Chapter 237: 《Mom, Love Me One More Time》

"Who the hell are you?" Zhao Tiezhu turned to glance at the bald man in front of him, then yelled, "Holy shit!"

How had his son grown so tall? He was already half a head taller than himself—last time he'd seen him, he hadn't even reached his father's height.

Overwhelmed by suddenly encountering his own flesh and blood far from home, Zhao Tiezhu reached out to pat his son's head, ready to unleash years of suppressed paternal affection—until he suddenly remembered: "What did you just call me, you little brat?!"

The old man raised his leg to kick Zhao Debiao in the butt, but Biaozi hurriedly said, "I've got friends here—give me some face!"

Zhao quickly pulled his foot back: "Check out the labor protection shoes we issued—perfect for mountain trails. I'll give you a pair. What's your shoe size?"

Biaozi: "Same as yours."

Watching the warm interaction between father and son, Wei Ming genuinely rejoiced for them. Then Biaozi introduced Wei Ming to Old Zhao.

Old Zhao had long heard of Wei Ming, the brilliant writer—mentioned in Biaozi's letters, his wife's letters, and even by Xiao Mei frequently.

"I heard from Biaozi's mom you're opening a private clothing store—you need to be careful. This kind of thing could easily be capitalist restoration," Old Zhao said, deeply admiring Wei Ming but deeply worried about this.

"Uncle Zhao, don't worry—we won't do anything the state forbids. The official newspapers are even praising our store," Wei Ming smiled.

"Really?" Old Zhao asked again. "Can this clothing store even make money? Business has losses as well as profits—don't end up losing your capital."

Wei Ming thought for a moment: "Uncle Zhao, rest assured—Qian Auntie's already preparing to buy Biaozi a house for when he gets married."

"What? Buy a house?!"

Biaozi: "Isn't the real point the marriage? Dad, remember Yanzi, the girl I trained with as a kid? The one with the two little pigtails? We're dating now."

"I know, your mom told me," Old Zhao was still thinking about the house. "How long has your store been open to afford a house already?"

"Over a month."

"You've earned enough for a whole house in just over a month?"

Seeing Wei Ming nod, Old Zhao looked utterly stunned. He'd worked so hard in Sichuan because his boss told him to perform well, so he could get Biaozi transferred into his unit after his rural assignment.

Later, after returning to the city, he got Biaozi assigned to guard the gates of Peking University. Old Zhao blamed himself for not working hard enough—last Spring Festival, he spent it on a construction site, not at home, determined to prove himself, earn more merit, and help his son's future. But now it seemed his son didn't need him at all.

Old Zhao's eyes dimmed. He just felt… deeply disappointed.

"Dad, you only remember what Yanzi looked like as a kid—you've never seen her grown up. Look." Biaozi changed the subject, quickly pulling out a photo of him and Yanzi for Old Zhao to admire.

It was a photo of them in costume: Yanzi dressed as a female martial artist, dual swords in hand, eyes resolute; Biaozi with a hideous queue, his face heavily made up, looking even more menacing.

Looking at his beautiful future daughter-in-law, Old Zhao's mood lifted slightly. He glanced at his own son and snorted: "She's willing to be with you? You're lucky you didn't burn down the whole village."

"I treat her well—I won't dare go east if she tells me to go west," Biaozi boasted.

Old Zhao snorted: "In Sichuan dialect, that's called a 'soft-eared husband.' A man is the head of the household. It's fine to treat your wife well, but you can't obey her in everything. Look at our family—I still have authority with your mother."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

At that moment, Lao Wan came over to call Wei Ming: the scientific experts had granted permission for them to come closer.

"Mr. Wei, would you like to come too?"

"Sure. Biaozi, I'm going ahead," Wei Ming had already prepared his camera.

"Wait for me—I'm coming too." Biaozi forgot his father the moment dinosaurs appeared, following along eagerly—and they were stunned by what they saw.

They'd assumed it was one dinosaur fossil—turns out it was a whole group!

The excavation was led by experts from the Institute of Vertebrate Paleontology and Paleoanthropology, Chinese Academy of Sciences. They said: "Even from this exposed fraction alone, this area contains at least a hundred dinosaur fossils, plus remains of other vertebrates. Based on species, these are preliminarily estimated to be from the Jurassic period. Final confirmation requires returning samples to the institute. In short, this will be a world-shocking discovery!"

Old Zhao also listened in. After hearing it, he was utterly defeated—this project couldn't proceed; it had to be halted while experts excavated.

One or two fossils might still be negotiable—maybe they could hurry the digging. But they'd accidentally unearthed a dinosaur nest—this would take months, not weeks.

