The Death of Er Batou

Even in prison, people divided into gangs and factions. Members of different “secret societies” stuck together. On just the second day after entering, people from the “Jiang Xiang Sect” got into a fight with those from the “Shenwu Gate.” Under Er Batou’s leadership, over a dozen brothers from “Mu Zi Lian” beat the charlatans from “Shenwu Gate” until their heads were split open. Later, everyone who participated in this brawl was thrown into solitary confinement, with Er Batou locked up for a full month. In that tiny room of just a few square meters where he couldn’t even stretch his legs or lie down properly, Er Batou endured the entire month.

When he came out, Er Batou had lost a lot of weight, his eyes were sunken, and he had no energy at all. Even later when everyone worked together, he kept dozing off and could barely complete his tasks, so the brothers had to speed up to help him. At that time, prison regulations required each inmate to fill 3,000 matchboxes daily. Filling matchboxes was a very common form of labor reform in prisons then—boxes of matchsticks and matchboxes came separately at first, and only after prisoners assembled them did they become complete products for market circulation. Later, some classified documents were also printed by prison inmates to ensure absolute secrecy. After the reform and opening up, when the country reinstated the college entrance examination, for a period of time the exam papers were all printed in prisons.

The following year, an old acquaintance arrived at the prison—Li Qiming. Years ago, the Li family and Zhang family had feuded for many years, scheming against each other. Eventually, the Jiang Xiang Sect’s “Xianren Shou” used eel blood to make ghost handprints and suggested Zu Ye employ the “Iron Injection Kill” method to trick Li Qiming. In the end, Li Qiming paid to build a ancestral hall for Zhang Er’gou’s family, and Zhang Er’gou was silenced with poison—both the Zhang and Li families suffered mutual losses. After the founding of New China, when the government saw that the ancestral hall was unattended and covered in dust, they planned to confiscate it. But Li Qiming jumped out and said, “Although the ancestral hall belongs to the Zhang family, my Li family paid to build it. You can requisition it, but you need to give us some money.”

Later, when the two sides couldn’t reach an agreement, Li Qiming secretly buried “scissor traps” and “weasel traps” in the ancestral hall—these were devices farmers used to catch rabbits and weasels. Several militiamen weren’t paying attention, and with a few clicks, their ankles were broken. Li Qiming instantly became a counterrevolutionary.

As soon as Li Qiming entered, he recognized Er Batou and pointed at his nose: “You’re all just a bunch of swindlers!”

“Hehe. You’re right. But it’s too late now. Didn’t you also end up in here?” Er Batou chuckled.

“You should all be shot like that old bastard!”

“I’ll fuck your mother! How dare you curse Zu Ye!” Er Batou leaped up and swung his fist.

The prison guard walked over and shouted: “What are you doing? Behave yourselves! Want to go back to solitary?”

Er Batou immediately softened, turned around with a smile all over his face: “Officer, he insulted me.”

“Stop grinning like that, there are no officers here!” the guard said sternly, then pointed at everyone, “Listen up, all of you, don’t cause trouble here!”

Li Qiming really shouldn’t have provoked Er Batou right upon arrival. Er Batou, with his years of underworld prestige and fighting prowess, had already become the boss of the cell.

That night, after the guards retired, at Er Batou’s command, several cellmates rushed over, covered Li Qiming with a blanket, and beat him severely. Beating someone covered with a blanket was a clever technique—no visible marks on the skin surface, only internal injuries. The next day when Li Qiming cried and complained, it didn’t draw much attention. At night, everyone drove Li Qiming off the communal bed and made him sleep in the corner designated for urinating. After several rounds of this torment, Li Qiming completely submitted.

If Li Qiming had just continued being submissive, he might have returned to society in a few years. But he was ultimately a restless, competitive person. Within a month, he took advantage of outdoor exercise time to connect with thugs from “Shenwu Gate.” The “Shenwu Gate” people were planning a prison break with a very thorough plan. Unexpectedly, the night before the planned action, Li Qiming inexplicably talked in his sleep, which was overheard by the alert Er Batou.

Er Batou secretly discussed with me and Si Batou: “Should we run with them?”

Si Batou and I both shook our heads: “Second Brother, we all have fixed sentences. After serving our time, we can start fresh. Escaping would be a dead end.”

Er Batou scratched his head: “You’ll get out in five or six years, but I have to stay for over ten years. By the time I get out, I’ll be old. Might as well take a gamble!”

“Don’t do anything foolish, Second Brother!” I said anxiously.

“I’ve got it!” The always clever Si Batou had a flash of inspiration, “Doesn’t the government always emphasize meritorious service to atone for crimes? Second Brother, report them! If you expose them all, that’s a major contribution and can reduce your sentence.”

Er Batou shook his head: “That doesn’t follow the code of the underworld.”

“Second Brother!” Si Batou and I were almost amused despite ourselves, “What time is this to talk about the underworld code? We followed that code for decades, and in the end aren’t we all prisoners? Our path was wrong. Turning back is the shore. Reporting them is the real righteous thing to do. The ‘Shenwu Gate’ people have committed all kinds of evil—if they successfully escape, they’ll surely harm people. Exposing them is truly upholding justice.”

Er Batou thought for a moment, then nodded heavily.

Early the next morning, Er Batou requested to see the prison administrators and secretly reported the matter. The prison completely crushed this escape conspiracy. Several leaders of “Shenwu Gate” were executed, Li Qiming’s sentence was changed to life imprisonment, and because of his major meritorious service, Er Batou’s sentence was reduced to under ten years.

Later, as prison cultural development progressed, in addition to labor reform, we would organize study sessions in the evenings—studying arithmetic, Chinese, political knowledge, and studying “In the Octagonal Tower.” Later still, the prison even showed us films. The first movie was called “Fighting North and South,” and everyone watched with great enthusiasm. Later we watched “The White-Haired Girl,” and everyone watched with tears streaming down their faces.

