Chapter 147: Lu Xun, Runtu, the Wild Boar, and the Watermelon
Time flies so fast; in the blink of an eye, another year has passed.
Today is New Year's Eve. Factories and shops across the country are mostly closed for the holiday.
According to local custom, Kun Lu was supposed to take Leping Liu and the children back to Peace Village to honor their ancestors. But feeling reluctant to let his heavily pregnant wife endure the tiring travel, he decided to drive their eldest and second daughters himself to the village for the ancestral rites.
Driving from Gui A County to Peace Village takes just over twenty minutes, hardly an inconvenience.
Early in the morning, Kun Lu had prepared incense, joss paper, and firecrackers.
As for other offerings, he skipped them altogether—it was simply too troublesome.
When the car pulled into the village, Kun Lu stepped out with his two daughters, and the villagers quickly gathered around, showering them with compliments.
Naturally, seeing his old neighbors, Kun Lu pulled out cigarettes to share.
Though handing out a full pack to each person was unrealistic, giving a few sticks to each was manageable.
Kun Lu was senior in rank among the villagers; many addressed him as “Uncle Kun” or “Elder Kun.”
At this moment, groups of children swarmed around him.
Ah, they were here for New Year's red envelopes.
Knowing he couldn’t avoid it, Kun Lu had come prepared, pulling a dozen red envelopes from his pouch and handing them out one by one to the mischievous kids.
Once the children received their envelopes, they scattered immediately.
During the ancestral worship ceremony in the clan hall, others had brought more elaborate offerings—well-prepared roosters, or, if funds were tight, they boldly bought pork on credit to “burn paper” (an offering for the ancestors). Only Kun Lu kept it simple.
Incense, joss paper, and firecrackers.
A flicker of surprise passed through the crowd’s eyes, but no one dared speak up.
In rural villages, competition was deeply ingrained in everyday life.
Every New Year's Eve ceremony was an opportunity to flaunt one's family wealth.
Even which household had the plumpest rooster tail could become a topic of rivalry.
Frankly, such things felt shallow, dull, and tedious.
Usually, it was those struggling in life who felt the need to constantly pretend to be prosperous in front of others.
Clearly, Kun Lu was not such a man.
He had a house, a car, a career, and a warm home with his wife and children—a clear winner in life.
...
“Shh!”
Kun Lu slammed on the brakes, flung open the door, and dashed after someone.
“Li Huangliang, I know it’s you! Stop right there!” Kun Lu shouted as he sprinted.
Li Huangliang was an old childhood friend of Kun Lu’s, four years his senior.
Originally leading a calf along the main road, Li Huangliang spotted Kun Lu’s car and hastily veered onto a narrow path.
There’s a painful kind of feeling called shame.
Back when rural classes were assigned, Li Huangliang’s family was lucky enough to be classified as poor but honest peasants, escaping political persecution and earning the honor of being “clean” in the class system.
But Kun Lu’s family… were unmistakably landlords.
At that time, being poor was respectable; being rich was dangerous.
Li Huangliang’s mother had contracted a virus during pregnancy and, unable to afford treatment, gave birth to him with a severe eye condition, leaving one eye nearly blind.
In those years, a “blind” poor peasant and the “troublemaker” from a landlord family grew up close.
...
“Stop right there! Where have you been all these years? We finally meet again, and you’re avoiding me?” Kun Lu grabbed the back of Li Huangliang’s shirt, pulling him back.
...
“Tell me, where have you been all this time? No word at all?”
The two sat on the edge of a field by the roadside. Kun Lu handed him a cigarette and looked at him expectantly.
Li Huangliang took it, his hands covered with calluses, his nails filled with dirt. His face bore the weathered look of a man in his fifties.
Kun Lu still remembered how hard Li Huangliang had worked in school.
Every textbook he opened had its first page inscribed with: “Among all pursuits, studying is supreme.”
He had tried his best but lost to fate.
Later, his mother passed away, his father sank into alcoholism and gambling, and Li Huangliang parted ways with school, heartbroken.
Kun Lu never forgot the moment Li Huangliang left school, rubbing his green military satchel, glancing back every few steps.
“Let the past be the past. Why bring it up?” Li Huangliang joked bitterly, then fell silent again.
Their conversation was destined to be incomplete.
...
Back in the car, Kun Lu’s heart felt heavy.
He recalled Lu Xun’s “My Old Home”: In the deep blue sky hung a golden full moon, below was the seashore’s sandy land with endless green watermelon fields. Among them, an eleven- or twelve-year-old boy wore a silver ring around his neck, clutching a steel fork, trying to stab a raccoon dog, which twisted and escaped beneath his legs.
...
Years later, when I saw Runtu again, he was no longer the boy catching raccoon dogs under the moonlight, joyfully calling me “Brother Xun.” Instead, I distinctly heard a respectful “Master.”
...
Many people, as children, think of themselves as Lu Xun; as they grow a little older, they realize they are Runtu; and when fully grown, they feel they have become the raccoon dog.
In middle age, one can only sigh softly, “So I was just a watermelon in the field, my fate sealed from the start.”
“Let’s go.”
Kun Lu ruffled the heads of his two innocent daughters, gathered his thoughts, and started the car, leaving the familiar yet alien village behind.
Perhaps, from the moment they moved away, it was already decided—they no longer belonged here.
...
Dinner on New Year’s Eve was certainly not Kun Lu’s doing.
With his cooking skills, it was truly a matter best left unsaid...
This time, Leping Liu took charge, with their eldest daughter at the stove.
In the living room,
“Daddy, didn’t you say you’d tell me a story?” the second daughter, bored, tugged at Kun Lu’s sleeve, fidgeting.
“All right, all right. I’ll tell you the story of young Runtu and the raccoon dog,” Kun Lu smiled wryly.
“No, that story’s in the book—I’ve already heard it,” the little girl pouted, unconvinced.
“But Daddy’s story is different from what’s in the book,” Kun Lu said as he lifted her onto his lap, soothing her.
“...Lu Xun was walking down the road when he suddenly heard someone call, ‘Brother Xun!’
He turned to see a handsome youth with rosy lips and white teeth.
Lu Xun asked, ‘Who are you?’
The boy smiled brightly, ‘Brother Xun, have you forgotten the golden full moon, the green watermelon fields, the steel fork, and the silver ring I wore?’
Excited, Lu Xun grabbed him, shouting, ‘Runtu! You’re Runtu!’
The boy grinned and said, ‘No, I am the raccoon dog.’”
...
“Hahaha, Daddy, your story is so funny!” The second daughter laughed uproariously, clutching her belly and pounding the floor in delight.
Kun Lu’s eyes grew misty as he whispered to himself, “Runtu can never come back. I hope the raccoon dog still remains.”