The young men listened intently to the experts, Wei Ming included. Though in his past life he'd seen assembled dinosaur fossils in museums, this was his first time seeing fresh, uncovered remains.

"Professor Ke, hello—if I want to learn about dinosaur excavation, do you have any book recommendations?"

"Is this camera-wielding gentleman also from Science Fiction World?"

Lao Wan said: "No, no—this is the famous writer and poet Wei Ming, just passing through."

"Oh, Mr. Wei—I've heard of your name." Rarely did this dinosaur-obsessed expert know Wei Ming.

Originally, the excavation site was cordoned off—no one allowed near or to touch the fossils. But upon hearing it was Wei Ming, they let him approach, allowed him to closely observe and even touch the fossil. Professor Ke even gave him a reading list and said: "If you have questions, come find me after I return to Yanjing."

Having touched a dinosaur fossil with his own hands, Wei Ming felt today was complete—he'd never done so in his past life, and today was the only exception.

As they parted, Professor Ke added: "I hope this helps your writing."

Lao Wan perked up at this, pulling Wei Ming aside: "Mr. Wei, you're thinking of writing a dinosaur novel?"

Wei Ming: "No."

"Then why did Professor Ke say that?"

"Maybe he assumed I was gathering material," Wei Ming laughed.

Lao Wan said seriously: "You seem genuinely interested in dinosaurs—have you never considered writing a sci-fi story about them?"

Half a year ago, Wei Ming had written a poem called "Chengdu" for Stars Poetry Magazine—he was clearly generous with his talent.

Wei Ming countered: "If I wrote one, it'd almost certainly involve resurrecting dinosaurs—by extracting dinosaur DNA from blood in amber-preserved mosquitoes. But that's been heavily criticized by mainstream critics. Would you dare publish it?"

Though criticized, it wasn't banned. Lao Wan slapped his chest: "As long as it's written by Mr. Wei, Science Fiction World will publish it!"

Science Fiction World needed to unite every possible force. Though Wei Ming had never written sci-fi, his passion for dinosaur fossils and the professionalism of his questions showed clear depth in this area.

In truth, Wei Ming had written science fiction before—Black Cat Detective had some science fiction elements, though it was primarily animal-themed popular science.

Wei Ming thought: "Alright, I'll agree—for now. But I can't start writing soon. First, I'm already working on another novel. Second, I need to study the relevant technical knowledge."

Also, this would be a somewhat horror-tinged story—by today's experts' standards, it'd be considered lowbrow.

If Science Fiction World refuses to publish it, no problem—Meilinda's there. Overseas would love this story—dinosaur fever abroad is far stronger than here.

Hearing Wei Ming agree, Lao Wan was overjoyed. He quickly asked: "Where are you going to find your relatives? I'll drive you there."

Wei Ming looked at Biaozi and his father: "We won't leave today. We'll hit the road tomorrow."

"Fine. I'll drive you tomorrow," Lao Wan said. "I'll leave my colleagues here."

Lao Wan's hospitality was too generous to refuse. Wei Ming had no choice but to ask him to be his driver again—or perhaps he could drive himself; he was just one test away from his license.

That night's meal was hosted by Old Zhao—he bought several rabbits from a fellow villager, roasted them by hand, sprinkled with seasoning, deliciously fragrant. A bit spicy for Biaozi, but Wei Ming and Long Xiaoyang had no problem.

That night, Wei Ming and Biaozi stayed in Old Zhao's unit camp, making do for the night, giving the father and son time to talk properly.

Combined with the two years Biaozi spent in the countryside, they hadn't seen each other in three years.

The next day, as they left, Biaozi wore the brand-new labor protection shoes Old Zhao had given him—perfect for mountain trails, no more blisters.

Lao Wan ultimately didn't let Wei Ming drive. Not only had he not passed his test yet—even if he had, Lao Wan wouldn't have dared.

This vehicle was a vital asset of their institute, and these mountain roads were treacherous. Driving well on Beijing's streets didn't mean you wouldn't end up in a ditch here.

Wei Ming held a letter. From Dashanpu, they drove only an hour and a half to the address—the riverside village called Yunxi.

Upon entering the village, they were surrounded by children. The village was so poor that the kids rarely saw cars—and now they chased after it.

Wei Ming told Lao Wan to stop.

The moment the car halted, the children hesitated to approach. Wei Ming pulled out candy from his pocket: Big White Rabbit, sorghum candy, shrimp crackers.

He counted the children, then put back two pieces—exactly one per child. The kids obediently lined up before him—no suspicion at all.

He asked the oldest-looking child: "What grade are you in?"

"First grade."

Wei Ming: "Huh?" He wasn't sure if the child was just tall or had been held back repeatedly.