Those years in prison were a major baptism in my life. I finally understood why prisons exist in this world. What I saw there wasn’t fear or sorrow, but karma. So many once arrogant people were tamed into submission. Whether guilty of heinous crimes or just momentarily confused, if you mess around out there, you eventually have to pay. At night, looking through the iron bars at the stars, I often thought of Zu Ye, of my deceased mother, of my distant sweetheart, and sometimes wondered about my own future—a future with no clear direction. I especially didn’t understand why Zu Ye had single-handedly sent his brothers into prison, and occasionally I would even hate him for abandoning his brothers and going alone to the Yellow Springs.

Gradually, everyone adapted to prison life and looked forward to life after release.

In 1958, I finally completed my sentence and was released. The outside world had completely changed. The entire nation was enthusiastically engaged in the Great Leap Forward steel production. The communes were boasting: Surpassing Britain this year is no problem!

My God, my heart shook at the time, because I had no idea where Britain was, or even why we needed to surpass it. Walking on the street, everywhere were posted bold declarations. There was one doggerel verse that was particularly interesting: “Rice stalks piled round and high, commune members stepped on them to the sky, tore off a white cloud to wipe their sweat, leaned toward the sun to light a cigarette.”

I was completely dizzy—rice stalks piled to the sky? Clouds to wipe sweat? The sun to light cigarettes? I could already feel the fiery passion of the “Great Leap Forward.”

Before Zu Ye died, he entrusted to me his long-hidden wife and child. I always kept this tremendous secret buried deep in my heart. I was personally trained by Zu Ye. I witnessed the final years of the Jiang Xiang Sect’s rise and fall. Zu Ye had countless brothers and countless friends in his life, but in the end, he only trusted me alone.

What is the Way, what is righteousness—I don’t know. I only know that when entrusted with matters of life and death, one must pledge life and death in return. I promised Zu Ye to forever keep this secret, to let Zu Ye’s wife and son forever remember him as an antique dealer—to freeze that image of her husband, his father. That mother and son were innocent and shouldn’t be dragged into the grudges and resentments of the underworld. I had to take care of them, and even more, protect them.

So after being released from prison, the first thing I had to do was go to Shandong to see how that mother and son were doing. But I was penniless at the time. With government assistance, I entered a public-private joint supply cooperative to do odd jobs. The following spring, after I’d saved enough travel money and bought some candy, I finally boarded the train to Shandong.

I cannot describe my feelings when I saw that woman, especially when the child beside her crisply called her “Mother.” I knew this was Zu Ye’s flesh and blood. I could no longer control myself—I grabbed the child into my arms, and tears poured out.

The woman couldn’t imagine that behind my sobbing was an unspoken tragedy of the Jiang Xiang world. She still lived in a dream, in the lie that Zu Ye and I had woven. She only knew that her husband was a merchant who caught a cold in 1952 and couldn’t be saved.

When I saw how impoverished the mother and son were, I desperately wanted to give them that chest of items Zu Ye left behind immediately. But I also clearly realized this absolutely wouldn’t do. Zu Ye had instructed that if those things weren’t handled properly, they wouldn’t relieve poverty but would invite disaster. Under the planned economy, who would dare flaunt gold and silver everywhere? Moreover, these were all stolen goods from the “Jiang Xiang Sect.”

I could only work desperately—during the day at the supply cooperative, at night at the threshing ground—trying to earn as many work points as possible to exchange for more money and grain coupons. Apart from feeding myself, I prepared to send the rest to Zu Ye’s widow every few days.

Zu Ye’s wife was named Guan Jingxiang, a famous traditional Chinese medicine doctor from Cao County, Shandong. Her father had been executed by the Japanese for refusing to treat a puppet army commander. When Zu Ye met her, she had just turned eighteen but had already inherited her father’s medical skills very well. The two fell in love at first sight. The girl gave herself to him, and Zu Ye planted his seed. Later, their son was born on the night of a full moon. Zu Ye named him “Shangguan Yue.” Although Zu Ye repeatedly concealed his identity, when naming his son, he used his real surname—Zu Ye’s clan concept was still very strong.

Later, the country entered the Three Years of Difficulty. Even tree bark was gnawed clean, and I could no longer afford to take care of that mother and son.

A few more years passed. Qi Batou Wang Jiaxian and Si Batou Zhang Zizhan were released from prison, and the economic situation began to improve. Two more years passed, and Er Batou was also released.

Of the former “Mu Zi Lian” core members, only the four of us remained. On the day Er Batou was released, the three of us personally went to the prison gate to meet him. Afterward, we went to Fourth Brother’s house. Fourth Brother brought out sorghum liquor he’d treasured for two years. Wang Jiaxian brought out a small piece of preserved meat he’d pickled for half a year and couldn’t bear to eat. I brought four steamed buns. Everyone also washed a big pile of radishes for dipping in sauce, and we sat down like this.

We poured the liquor, raised our cups—all four of us fell silent. How many years had it been? This kind of occasion had become so unfamiliar. The past was like smoke. We held up our cups, stunned for quite a while.

“Let’s toast Zu Ye first,” I said.

“Right! Toast Zu Ye first!” All four batou said in unison, and then we drank it down in one gulp.

Then everyone grabbed the radishes and started crunching away while dipping them in bean paste. Even when the liquor was almost gone, no one could bear to pick up those few pieces of chopped meat. We’d all endured hunger, we’d all suffered hardship, and we’d enjoyed good fortune too. But at that moment, everyone had lost the impulse to fight and grab like in the old days. Was it that we’d grown old, or our hearts had calmed, or was it the vast changes in circumstances that made us unable to move these opening and closing chopsticks?

“Old Fifth, you got out earliest. Any action these years on the outside?” Er Batou crunched on a radish.

