The first time I met Shen Tingwan was at a charity dinner.
He was being harassed and I came to his rescue.
He came closer to me, said, "Your tie clip is crooked," and thrust a business card into my pocket.
On the back is a private number.
There is also a line of small words below -
"You're better looking than him."
"He" is my brother.
It's my half-brother who left three years ago.
I shouldn't have made that call.
But I dialed.
Later I discovered that he had more secrets than I thought.
He has a child. The crooked curve of the child's mouth when he smiled was exactly the same as mine.
There is a scar on his lower abdomen. She needed seven stitches, which were from a caesarean section. Four years ago, he knelt for my brother at the door of the operating room for four hours. The wound oozed blood and stained the hospital gown.
And I stood at the other end of the corridor and didn't walk through it from beginning to end.
But the look in my eyes made my father step out of the way.
I don't remember these things.
But my skin remembers him.
Every time I touch him - even if my fingertips just brush against the tiger's mouth - my body will give the same answer.
They all asked me, Lu Yanzhou, aren't you a living Buddha?
I am.
But Buddha is also cultivated by humans.
And Shen Tingwan was the one who made me want to return to secular life.
