From a young age, I knew I wasn’t my parent’s biological child, but neither I nor they felt it was important, nor did it affect the intimacy between us.
I was born in Pingdu Pass, and my biological parents both perished in the chaos of war. I was too young at the time, and the shock was too great. Later, I couldn’t remember what they looked like, or even my original name. But my mother told me that no parents would blame their child; they would watch over me from heaven, wishing for my happiness.
I had a foster father who saved my life amidst the chaos of war. My mother often spoke of him, praising his erudition, his integrity, and how he single-handedly saved the people of a city. As she spoke, her eyes would mist over, and she would turn away to cry silently. I knew they both missed him dearly and so did I. I always remembered his touch on my head in the last moment, his eyes filled with comforting strength as he said, “Don’t cry, live well.” Then he ran out, leaving me hiding in the haystack, listening to the cries outside. I was afraid but dared not make a sound, yet I remembered his last words. So, I worked hard in my studies and in doing many useful things, because that was my promise to him.
When I was seven, my mother gave birth to a younger brother. I had never seen her so happy. The following year, she had a sister and a third brother, and our home became livelier. They all adored me as their big brother, following me around every day, and asking me to play with them. And my mother would watch us with a silly smile on her face. I was curious and went to ask her why she was laughing. She hugged me and said, resting her chin on my head, “Because I never imagined I could see you all gathered around me like this. Sometimes I’m afraid it’s all a dream.” I felt something cool in my head. Later, I learned that one could cry out of extreme joy.
There were two times when my mother smiled the most joyfully: when she looked at us and when she looked at my father. But when she looked at my father, her smile was different, not just full of tenderness and love, but also with a hint of girlish shyness. Even after we grew up and got married, her expression towards my father never changed.
If anyone mentioned my father in Qingzhou City, they would show expressions of admiration. Everyone praised King Zhongyong for how he terrified the barbarians on the battlefield and how he implemented many benevolent policies to improve the lives of the people in several cities. But my father, in my eyes, was nothing like the lofty figure they spoke of. Every time my mother frowned, he would become anxious, scratching his head and begging us to intercede for him. He would also try various ways to amuse and please my mother.
Many people didn’t understand how my mother, who seemed gentle and delicate, and not particularly outstanding in appearance, could control King Zhongyong so firmly. Only I could see that my father couldn’t live without my mother; she was even more important to him than us. Sometimes when my mother went to Yunzhong Mountain to find Aunt Cui, he would become particularly irritable, as if he had lost his soul. When my mother returned, she would drag her into the room and not let her out, I wonder how she punished her.
I also knew a little secret about my parents: they would make appointments to watch the sunset on the mountain every once in a while, and during that time, no one could disturb them. Once my younger sister suddenly had a fever, and I went to find them according to the directions given by the servants, and coincidentally saw them at the foot of the mountain. I saw my father carrying my mother down the mountain, the faint red glow casting their shadows among the flowers and grass. My mother leaned against my father’s back, smiling like a shy little girl, occasionally whispering something in his ear. And my father listened attentively, smiling softly as if his eyes could only hold my mother. I stood there stunned, unwilling to disturb them.
As they approached, I heard my mother say with a smile, “I’m getting older. I’m afraid you won’t be able to carry me anymore.”
But my father raised an eyebrow and said, “Are you looking down on your husband? No matter how old I am, as long as my legs can walk, even if I have to use a cane, I will always carry you.”
I saw my mother’s sweet smile, the setting sun gradually elongating their shadows, and that scene remained in my heart, showing me what true happiness looked like.
Oh, I also have an aunt in the capital. Sometimes she comes to Qingzhou City to see us. Every time she comes, she complains about her husband and what he has done to make her angry enough to leave home. But I can see that she is very happy because when she mentions him, although her tone is full of complaints, there is a faint smile in the corners of her eyes. When I turned fifteen, my aunt brought my cousin Xia Wanrou. It was March, and she stood in a field of flowers, smiling softly at me and calling me “brother.” At that moment, I suddenly found what I truly wanted to pursue.
Later, I told my mother that I wanted to go to the capital. After she understood the reason, she stroked my head and said with joy, “My little pillar has finally grown up.” Then she seemed to remember something and whispered, “If your foster father knew how brave you were to pursue what you wanted, he would be proud of you too.” I felt my mother seemed to remember something, her expression became sad and nostalgic. I didn’t know why she was like this; perhaps that was another story.