I was stunned: “Action? Just being alive is good enough.”

Er Batou gave a bitter laugh: “Inside, I often thought about the old days, thought about Zu Ye, thought about the brothers. Brothers, what are your plans going forward?”

I sighed deeply: “Plans? Live honestly, repay the great leader Chairman Mao.”

Er Batou smiled: “Really?”

I said: “Sugar isn’t as sweet as honey, quilts not as warm as fur. Though parents’ kindness is great, it can’t compare to Chairman Mao. Didn’t you learn that inside?”

Er Batou quickly said: “Learned it, learned it!” After a long while, Er Batou suddenly said: “Old Fifth, didn’t Zu Ye leave any oral instructions before he died? I remember a few times after finishing Council Meetings, he kept you back alone.”

As he said this, Si Batou and Qi Batou both turned their gazes toward me.

I said: “No oral instructions. He just worried about the brothers’ futures. Hoped everyone would wash their hands of it.”

Er Batou sighed: “Given Zu Ye’s way of doing things, he always left backup plans for everything. He really didn’t leave any words?”

“No.” I silently shook my head.

Er Batou finally couldn’t hold back and said: “Brothers, have you thought about rebuilding our organization?”

I couldn’t help but gasp: “What era is this to talk about rebuilding? I’ve had enough of being inside—I never want to go back.”

Si Batou also said: “I’ll never play at being a swindler again in this lifetime!”

Qi Batou nodded: “Second Brother, times have changed. Let’s just live properly.”

Er Batou said: “Live properly? We A’Bao don’t know how to do anything else. How can we make a living?”

I laughed: “The entire nation is building socialism. Poor or rich, everyone lives like this. Why can’t we?”

Er Batou said: “We still need a way to make money.”

I glanced at him: “Cotton mills, steel factories, tractor factories. If that doesn’t work, you can go down to the commune—farming, threshing ground, collecting manure—all possible.”

Er Batou laughed: “Truly the feng shui turns. Never thought I, Second Master, would end up collecting manure.” After a moment of silence, he suddenly said to everyone, “Haven’t any of you found a woman these years?”

That remark hit a sore spot for me and Si Batou. I was inherently an ugly and poor wretch. Besides my big head, I had no outstanding features. Never mind having been in prison—even with a clean slate, which girl would look at me? Si Batou was slightly better than me, better looking and educated, but his mind had been traumatized, and sometimes he was too silent. Girls all said he was mentally ill and stayed far away.

Still, Seventh Brother Wang Jiaxian was impressive—naturally scholarly-looking with an optimistic personality. After coming out of prison, he entered a spinning mill specifically delivering water to workers. Later, when the factory leadership learned he wrote well, they had him write slogans for the factory. Just like that, a young woman took a fancy to him. I imagine with his silver tongue he could make his past sound utterly miserable while showing his conscience wasn’t dead and his determination to start fresh. Who doesn’t make mistakes in life? Correcting them makes you a good comrade. Just like that, Wang Jiaxian got married the second year after being released.

After hearing this, Er Batou laughed again: “Old Fifth, remember the first time I took you to a brothel? As soon as we entered, the madam led a group of girls following us like little bugs. Alas, times have changed. It’s over.”

“Oh, Second Brother even knows phrases like ‘times have changed’ now?” I said with a smile.

“I’m also someone who studied inside.” Er Batou said proudly, then suddenly changed the subject, “Zu Ye really didn’t leave any words, didn’t point the brothers toward a path?” Er Batou asked again.

“No,” I said. “Zu Ye had no solution either. He just said if there’s an opportunity, everyone could wash their hands and do something else.”

“Do something else?” Er Batou snorted. “Zu Ye was the one who led me onto this path. He died and tells us to do something else?”

“Zu Ye meant well for everyone,” I said.

Er Batou shook his head: “Can’t do anything else. Used to deceiving—it’ll follow me to death, can’t change.”

“Times have changed,” I said. “Better start doing honest work. Come with me to the machinery factory to do temporary work.”

Er Batou silently nodded.

When I saw Zu Ye’s widow again, it was the mid-1960s. Time spares no one—that woman had aged considerably. Shangguan Yue had also grown up and joined the army. I felt immensely gratified. If Zu Ye knew from the underworld, he should rest in peace. When I stuffed the money and grain coupons I’d saved over the years to Guan Jingxiang, she absolutely refused. She said: “Everyone’s life is hard. As long as you remember your master in your heart, that’s enough.” Later I simply exchanged the money for rice and flour and threw it directly into her house—then she had no choice.

After returning home, I once again secretly ran to Yue Jia Ridge to measure the place where the chest was buried.

At night, I began thinking about how to give the treasures in the chest to Guan Jingxiang. Various methods kept flashing through my mind: carry them over, take them piece by piece?

While pondering, I suddenly heard someone knocking. Opening the door, I saw it was Er Batou. As soon as he entered, his eyes stared straight at me with a strange smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Second Brother, what’s the matter?” I asked.

He kept staring at me strangely. After sitting down in the room, he said: “Old Fifth, how have I, Er Batou, treated you all these years?”

“Very well, nothing to complain about.”

He scratched his scalp and said: “Then why did you hide it from me?”

My heart shook: “Hide what?”

“Hehe.” He laughed. “Caojia Zhuang, Cao County, Shandong.”

I was shocked: “You followed me!”

He said: “Don’t worry, don’t worry. An A’Bao must keep his composure. Don’t forget—I’m the one who trained you.”

“What do you want?” I stared at him intently.

He shook his head: “Zu Ye, oh Zu Ye, truly worthy of being our Jiang Xiang Sect’s master. Deceiving and deceiving, even deceived his own brothers.” Er Batou’s words revealed a hint of desolation.

“Zu Ye had his own difficulties.”

