The 1980s: The Opera Troupe Ran Off with My Mother

In the summer of 1984, a traveling opera troupe came to our village. The pigtail-wearing troupe leader smashed a stone against his throat and jumped into a vat of boiling oil, leaving the whole village dumbfounded. He moved into our house, ate and drank for free for a week, then ran off with my mother. My father rushed back from the quarry, split open the family urn, and dug out our heirloom. “As long as the blade remains, I live. If the blade is lost, I die.” He grabbed the blade and ran after them, never to return. I was only eight that year, and I was left all alone.