"Do you know where Song Lian's family lives?"

The tall boy nodded, chewing his candy.

Wei Ming: "Can you take me there?"

The tall boy glanced at Wei Ming's pocket—he'd seen more candy inside.

Wei Ming said: "Take us there, and I'll give you another piece."

"Follow me."

Inside the village, the path grew even rougher. Wei Ming told Lao Wan to wait at the village entrance—they'd walk in.

Lao Wan nodded. With Biaozi around, he felt safe.

When the children saw Biaozi squeeze out of the car, they forgot the sweetness of their candy. Only the tall boy, clinging to the promise of the second piece, stayed behind—the rest scattered.

Though Wei Ming and Biaozi were the same height, Biaozi's intimidation factor was far greater.

"What's your name?" Wei Ming asked gently.

"D, D, Dilei."

"Oh, nice name—flammable and explosive," Wei Ming laughed.

"Why are you looking for Teacher Song? She's a good teacher," Dilei tried to defend her.

Wei Ming: "We're looking for someone through Teacher Song. Don't worry—we're good people."

Dilei thought: Don't think I haven't seen Little Soldier Zhang Ga—your tone doesn't sound like a good person at all.

When they arrived, no knocking was needed—just a low fence. Wei Ming called out: "Is Teacher Song Lian here? I'm Wei Ming—I wrote you a letter before."

"Can I have the candy now?" Dilei whispered.

Wei Ming: "One hand for the person, one hand for the candy."

After a moment, a short-haired woman with dark skin stepped out. She clearly recognized Wei Ming from his photo—her expression was one of surprise.

"W, Mr. Wei—you really came!"

Wei Ming immediately handed out candy to the side.

Dilei snatched the Big White Rabbit and ran—true to the saying: fortune favors the bold.

Song Lian was the village's primary school teacher, but her appearance and demeanor showed no trace of a teacher—she looked like any rural woman.

She politely invited Wei Ming and the others inside: "My husband's working in the fields. It's just me and the children."

Three children total. Song Lian had been sewing; the children, aged six to ten, were reading and doing homework.

Though the house was extremely dilapidated—even older than Wei Ming's childhood home—the interior was spotless, and the eldest boy was reading How the Steel Was Tempered.

Wei Ming patted his pockets—damn, he only had one piece of candy left.

Long Xiaoyang, quick on the uptake, pulled out the candy his cousin had given him but he hadn't dared to eat, so each child got one at last.

The three kids were polite enough to say thank you—better than Lei Lei.

After the pleasantries, Wei Ming got to the point.

"Teacher Song, I wrote you another letter afterward—I don't know if you received it."

Teacher Song nodded.

Wei Ming: "Then why didn't you reply? I want to know the details about the lotus you mentioned."

Teacher Song looked embarrassed: "I—I was afraid that if you knew her situation, you wouldn't come."

"What's wrong with her? Is she sick?"

Teacher Song nodded.

"What illness?"

Teacher Song put down her needlework, her voice heavy: "Come with me."

On the way, Wei Ming asked again about the relationship between Song Lian and He Hua.

"I'm a native of this village. He Hua came here with her parents during the famine, settled down, and we went to school together and grew up side by side—best friends. She originally had a foolish older brother; later she told me her parents weren't her real ones—they'd picked her up on the road to give her as a bride to her fool of a brother someday…"

But that foolish brother later died of illness, and He Hua was left to rely solely on her adoptive parents—unfortunately, they both passed away before she came of age.

Fortunately, He Hua was beautiful; despite her tragic past, finding a husband wasn't hard.

"But she fell in love with a sent-down youth from the city."

Another pretty village girl and city youth pairing—such a cliché. It was the uncommon ones, like Chunhua and Qi Kexiu, where the village girl wasn't pretty, that stood out.

Song Lian arrived at a house, pushed open the door, and called: "He Hua?"

Then they saw a woman with long, tangled, dry hair emerge from the room, hugging a large gourd.

As for Teacher Song's earlier praise of her beauty, it was now unrecognizable—she was emaciated, so thin it made one feel no admiration whatsoever.

"Xiao Lian!" He Hua recognized her friend, set the gourd on the ground, and said, "Little Gourd, say hello."

Teacher Song knelt down, stroked the gourd, and smiled: "Little Gourd is so well-behaved. Did you behave today?"

Sssss!

Behind Wei Ming, Long Xiaoyang and Biaozi both felt their hairs stand on end—were they talking to that gourd?

But it was just a gourd!

Wei Ming: Yeah, it's not Little Gourd from the cartoon.

Teacher Song chatted with the gourd for a while, exchanged a few words with He Hua, then led Wei Ming outside.