“Right. Zu Ye suffered, Zu Ye had it hard, Zu Ye suffered for the Jiang Xiang Sect his whole life. But were the brothers’ lives easy? Utterly loyal, before and behind, blocking knives and bullets, because in our hearts we all had a Zu Ye who, like us, upheld gang rules and committed all manner of evil. Normally, if any brother dared mess around with women outside, Zu Ye would execute him without mercy, and the brothers would applaud, because the hall’s leader set the example. I just don’t understand—Zu Ye wanted to leave an heir. Which brother didn’t want to leave an heir?”

As Er Batou spoke, he actually started crying.

“Second Brother.” I also cried. “I think of it this way: Zu Ye knew he was the gang leader, guilty of heinous crimes, inevitably facing death, so he adopted this desperate measure. The brothers’ crimes weren’t capital offenses—they still had hope of getting out…”

“Saying it like that makes me feel better. I, Second Master, am not the sentimental type. What breaks my heart is that Zu Ye never mentioned this while alive. Big Brother and I were with Zu Ye earliest—how could Zu Ye distrust me so much!”

“It’s not distrust. Second Brother, you act too impulsively. After Big Brother and Zu Ye died, you became the hall’s boss. Various forces watched you most closely. If word leaked, it would implicate Zu Ye’s wife and child.”

Er Batou nodded and scratched his head: “Old Fifth, let’s speak plainly. If Zu Ye has an heir, then he must have left something behind…”

Before he could finish, I quickly said: “Before Zu Ye died, his home was raided. You saw it yourself—he left nothing.”

Er Batou lowered his head, then raised it again and sighed: “That Zu Ye took you, this fool, as his last disciple—now I finally understand. Zu Ye was right. Truly a good brother of our Jiang Xiang Sect. If I were you, I wouldn’t tell either.”

“You… you…”

“Same thing, Old Fifth. You’re the one I trained—you can’t hide from me. There’s goods at Yue Jia Ridge.”

“You…”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell, and I won’t touch them. Before Zu Ye died, we protected him. After Zu Ye died, we protect his family. You’re a good brother of the hall, and so am I.”

“Second Brother…” I cried.

“Also, don’t go running to Yue Jia Ridge frequently. Doing that will expose it sooner or later. Next time you go to Shandong, I’ll go with you. Zu Ye is gone. Besides visiting his grave, we can only go see his family.”

“All right, but you absolutely must keep this secret!” I urged.

“Don’t worry! I won’t tell Fourth or Seventh. The fewer people who know about this kind of thing, the better.”

Soon, the vigorous “Cultural Revolution” erupted.

We were all labeled “Black Five Categories.” Especially Er Batou—thugs who had been beaten by Er Batou in prison until they begged for mercy on the ground joined forces to struggle against him, parading and criticizing him day and night without rest.

At night, Fourth Brother, Seventh Brother, and I quietly came to Er Batou’s home. Calling it a home—it was really just four walls and one room. Besides a broken bed, there was nothing in the room. He’d never had a home to begin with. At fifteen he followed Zu Ye, mixed in the hall for over twenty years. After coming out of prison, under the commune’s arrangement, he moved into an old, uninhabited courtyard. Then came the “Cultural Revolution,” and this courtyard became the town’s famous struggle session venue.

I heated a pot of hot water for Er Batou, washed his face, soaked his feet—his feet were rotting. Si Batou brought him a piece of roasted sweet potato. He tremblingly held it in his hands, slowly gnawing on it.

All four of us were silent, not knowing what to say, not wanting to say anything.

After a very long time, I remembered something from the past: “Second Brother, do you remember when I first started, you and Zu Ye tested my courage?”

Er Batou nodded, a hint of weary smile at the corner of his mouth.

That was in my first month after joining. Zu Ye tested my courage, saying there was an old mansion on South Street—a haunted house. It used to be inhabited by an antique dealer. Later, due to trade disputes, the whole family was killed in the old mansion. That antique dealer was even dismembered. Since then, the place was often haunted at night. Neighbors around could always hear someone crying in the old mansion at night, and some saw ghosts poking their heads out from the old mansion. Zu Ye said: “Tonight at midnight, go there and see if this is really what’s happening.”

I knew Zu Ye was testing me. No choice—an A’Bao must be bold. That night I steeled myself and went.

The wind was particularly strong that night, and the moon was very bright. I walked alone to the old mansion and listened carefully—what sounds were there? Moonlight spilled on the blue bricks and tiles. It was quiet all around—except for the sound of wind blowing through the elm trees, nothing else.

I breathed a sigh of relief and prepared to head back. Just then, I suddenly heard faint crying sounds coming from inside the old mansion—like a woman, yet like a man. My heart skipped a beat, my hair stood on end. I felt my legs go numb. Gathering my courage, I pressed my ear against the pitch-black gate, wanting to hear clearly.

But the sound disappeared again. I thought I was hallucinating. I touched my forehead, wondering what to do next. Just then, the dry grass on the wall made a rustling sound, as if something ran from the wall top to the roof.

I stepped back a few steps and looked up at the old mansion’s roof. A white shadow poked its head out from behind the chimney, whooshed onto the big elm tree in the courtyard, making cooing sounds—like a person, yet like a ghost. In the moonlight, all white and pale. I felt heat in my lower abdomen and involuntarily urinated.

I ran back as fast as I could, even lost my shoes, and finally came barefoot to see Zu Ye. When Zu Ye saw me, he laughed: “A ghost chasing you?”

I gasped: “Saw a ghost, all white…”

Zu Ye said: “That ghost followed you—it’s right behind you.”

I suddenly turned around. A thing covered in blood and white fur stood before me. I involuntarily leaned back, my feet slipped, and I fell to the ground.

“Haha.” Zu Ye laughed. The “ghost” also laughed.

