away. From their appearance, these houses were much better than the Shed at Deng Xuemei's place. At least from the outside, it was clear that these were proper brick-and-mortar houses.
We arrived at Old Zhang's home, and judging by the environment, it was in much better condition than Deng Xuemei's house. Although it wasn't very spacious, it was at least clean and hygienic, with separate kitchen and bathroom facilities—small but complete. Old Zhang prepared Tea for us, but it was Old Li who started chatting first.
"Do you know anything about Old Deng's family?" I asked as I sat down, looking at Old Li.
Old Li pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered me one. I accepted without hesitation. After lighting my cigarette, he lit his own and took a slow drag before speaking. "Yes, Old Deng's family has been living in that Shed for over ten years."
"They've lived there for so long?" I asked.
Old Li took another drag of his cigarette and nodded. "Yeah, I remember clearly that back then, the father and daughter didn't have a house and lived in a shipping container next to a garbage dump—just one container that cost three yuan to stay in. But how could you live in that container? With just a bed inside, it was already cramped. I remember visiting that container; there was only a bunk bed inside—the father slept on the bottom bunk while the daughter slept on the top."
It was evident that life had been incredibly tough for Deng Xuemei and her father back then.
Old Li exhaled a puff of smoke and continued, "At first, we didn't know what kind of people they were. Later we found out that Old Deng had some kind of illness. According to him, this illness could only be managed; there was no cure for it. It became an endless pit that swallowed up everything they had. Old Deng's wife left him, they lost their house, and he could only rent a shipping container with his daughter for three yuan."
"What happened with the house later?" I asked again.
Old Li replied, "Later on, some neighbors around here couldn't bear to see it any longer. That wasn't really a place for people to live. So we discussed it among ourselves; each person contributed a hundred or so yuan to buy some materials and built Old Deng a simple shelter—that's what you see now."
At that moment, Old Zhang came out. Having overheard Old Li's words, he added, "All the furniture in their home was donated by nearby neighbors. During our conversations, we learned that Old Deng felt he owed his daughter the most in life. If she had been a boy, it might have been more acceptable, but seeing a girl suffer like this—it was too much for us to bear."
Old Li handed Old Zhang a cigarette and said, "Exactly. Because of his illness, Old Deng couldn't go out to work. Whenever he got sick, he had to lie in bed; he couldn't go far at all. All the responsibilities fell on this teenage girl’s shoulders. I've seen her eat nothing but steamed buns and drink plain water; she wore the same piece of clothing for almost a month without changing—it was heartbreaking."
I spoke up again, "But Deng Xuemei is quite impressive; she got into Key High School and was accepted into a prestigious university?"
"Yes," Old Li replied. "I really admire that girl for being able to get into Key High School and a top university despite such a challenging environment. If my grandson were that capable, his father wouldn't be so worried all the time."
Old Zhang chuckled and said, "That's right. Poor kids often have to grow up fast. My own child's studies aren't great either; the teachers keep calling me in."
"Do you know how much Old Deng spends on treatment each month?" I asked.
"I'm not too sure about that," Old Li said. "But he drinks all sorts of medicines from bottles and jars; I don't even know what they are. That kind of illness is a special difficult case, and it seems like it isn't covered by insurance. But Old Deng is an intellectual; otherwise, he wouldn't have raised a daughter who got into Dongxing University."
While lighting a cigarette, Old Zhang added, "Yes, yes! We saw him doing something with those gadgets—what do you call them? He makes money by tapping away at them."
Old Li waved his hand and said, "Those are called tablets; that's where his writing fees come from. But even with that income, it's not much help. His monthly medication probably costs five or six thousand. Someone donated money before, but that's not a long-term solution. If he hadn't sold his house thinking he could cure his illness when he first found out what it was, he wouldn't be in such dire straits now."
"Does he pay for his medical expenses himself?" I frowned, sensing something was off.
"Yes," Old Li nodded. "His daughter went off to university, so it's just him at home. Sometimes we check in on him; his daughter is quite responsible and doesn't require him to pay for her schooling."
