When I was nineteen years old, my father suffered a drug addiction and jumped from the sixth floor of the unfinished building in the county town, falling into a puddle of unrecognizable mud.
At the funeral, relatives cried loudly.
I hid in the corner of the red shed, smoking a two-and-a-half-cent loose flower cigarette with cold eyes.
My mother stood beside the black coffin without shedding a single tear. She held the accounting book in her hand and calculated the weight of the pork with the cook at the flowing table.
Outsiders call my mother a heartless, cold-blooded widow.
After all, when she was blind and abandoned by her biological father and mother, it was my father who blocked the door of the ward with a butcher knife, went to the underground blood station to drain two tubes of live blood, and forcibly brought her back from hell.
They didn't know that the man who sacrificed his life had died as early as fifteen years ago in that moldy rental house, on the bed of a prostitute who paid thirty yuan a time.
From that day on, my mother never shed a tear. She took a blunt knife for killing fish and soaked it in the ice water of the vegetable market for more than ten years, hardening her heart into a piece of pig iron without any temperature.
I thought she had already cut off the bones and flesh of this old poisoner named Li Baoguo, and she hated him to the very bones.
Until the day of moving, I pried open a rusty copper lock at the bottom of the moldy camphor wood box in the old house.
Inside were fifty or sixty letters that had never been sent.
Those rough papers were covered with brittle handwriting that had been stained by tears...
"Li Baoguo, why were your hands so hot when you were feeding me rice soup?"
This is a story about the bottom, betrayal, poisonous bones and bone scraping to cure poison.
Selfishness is mixed with greatness, and sordidness is wrapped with affection.
A living person can only temper himself into a piece of pig iron.
Purpose: Analyze the "shackles of kindness" in underlying ethics and present the tempering and rebirth of life in suffering.