The “ghost” took off its mask. I saw it was Er Batou. Looking at the white fur on his body—it was that kind of thick old sheepskin coat. He’d worn it inside out with the wool exposed outside. Scared me to death.

Er Batou said when he fed the “corpse” in the old temple, the “corpse” opened its mouth, but he didn’t wet himself. He said my courage was too small.

Finally, Zu Ye patted my shoulder and said: “Da Tou, ghosts aren’t scary—people are scary.”

Listening to me tell this story from the past, Er Batou smiled with tears in his eyes.

“Second Brother, don’t think too much. It will pass,” we comforted Er Batou.

Er Batou kept silent. Finally lying on the bed, he suddenly said weakly: “Is this retribution?”

Er Batou, who had spent his life playing ghost and deity, finally died in the struggle to “Sweep Away All Monsters and Demons.”

The next day when people again flooded into Er Batou’s courtyard, Er Batou had already died. I don’t know when he had hidden so much cinnabar—he used the last pot of boiling water I had heated for him to dissolve a large amount of cinnabar and drank it down.

I don’t know how much suffering he endured before death. He never cried out once, but used his hands covered in cinnabar to write two characters on the wall: Zu Ye.

Seeing that scene, the hearts of all the batou broke, yet we dared not cry. At night, I buried myself under the blankets and screamed my lungs out: Zu Ye, if you have a spirit in heaven, please look!

Later, Si Batou, Qi Batou, and I also underwent struggle sessions, but all relatively light. I just took a few slaps from the revolutionary youth and that was it. Si Batou even benefited from misfortune. This fellow who had been crazy since Huang Farong’s “death” suddenly became lucid. At the struggle session, he made a profound self-criticism, recovering his former cleverness, wisdom, and eloquence. He tearfully denounced the various crimes of the reactionary “secret societies” with such vocabulary and words that even the “Cultural Revolution” propaganda team had never heard before. Given his successful acceptance of socialist transformation, the propaganda team absorbed him into their ranks.

The power of love is great. The reason Si Batou changed from his mad state was because he fell in love with a sent-down youth who looked too much like Huang Farong. Of course, this was what he said himself. Qi Batou and I felt there was some resemblance, mainly the eyes, but to say she looked particularly similar—absolutely not.

But that trace of resemblance was enough. Si Batou had waited for his Huang Farong for thirty years. His soul finally had a place to rest.

That sent-down youth was named Meng Fanhong, a top student in the Chinese literature department from Beijing. Before the “Cultural Revolution,” she had proactively gone to the countryside in response to Chairman Mao’s call that “the rural areas have great potential.” She taught Chinese literature at an elementary school in our town. Later when the “Cultural Revolution” broke out and schools suspended classes, Meng Fanhong was incorporated into the propaganda team.

The first time Si Batou was struggled against, he glimpsed Meng Fanhong in the crowd. At that moment, Si Batou’s soul returned to his body. Perhaps among all the people being struggled against nationwide, he was the only one who felt that the moment of being struggled against was a happy moment.

Si Batou awakened. The former number one talent of Jianghuai awakened. He shined brilliantly in the propaganda team. The pieces he wrote were said to rival the level of Mr. Guo Moruo.

Meng Fanhong had never seen someone who had been in prison be so talented. He could recite articles from “Guwen Guanzhi” backwards and forwards fluently, and he also understood world literature, able to comment on Shakespeare, Hegel, Plato and others. Most importantly, he also understood physics and chemistry. How would she know this person had once been the Jiang Xiang Sect’s technical strategist? Meng Fanhong was finally moved by Si Batou. In the late period of the “Cultural Revolution,” they got married.

This was probably the power of knowledge. A person of great learning, even through the six paths of reincarnation, through ups and downs, will ultimately return to unity.

I was happy for Si Batou, and Si Batou was happy for me. We both married during the “Cultural Revolution.” I had twins—a boy and a girl. He had two sons. He said he wanted to become in-laws with me. I asked which son he wanted to be my son-in-law. He said whichever one turned out better looking would be the one.

Just like that, we walked through the “Cultural Revolution” years together. The 1980s arrived.

Telling Zu Ye’s Wife and Child the Entire Secret

The older you get, the clearer your memory becomes. Scattered fragments of life constantly churn in your mind, making it impossible to stop. When tired, you often dream—still of those years, that group of brothers, wielding knives and guns, hearts in constant alarm. Sometimes you can’t even distinguish what was real and what was a dream.

As the children grew bigger, my days grew fewer. Those former years, whether right or wrong, would certainly follow me for life, ultimately entering the coffin with me. Sometimes I sat on the sofa, quietly watching the children fighting and laughing before my eyes. I felt this was life’s greatest happiness. Sometimes when my wife was cooking, I would hover nearby helping her. The days were plain and simple, my heart steady and secure.

People who haven’t experienced great storms always seek danger and excitement, while those who have experienced them yearn for plainness and tranquility. This animal called human—the younger the age, the greater the courage; the older the age, the smaller the courage.

After our son and daughter entered middle school, my wife and I worried even more. Our daughter was better—obedient, good at studying, personality like her mother’s, lively and cheerful, even named a “Three Good Student.” But our son was always out of tune, giving me headaches. My wife often said: “Our son takes after you—a sly bandit.”

He truly was a sly bandit. Normally silent and unassuming, but once he caused trouble, it was earth-shattering, leaving you unable to deal with it.

One day I was at home reading books on Yi studies when my daughter came rushing back from school saying: “Dad, Dad, go quickly! Brother beat someone to death.”

I already had high blood pressure. Hearing my daughter shout like this, my vision went black. I hurriedly ran to the school with my daughter. The students in the class said the teacher and principal had already carried the unconscious student to the hospital.