I said, "Since we all live in Dongxing City, it sounds like his daughter doesn't come back often?"
"Right!" Old Li replied. "In her four years of university, she hardly comes back at all. But we understand; after all, university tuition is expensive—probably over ten thousand a year. Deng Xuemei has to earn that herself. It seems she's been working outside; we've asked her a couple of times but couldn't quite understand what she meant."
Old Zhang laughed and said, "I heard something about design or some foreign language stuff; we don't have much education ourselves, haha."
"Yes," I nodded. "When did Old Deng pass away?"
"Ah." At this point, Old Li sighed repeatedly and said, "I had thought that this illness was untreatable. Over time, his condition worsened. But if you think about it, from the time he got sick to his passing, it has been over ten years. In that sense, he managed to endure for quite a long time."
Old Zhang extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray and replied, "I know about that. In the last year or two, his illness became increasingly severe; he could do nothing at all. That kind of medication is toxic, and long-term use is harmful to the body. In the end, he could only lie in bed, unable to move, and his flesh began to rot."
"That's called bedsores," Old Li corrected him.
"What about his daughter?" I asked.
Old Li waved his hand dismissively and said, "His daughter was still working. At that time, he couldn't earn any money, so if she didn't work, what would they do?"
"That's true," Old Zhang added. "At that time, his daughter found a good job. Old Deng's illness was chronic; how could she just do nothing and stay by Old Deng's side all the time? Unexpectedly, it wasn't long before Old Deng passed away."
I nodded and asked, "Were you both present when Old Deng died?"
"Not really," Old Li replied. "Old Deng died two days later. His daughter was at work; we usually just went over occasionally to check on him. One time, Old Zhang and I went to see Old Deng and found him lying motionless in bed. I was startled; we rushed over to check on him, but it was already too late."
"Do you remember what happened at that time?" I inquired.
Old Li thought for a moment and said, "Yes, I remember. Both Old Zhang and I were there. At that moment, we saw Old Deng wrapped in a blanket, curled up into a ball. When we approached to take a look and lifted the blanket, Old Deng's body was already cold. He was facing inward; there was a bottle of water on the table that he always kept nearby, but I noticed that the medicine bottles were scattered all over the floor."
Old Li hadn't smoked for a long time; ash had accumulated on his cigarette. He gently shook it, causing ash to fall everywhere.
He continued, "It seems he suffered alone; when he died, no one knew—just all by himself. Later on, we contacted Old Deng's daughter and then returned to handle the funeral arrangements. After that, his daughter never came back again; once the house was locked up, no one opened it again. It has been several years since then."
Seemingly moved by his thoughts, Old Li continued, "That's how life is. You never know when disaster will strike; once it does, there's no turning back. So I feel that whether one is wealthy or just barely getting by, living a peaceful life is the best outcome."
As people grow older, they tend to reflect more on the relationship between life and death, but at this moment, I felt no such sentiment.
"Did anyone clean that room afterward?" I asked.
"Clean?" Old Li chuckled. "At that time, we were too busy with the funeral to have the time to clean the house. Besides, it wasn't even worth cleaning; it was just a place to stay."
That raised a question. When I looked at that room, I had carefully observed its structure and decorations, even checking under the bed. However, I had not seen the crucial item: the medicine bottles. Old Li had many medications he needed to take, yet there wasn't a single bottle in that room.
Medications might decay over time, but plastic bottles are unlikely to degrade for hundreds of years. So where did the bottles go? They certainly wouldn't have rotted away to nothing. The only explanation is that someone took them away.
"Have you seen the results of the autopsy?" I inquired.
"What’s that?" Old Li replied. "I don’t know what you mean; all I know is she died of illness. But what exactly happened, we have no idea. After Old Deng passed away, we lost contact with her daughter. That girl from back then must be in her thirties now. By the way, what exactly are you investigating?"
I stood up and said to Old Li, "Our investigation is complete. Thank you for sharing your information with us."
"Oh," Old Li nodded and smiled. "I understand; it's confidential, right?"
I nodded in agreement.
Something felt off; there might still be some hidden truths about what happened back then.
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