When I turned twenty, I finally married Wanrou. Though her father was fierce and used many means to trouble me, fortunately, we remained steadfast and never missed each other, even when His Highness asked me to repay debts. A year after our marriage, Wanrou became pregnant. Just as we were overjoyed for the coming little life, a major event occurred in Qingzhou City.
I received a letter from the border, saying: “Father was seriously injured in a battle and has been unconscious for several days.”
Together with Aunt, we hurried back to Qingzhou City with Wanrou. When I saw Mother again, I could hardly believe it. The gentle and strong mother I knew had become like this. Her cheeks were deeply sunken, her eyes devoid of light, as if her whole world had emptied.
When she saw me return, she rushed up and hugged me tightly. But she said nothing and shed no tears. Since she regained consciousness, I had never seen her shed a single tear. Even when Little Aunt cried by Father’s bedside for a long time, Mother just sat there staring blankly at Father. Those empty eyes only regained a hint of tenderness when they fell on Father, but soon sank back into despair.
I stayed with Mother after returning, but as Father remained unconscious for longer periods, Mother became increasingly silent and thin. Once, I overheard Mother talking to Father. She said, “You must be pretending to be unconscious again, just like last time. Wake up quickly, or I’ll be really angry!”
As she spoke, she deliberately wore a stern expression. But after waiting for a long time, Father didn’t wake up as before. I watched as hope turned into despair on her face, and then she collapsed. That wasn’t the mother I knew. It was as if her soul had also drifted away with Father’s.
A few days later, Mother called me, my younger brother, and sister to her and calmly explained all of Father’s properties. She even smiled and patted our heads, saying, “You’ve all grown up and established your own families. I can rest assured now.” At that moment, I suddenly felt very afraid because I realized: that if Father left, Mother probably wouldn’t survive either.
A few days later, Little Sister ran to me in panic, saying Mother was missing. I suddenly knew where Mother would be. So I rushed to the hill behind. Sure enough, when I climbed to the top, I saw Mother sitting on a rock, staring blankly at the setting sun. Against the brilliant clouds, her figure appeared lonely and desolate. I finally heard her crying, in a way I had never seen before. Her voice sounded broken and fragmented in the wind, “I’m sorry, Adu, I promised to live well even if you’re not here, but now I realize I can’t do it. I’m sorry…”
I panicked and rushed up to hug her tightly, telling her Father would wake up, and he wouldn’t leave us. After a long time, Mother finally calmed down. She tidied her hair, which was tousled by the breeze, and showed a determined expression, saying, “Yes, he must be unwilling to see us sad for him and unable to let go of the people. He will wake up!”
Later, I learned that during that time, people from several cities were praying for Father’s recovery. They went into temples and set up longevity tablets at home, praying for the heavens to awaken the loyal and brave king soon. Watching those devout people, I suddenly felt proud of Father. He often told me to remember to prioritize the people’s hearts. And now, his people hadn’t forgotten him, and they were always grateful for everything he had done for them.
Perhaps it was the power of those prayers, or perhaps it was hearing Mother’s constant calls. After being in a coma for half a month, Father finally woke up. When he opened his eyes, Mother seemed to come alive again. Father reached out to touch her face and asked why she had become so thin. That was the first thing he said after waking up from a coma. Mother just held his hand tightly and softly asked, “Do I look ugly now?”
I saw Father smile and say, “Not at all, you’re never ugly.”
After Father recovered, they started going to the mountain to watch the sunset again. I worried about Father’s health, so I secretly followed them. When we climbed the mountain, Father insisted on carrying Mother on his back, but Mother shook her head and smiled, saying, “I’ll support you in the future.” Watching their tightly clasped hands, I suddenly understood one thing: their lives had always been intertwined, because of each other, they had color. They would continue like this forever, even death couldn’t separate them.
Later, Wanrou and I stayed with Father and Mother for a long time, until Wanrou’s child was born. It was a boy, chubby and adorable. I let Mother name him, but she shook her head and smiled, saying it should be decided by us.
Oh, my name was given by Mother. That year at Pingdu Pass, I forgot my parents’ appearance and my original name. Mother said my foster father saved me with his life, so I followed him.
My name is Luo Huaien.