It turned out my son had gotten into a fight with a classmate. My son wasn’t as tall as the other kid and got beaten. As a result, my son found a brick in the schoolyard, hid it in his bag, and during self-study period, when the other party wasn’t paying attention, quietly snuck behind that kid and smacked the brick on the back of his head, immediately knocking the other party unconscious.

When I heard this, I was so angry my legs trembled. I first rushed to the hospital to check on that child. Fortunately, that child was resuscitated. Later that child’s parents came, crying and making a scene. Then my wife also rushed over. Together we apologized profusely, saying: “First let’s treat the child. However much it costs, we’ll pay. If the child has any problems in the future, we’ll take full responsibility.” My wife went out and bought many nutritional supplements, piling them all over the table.

After a day of commotion, we returned home that evening. As soon as I entered, I saw my son lying at the table nonchalantly eating noodles. I thought, you little brat can still eat?

As soon as my daughter saw me arrive, she immediately stood up and poured me water. My son kept eating. I was furious and slapped the table: “Still eating!”

I had never lost my temper with the children like this before. My daughter had never seen me this angry. My son didn’t react much, but my daughter was terrified, tears spinning in her eyes, her whole body trembling. My wife quickly led my daughter to the inner room.

My son put down his chopsticks, wiped his mouth, stood up, and said nothing.

My wife brought me a chair. I sat down and asked him: “Why did you beat him like that?”

My son made no sound.

“Speak!” I roared, shaking the entire room.

My son’s body trembled and he said: “He bullied my Third Brother.”

Hearing this, I didn’t quite understand: “What brother?”

My son said: “Third Brother?”

I was confused: “Which Third Brother?”

My son said: “Wang Sheng.”

I said: “That child from your Uncle Wang Ping’s family? How did he become Third Brother?”

My son said reluctantly: “Several of us classmates became sworn brothers! I’m the eldest. We vowed to share fortune and face disaster together, not seeking to be born on the same year, month, and day, but seeking to die on the same year, month, and day!”

My wife and I were dumbfounded when we heard this. We looked at each other, not knowing what to say. In the 1980s, society was swept by a trend of sworn brotherhood. The streets often had young hoodlums calling each other brothers, singing “Big Impact, that big trend, singing folk songs for plainclothes police to hear,” with disheveled hair wearing jeans, smoking cigarettes, swaggering with arms swinging, walking sideways with a lawless attitude.

Parents all feared their children would go bad. Every time the children went out, my wife and I would give countless warnings to never cause trouble. We never expected our own son to secretly become sworn brothers behind our backs, playing at underworld righteousness. Looking at his stubborn bear-like appearance, I really wanted to kick him under the table. I thought, you kids are playing this game—back then your father started with this game and ended up playing himself into prison. I entered the underworld involuntarily, but you’re giving up peaceful lives to seek excitement for yourselves.

“Tomorrow you immediately tell those classmates of yours—say you’re not doing sworn brotherhood anymore. Everyone can still be classmates, can be friends, but don’t do this messy stuff. After school from now on, come straight home with your sister. You’re not allowed to wander around outside!” I said harshly to my son.

“Dad!” my son said. “Why? I heard people outside say you used to be really impressive, had lots of brothers too. They all call you Fifth Master. I’m the boss now—I’ll be a master in the future.”

Before I could explode, my wife had already rushed forward and viciously slapped my son: “Bastard!”

My daughter in the room sensed things were going badly and ran out crying. Soon she brought her Second Aunt. Every time this happened, when my wife beat our son and we couldn’t control the situation, my daughter would fetch her Second Aunt. When Second Sister-in-law entered and saw this scene, she felt something was wrong, because usually my wife and I played good cop and bad cop, but this time both seemed fierce.

Second Sister-in-law asked: “What’s going on?”

I quickly smiled and said: “Nothing, Second Sister. This kid made another mistake—broke a classmate’s head. He’s still lying in the hospital.”

When my son heard this, he tilted his head: “He hit me first!”

My wife roared: “Still talking back!” She was about to hit him again.

Second Sister-in-law quickly held my wife back and said to her: “Look at yourself! And you work in education!”

My wife cried: “I can educate other people’s children but can’t educate this thing of mine!”

I knew my son’s fearlessness was partly related to my wife working at the Education Committee. Important teachers from several schools in the city knew my wife and often visited our home. My son and daughter were used to it and weren’t afraid of teachers from childhood. This embarrassed my wife. Every time at parent-teacher meetings, my wife would tell the homeroom teacher: “Beat him if necessary, don’t spoil him.” Though she said this, who dared to hit him?

I also knew my son wasn’t lying. After so many years, I’d been carrying this burden through life. I had been in prison. Although people around didn’t say it to my face, they certainly gossiped privately. No choice—facts were facts. The karma you create, you redeem yourself. The reason I lost my temper so badly about my son’s trouble this time was because it reminded me again of those former years. I had long tired of fighting and killing. I deeply knew the difficulty of atoning for mistakes. My first half of life wasn’t good—full of trials, nine deaths and one life. I didn’t want my son to make any more mistakes.

For decades, I kept wondering why Zu Ye had pulled me into the trade, why he favored me everywhere. He clearly knew I wasn’t material for being an A’Bao, yet broke protocol to promote me to “batou.” Later I finally understood—all of this was actually Zu Ye’s grand plan. After Zu Ye died and everyone came ashore, Zu Ye’s greatest achievement was that his bloodline continued. He loved his son dearly, just like me now. In that era of blood and carnage, he did everything possible to let his wife and child survive and live better. Now times had changed. Looking at the stubborn son before my eyes, I didn’t know if he understood his old man’s painstaking efforts.

Recalling scene after scene of Zu Ye, everything he did seemed to retain a trace of goodness. He struggled to maintain his humanity. Heaven seemed to see this and didn’t let his line die out.