"Is she crazy?" Wei Ming asked.

Teacher Song nodded: "Later, He Hua married that sent-down youth and had a child—the child was named Little Gourd."

Teacher Song paused: "The youth became a primary school teacher here, but as policies changed, he returned to the city, took the college entrance exam, became a university student. Before leaving, he promised to bring He Hua and the child to the city—but he broke his word. Under his parents' arrangements, he quickly married a daughter from a family of equal status."

Biaozi fumed: "What a bastard!"

Teacher Song sighed: "At the time, He Hua was heartbroken but held on. She was determined only to raise Little Gourd into a capable person. Unfortunately, when Little Gourd turned six, the sent-down youth in the city discovered his wife was infertile."

The rest of the story Wei Ming had already guessed: "So they took Little Gourd away."

Song Lian snorted: "It wasn't exactly taking. If he'd tried to force it, the whole village would've risen up. That man, his wife, his mother—they took turns coming, appealing to her emotions, reasoning with her. He Hua was just too foolish—she thought the child would have a better life in the city, free from hunger, and for the sake of his future, she willingly let him go."

Here, Teacher Song looked regretful: "I was in the county at the time, studying for my teaching certification. If I'd been here, I never would've let her do something so foolish. What's more important than living with your own flesh and blood?"

"Exactly!" Long Xiaoyang's eyes were wet—he thought of his mother.

He knew his mother had been married before, had a child—but neither survived the hard times. Even now, sometimes she had nightmares, dreaming of that child—it was a wound that never healed.

Song Lian: "After the child was taken, He Hua stopped eating and drinking. After half a year, she couldn't bear it anymore and went to the city once. When she returned, she fell seriously ill. After recovering, she became mentally unstable, always calling out 'Little Gourd, Little Gourd.' I know she regretted it—but the child was gone for good."

Even Biaozi couldn't hold back his tears. He and Long Xiaoyang looked at Wei Ming, wondering how a man could be so heartless—he didn't even cry.

Wei Ming thought: Why should I cry? I've seen "Mother, Please Love Me Again" over ten times—I've already cried buckets for this story. Now it just feels tired, forced sentimentality.

He Hua's story was nearly identical to the Taiwanese tearjerker "Mother, Please Love Me Again," which came out years later—but Wei Ming wasn't surprised. Parental love always seeks the child's long-term good; He Hua's choice was deeply common. He believed countless similar stories existed worldwide—"Mother, Please Love Me Again" itself was adapted from a Taiwanese folk tale.

Even the Swiss classic children's tale "Heidi" has a similar scene: her grandfather, to give her a proper education, reluctantly let her aunt take her to Frankfurt to be a playmate for the paralyzed girl Clara. Fortunately, Heidi eventually returned to her grandfather—a happy ending.

Teacher Song finished her story and stared at Wei Ming: "Now, do you still want to claim kinship? If she really is your aunt, it's a heavy burden."

Wei Ming sighed: "The heart of every parent is pitiful. Even if my grandmother knew her daughter was insane, she'd still want to care for her till the end. Even if she's not my aunt, I'm willing to lend a hand."

The world is full of injustice—I can't fix them all. But since I've come across this one…

Still, a problem now stood before him: he'd come with several questions from his grandmother and uncle, hoping a conversation with He Hua would reveal whether she was his aunt. But now she was mentally confused, speaking incoherently—how could he ask?

"Teacher Song, how much do you know about He Hua's life before she came to your village? For example, where was she originally from?" Now Wei Ming could only ask her closest friend.

Teacher Song said: "She spoke Sichuan dialect from the start, but her accent differed from ours. I couldn't pinpoint exactly where, and she herself didn't know."

"Do you know who was in her family before?"

"I only know she was the youngest, with older brothers and sisters—but I don't know how many."

This matched Xiao Yi Xu Shujie perfectly.

"Did she ever mention her old name?"

"No. She said she was abandoned, her parents heartless, and she didn't want her old name anymore."

Long Xiaoyang had wiped his tears: "That doesn't make sense—my aunt was lost, not abandoned."

But Wei Ming didn't dismiss it outright—children's memories were unreliable. His aunt was so young then; if her parents scolded her once and she got lost, she might've believed she was abandoned.

Who hasn't, as a child, felt their parents were cruel and vowed to run away?

Too bad DNA testing hadn't reached China yet—this technology wouldn't be available for another ten years.

"Teacher Song, how many swirls are there on He Hua's scalp?" Wei Ming could only judge by physical traits now.

Song Lian thought back: "I remember she had two."

Wei Ming: Oh no—another match!

…

(Yesterday's minimum)

(End of Chapter)