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If there is a next life
墨書 Inktalez
1. The muzzle was pressed against the back of my head, and the sound of the bolt being pulled echoed in my ears like an explosion, making my head ache.
Once, when I was having dinner with a friend from the Provincial Armed Police Headquarters, he told me that the firing squad unit has many people and carries out firing squad executions every few months, not always with just one person.
During the execution process, it is required to hit with one shot. Pay attention, it's hitting, not killing with one shot. He said he often sees cases where one shot doesn't kill. The gun is always fired from behind the head. After firing, if you look from the front, there will be a big hole in the forehead. After shooting, brain matter and blood mixed with frontal bone will spurt out. Then they have to reach in with an iron wire from the gunshot wound at the back of the head to stir the remaining brain matter to ensure the prisoner's death. I didn't expect that it's now my turn to kneel here waiting for the gunshot. I tried to turn around and look at the executioner behind me, but before I could turn my head, the gunshot rang out. I fell to the ground, and after a whirlwind, my consciousness went blank.
I don't know if hell or heaven really exist, and I don't know whether at the end of my life, I should go to hell or heaven. Fragments of memories gather in my mind, and I struggle to open my eyes, wanting to see whether there are demons or angelic sisters in front of me. The mocking voice carries immense disdain and disgust: "You're not old, but you sure lack courage!"
Get up and clean up yourself. This damn pocket is full of shit and piss, so disgusting."
I didn't actually die!
I just ended up accompanying Court of law!
2.
The guard covered his mouth and nose, and with a loud "clang," he closed the iron gate and left.
I let out a long sigh of relief. What abalone, lobster, beautiful women, and real gold and silver... none of that matters as long as I'm alive!
...
Next, please let me talk about my life of over fifty years as long as I live. My name is Hu Ruoyun. I was born in the 1970s in a small village in Annan County, Jiangbei Province. Since I can remember, all I have seen is the word "poverty" written in capital letters.
I believe that poverty is the root of all evil in life! When I was 5 years old, the production team was planting melons, and the team leader Wu Dezi was in charge of weighing while his wife picked the melons. When it was the turn of Aunt Tsuihua whose husband had died in the west of the village, Wu Dezi's wife's eyes flashed with malice. However, seeing the man's fierce gaze towards herself and the tender look towards the widow, she had to pick a basket full of ripe, large melons and sweet melons for her.
The skill of delivering the basket, Wu Dezi not only touched Aunt Tsuihua's hand, but also took the opportunity to give her firm buttocks a hard squeeze: "Little sister, my brother has left, I'll come help you with some heavy lifting tonight."
I was young, I didn't understand.
Who does heavy lifting at night? You have to light a lamp, and kerosene is expensive!
Curiosity killed the cat, and I was indeed harmed by curiosity. At night, I quietly went out, and the cat was on the haystack in Aunt Tsuihua's yard. Anyway, her house doesn't even have a mud wall around the yard, so it's very convenient to come and go. I don't know what time it was at night, but I was suddenly awakened by a sound.
Humming "quickly beat the drum and slowly beat the gong, stop the gong and listen to the singing, all kinds of idle talk are also singing, listen to me sing the 'Eighteen Touches'..." the Wu Dezi knocked on Aunt Tsuihua's window, still pinching his throat to sound refined, and softly recited lines from a play, "Young lady, please open the door quickly—"
The door silently opened.
Wu Dezi slipped inside.
Soon, Aunt Tsuihua's crying could be heard: "Hmm hmm hmm... Ah..."
Wu Dezi was shouting: "Ah..."
There were no lights on in the room, how could Wu Dezi work? It seemed to be very strenuous.
It's boring. I quietly climbed down from the haystack and went home to sleep. Later, as I got older, I understood everything I should have.
I understand the evil in the world, and I also understand Aunt Tsuihua's suffering. What can she do? Without a man in the house, as a woman, she can't earn work points after taking care of the children, and without work points, she can't get food rations. At least others have in-laws, but she has nothing except that dead man who's buried in the ground and won't sprout anything. In the face of life, is reputation and face really important? If you want to come, just come, anyway, the whole village knows that you're a "fallen woman."
Furthermore, the land is too dry, so it's good if someone comes to water it. Let's continue talking about the time when we were dividing the melons. When Wu Dezi was using the scale to weigh for others, the scale beam was level, but when it came to our share, his wife kept picking the bitter gourds and small melons into the basket, and the scale beam was pressed down so much that it could hardly hold the weight. Mother hesitated to say something, and Wu Dezi's wife glared fiercely with triangular eyes and said, "Do you want it? If not, even this will be gone!"
Mother no longer made a sound, and I held onto her clothes tightly in fear.
Dad just returned home after bringing back the bitter gourd and eggs from the production team's livestock shed (wearing rubber shoes, he would shovel the mixed manure of cow, mule, donkey, and horse excrement onto a cart, then transport it to the field and unload it into small piles at intervals, before evenly spreading the piles across the field).
As far back as I can remember, my dad has always been the only one doing the dirtiest and most tiring "job" of shoveling manure from the production team's livestock shed. There has never been a second person.
I only realized when I was older that it was Captain Wu Dezi who bullied my father. During that time, the production team leader controlled the distribution of grain, vegetables, and work points, and was seen as an emperor-like figure in the eyes of the members. Everyone in the team was afraid of him, including me when I was young.
Bitter melon seeds slightly larger than eggs were cut open one by one by my father, the insides removed, then washed with well water, sprinkled with coarse salt to make pickles. My younger brother, sister, and I squatted there, eagerly hoping that at least one in the basket would be "80% ripe," so that the three of us sisters could taste a real sweet melon. But to our disappointment, not a single one was sweet. Every seed was bitter, and that bitterness has been etched deep in my memory, impossible to erase.
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