He had a son in 1946. From that time on, he began arranging his posthumous affairs. I estimate he was always looking for someone—someone who could manage his affairs after death. Finally, this person appeared in 1948—me, an unremarkable, dull person. I don’t know if I hadn’t met Zu Ye, what my life would be like, where I would be now, what I would be doing, who my wife would be, who my children would be.

I was pulled onto the boat by Zu Ye, but I have no regrets. When Zu Ye died, I cried for quite a while, feeling the sky had fallen. I don’t know when I die, what my son and daughter’s feelings will be. In their impression, I’m an honest person. As for the gossip outside, as they gradually grow up, I can’t block it. After all, people must live in society’s large environment. I only hope they won’t repeat my mistakes. Whether they study well or poorly doesn’t matter, poverty or wealth doesn’t matter—as long as they all walk the right path, I can close my eyes in peace.

Actually, my son and daughter inherited more of my wife’s genes. They’re both very smart, not like me—I’m stupid, my mind doesn’t work well. Zu Ye’s only evaluation of me was “loyal and honest.” He said: “There are plenty of clever people, but honest people are hard to find.”

Actually, all these years I’ve been hesitating whether to tell Zu Ye’s lover and child about him. For decades, they’ve been kept in the dark. Zu Ye said to let me keep his secret for life. I used to think so too. But when I read Zu Ye’s prison confession, I felt I might need to change my mind.

The reason Zu Ye didn’t let me tell that mother and son was first, in that era, he didn’t want them implicated; second, he didn’t want his wife and child to know he was a swindler. Now the stars had shifted—almost half a century had passed. Times had changed, I had grown old too, not knowing which day I would die. Taking this lie into the coffin, I couldn’t close my eyes.

If I hadn’t seen that confession, I might have held on, but after seeing it, I knew that although Zu Ye committed evil all his life, in the end he did a great good deed. Everyone makes mistakes sometimes—the key is whether they turn back. Zu Ye turned back. I think his wife and child would understand too.

Zu Ye’s wife was already over sixty, his son over forty. Previously I often went to see that mother and son. In recent years, conversely, Zu Ye’s son came to visit me more often.

Shangguan Yue had performed great merit in the Self-Defense Counterattack Against Vietnam, later promoted to regimental-level cadre. He knew nothing about Zu Ye and the “Jiang Xiang Sect,” so every time he came to visit me, he called me “Uncle Liu.” He only knew my name was Liu Tianliang, that I used to be an antique dealer and his father’s disciple. Actually by seniority, he should call me Big Brother.

This child was upright. His appearance grew more and more like his father’s. Once when he went to Guangzhou on business and passed through my city, he suddenly visited at night. My old eyes were dim—he startled me. I thought Zu Ye had come.

In the spring of 1989, I finally made up my mind. Once again I boarded the train to Shandong.

Guan Jingxiang was surprised by my sudden visit. Two people in their sixties gripped hands tightly: “Old Liu, why didn’t you tell me you were coming so I could prepare?”

“Grandma, who is this person?” A boy about ten years old walked over.

Guan Jingxiang said: “This is your grandfather’s friend. Come, come over and call him Grandpa.”

I quickly said: “This must be Little Yue’s son. I heard him mention him before. Finally getting to meet him today.”

Guan Jingxiang smiled: “Yes, yes. He’s rarely at the old home, always with his parents in Jinan. But now it’s winter break, and he insists on staying here until school starts. He’s just too mischievous. Staying with his parents, he can’t play freely, keeps getting beaten. Here no one controls him, so he doesn’t want to leave.”

I was filled with joy. Zu Ye not only had a son—now his grandson had grown this big too.

Guan Jingxiang truly loved Zu Ye. All these years, she never remarried.

I was pondering how to tell her about Zu Ye. How to begin? What consequences would occur from telling?

I said: “Master’s Wife, how is your health?”

Guan Jingxiang smiled: “How many times have I told you not to call me Master’s Wife? Call me Old Guan—that’s much better. See, I always call you Old Liu! My body is strong. After retirement, I couldn’t sit idle, so I opened a private clinic.”

Actually, I asked this question because I feared she had heart disease, feared that after hearing about Zu Ye, if she got too excited something might happen—that would be troublesome.

After speaking, she went to make tea.

I sat on the sofa, pondering, pondering, pondering again. Later I thought, just don’t tell her. After eating, go back and be done with it.

Just then Zu Ye’s little grandson walked over: “Grandpa, Grandpa, tell me some stories. I love hearing stories.”

My heart ached. Stories? Not just stories—practically legends. At this moment, Guan Jingxiang had brewed the tea, took a teacup, and poured for me: “Taste this tea—Biluochun tea my son brought.”

Picking up the teacup, my mind was full of scenes of Zu Ye drinking tea. I could no longer hold back. I said: “Master’s Wife, I want to tell your grandson a story. You should listen too.”

Guan Jingxiang smiled: “What would I listen to! You two grandfathers chat. This child is just clingy. I’ll go buy some vegetables.”

I quickly said: “Better listen!” When I said this, my voice had changed.

Guan Jingxiang was startled: “Oh… listen… at my age still listening to stories. I myself am a story.”

“You truly are in a story!” I said.

Guan Jingxiang was stunned: “I’m in a story?”

I said: “Sit down. This story is very moving.”

Guan Jingxiang looked at me and slowly sat on the sofa. The little grandson also sat beside her.

I took a sip of tea and slowly began speaking.

Once upon a time, there was a person who always wanted to be a good person, but fate arranged for him the role of a swindler. On one hand, he was deceiving; on the other hand, he used the money from deception to do good deeds. When ruthless, he killed, set fires, defrauded… did everything. When benevolent, he was like a Bodhisattva. He was cruel and merciless, yet loyal and righteous. He was an orphan, yet ruled a criminal gang of several hundred people. He was a double-faced person. In the underworld, people called him “Zu Ye.”

In 1945, he met a beloved woman—also the only love of his life. They united, later had a child. He loved his wife and child so much. He knew he himself was a swindler. He painstakingly concealed his identity. Outside, he was the boss of the underworld. At home he was a good husband, a good father. Just like that, he constantly shuttled between underworld killings and peaceful life. They lived together intermittently for seven years.

Later, he was sentenced to death by the government. Until death, he refused to tell his wife the truth. He didn’t want his wife to know he was the head of a criminal gang, even more didn’t want his wife and son implicated because of it. He hoped his wife and child would live ordinary people’s lives—plain and simple lives.

His life was too exhausting. He was tired of killing. He yearned for tranquility. He wasn’t afraid of death. He just infinitely missed his wife and child. He entrusted his wife and child to a subordinate and told his subordinate to forever keep this secret.

His subordinate always kept this secret. Over thirty years passed. Now his subordinate had grown old, his wife had also grown old…

Guan Jingxiang listened quietly, motionless, as if frozen. I knew telling her these things was too shocking.

The little boy asked softly: “Grandma, what’s wrong?”

Guan Jingxiang held her grandson in her arms. Tears rolled down.

I took out that “Confessions” book from my bag and handed it to Guan Jingxiang. “Look at it—the third article.”

Guan Jingxiang wiped her tears, took the book, and after reading, broke down crying.

After crying for a long time, she picked up the phone. She called her son, telling him to hurry back to the old home. Then she said to me: “Tell me about him in detail.”

So I told everything I knew about Zu Ye’s life from beginning to end in detail.

The telling made Guan Jingxiang cry several times. She finally clearly and thoroughly understood her husband! Finally she held that book, crying: “You made yourself suffer! You made me suffer too! What would have happened if you told me? I’m your wife. Whether you lived or died, I’m your wife. You concealed your identity, wouldn’t let others tell me—do you know, all these years I didn’t even have a place to cry. I didn’t even know where you were buried!”

I also cried: “Master’s Wife, don’t blame me. Zu Ye instructed me not to tell you where he was buried. He said he feared if you knew, you’d go to the grave and cause trouble.”

I wiped my tears and continued: “Master’s Wife, after Little Yue returns, let’s go together to visit Zu Ye’s grave.”

Shangguan Yue rushed back from Jinan that very day. Guan Jingxiang and I told him about Zu Ye. He said nothing, walked alone to the inner room, and silently shed tears.

Three days later, the three of us plus Guan Jingxiang’s grandson boarded the southbound train.

Guan Jingxiang bought lots of spirit money, afraid of bringing too little. After the train arrived at the station, I said: “First go home and rest a while—it’s not too late to go then.”

Shangguan Yue said: “Uncle Liu, no need to rest. I want to go see as soon as possible.”

I said: “All right then.”

On the road to the cemetery, my mood was very heavy. I kept holding back, trying hard to hold back, not letting myself shed tears. That day, the wind was particularly strong, but the sky was extraordinarily clear.

Arriving at Zu Ye’s grave, I glanced at that mother and son and pointed at a tombstone saying, “Master’s Wife, this is it.”

Tears spun in Guan Jingxiang’s eyes. She breathed rapidly, constantly choking up. She touched the tombstone, saying obsessively: “Last time you said you were going on a long trip. Who knew you’d leave for 37 years… Do you know, all these years I dreamed of you in my dreams. Every time I cried myself awake…”

Zu Ye’s son slowly knelt before the tombstone. Long-held longing finally erupted at this moment. “Dad—” A sorrowful cry, tears bursting forth. I could no longer hold back, fell to my knees with a thud, tears rolling down: “Zu Ye! Your wife and child have come to see you!”

Master’s Wife collapsed to the ground, embracing the tombstone, crying aloud: “Your son and I have come to see you! Do you hear? Do you hear!”

Seeing the adults cry, that little child also wailed. Shangguan Yue pulled the child over and said: “Son, kneel down and kowtow to Grandfather.”

The great wind suddenly rose. The grass and trees held sorrow. Zu Ye had slept beneath the grave for decades. If he had a spirit in heaven, he should feel gratified. Zu Ye, you can truly rest in peace.

I always thought my life wasn’t easy. Thinking now, Zu Ye’s life was the most bitter. He lost his relatives when so young, alone and destitute going to take revenge, then swept into the grudges and resentments of the “Jiang Xiang Sect.” From then on, mutual deception, fighting and killing, battling underworld people for decades, finally departing before his relatives. When he was alive, all his relatives were dead. When he died, his relatives were alive. The lonely one was always him.

The four people cried for a long time. I wiped my tears and said: “Master’s Wife, let’s go home.”

Guan Jingxiang said softly: “You go back first. I want to talk properly 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 stay alone with Zu Ye for a while.” Shangguan Yue took off his coat and draped it over Guan Jingxiang. “Mom, we’ll come get you in a while.”

Guan Jingxiang nodded.

We left. Looking at Master’s Wife’s silhouette from afar, she knelt before the grave, stroking Zu Ye’s tombstone, softly speaking.

When we returned, Master’s Wife had fallen asleep leaning against Zu Ye’s tombstone. On such a cold day, she slept so peacefully, just like that, embracing her husband. Over thirty years—she had finally returned to her husband’s embrace.

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

My wife happily called Guan Jingxiang “Big Sister.” She also happily called my wife “Little Sister.” This made me very embarrassed—what kind of seniority was this?

The next day, they returned to Shandong. Every year afterward, Shangguan Yue would bring his child to pay respects to Zu Ye several times.

Actually, all these years, Zu Ye’s spirit money never stopped. First was me—every Ghost Festival and Zu Ye’s death anniversary, I would go burn spirit money for him. Sometimes going late, I’d find a pile of burned paper ash already there. Sometimes beside it were offerings and rice wine. I knew this must have been some batou or Xiao Jiao who had come. For decades, it had always been like this.