Black and white memories

The night wind was cold, and closing the car windows didn't help.

On a summer night in July, Lu Chenyang was curled up in the passenger seat, his fingertips so cold they were cramping.

He didn't know how he left the private room, or how he vaguely returned to the car. In the driver's seat, Ajiang's lips moved anxiously, but no sound reached his ears.

Only two sensations remained, clear and cruel: cold, and a weariness that threatened to engulf him. He closed his eyes, longing to sink completely into unconscious sleep.

However, the storm within him had only just begun. The chill seemed to penetrate his skull, completely unlocking the door that had been sealed away by his subconscious for many years.

Lu Yaqing died sixteen years ago in Qingdi Village, Y City.

They hanged themselves from the rafters of Yang Tieshuan's house, using several hemp ropes tied together. The owners of the ropes lay on the wooden plank bed with broken legs, snoring loudly, looking at them at first glance no different from the pigs that had rolled in the mud and dung outside.

“Aya from the east of the village said my mother is back, let’s hurry back.” Yangyang ran barefoot on the dirt road in the village, calling to the people behind her, “Xingxing, hurry up.”

He ran breathlessly to the small courtyard. The soles of his delicate seven-year-old feet were rubbed raw and red, but he didn't feel any pain; he was used to it.

"Yangyang, don't go over there." Xingxing couldn't stop him, so she could only call out as quietly as possible from behind.

Yangyang didn't care and pushed open the peeling brown wooden door with her muddy little hands.

His mother left three days ago, telling him that she would come back to pick him up after she escaped. She told him to eat more, sleep more, and remember that his mother's name was Lu Yaqing, a third-year student at Beijing XX Dance Academy. She also forced him, a seven-year-old child, to memorize a long string of random numbers, telling him that it was his ID number.

Little Yangyang waited and waited, sitting under the big locust tree at the village entrance. Yesterday it had rained heavily, and the ground was all muddy; he had no shoes. Yang Tieshuan wouldn't give him shoes, afraid he'd walk too far.

Before entering the house, Yangyang specially picked a small handful of relatively clean hay from the pigpen, trying to clean the mud off his feet so that his mother would know that he had been good and waiting for her. He also wanted to recite that string of random numbers in front of his mother, which he used to always have trouble reciting.

"Creak—" The door opened, and he saw Lu Yaqing.

Lu Yaqing was hanging there, swaying in the wind when the door was opened.

Yangyang was short, and as he entered, he was greeted by a pair of dangling feet, barefoot and covered in mud, just like his own. Blackish-red droplets of water dripped from the toes, forming a small black puddle on the floor.

Lu Chenyang took a step back and raised his head, trying to get a better look at Lu Yaqing. The blood was flowing from Lu Yaqing's inner thigh. It was a bright red patch there.

Yangyang raised his head a little higher, wanting to see Lu Yaqing's face. He remembered that many people in the village would gather on a wooden stump to chat, saying that Lu Yaqing was the most beautiful woman they had bought in recent years.

Yangyang also thought it looked good.

"Don't look." A pair of small hands covered his upturned eyes. "And don't make a sound."

Yangyang didn't understand why Xingxing wouldn't let him look, since his mother was so beautiful. But he listened to Xingxing; if he wasn't allowed to look, he wouldn't, and as for shouting out loud, that was even less likely.

Yangyang was developmentally delayed and had difficulty speaking. Yang Tieshuan once thought he was a mute child and almost threw him into the ditch behind the mountain. That's how defective products are handled.

It was Lu Yaqing and Xingxing who taught him day and night that finally Yangyang opened his mouth. But he still didn't talk much, and he never shouted.

Xingxing glanced down at the sleeping "pigs" on the bed in the middle of the room, then quietly pulled Yangyang out of the house, left the yard, and ran all the way to a small ditch in the back mountain valley.

"Star, I want to see Mommy." Yangyang looked up at him with her big, dark eyes, which looked just like two obsidian stones.

"Mommy's gone, don't look." Xingxing squatted on the ground, scooped up water from the ditch, and washed Yangyang's dirty face and feet.

"Why don't you look?" Yangyang's eyes were wet with water, and she could vaguely see Xingxing's reddened eyes.

“Aunt Lu wouldn’t want you to see her like that.” Barely clothed and covered in filth, that’s not how a mother would want to appear before her child. He had to protect the image of Lu Yaqing in her child’s heart.

"But I miss her." Yangyang was washed clean, and Xingxing carried him to a rock a few steps away to dry.

Xingxing reached out and smoothed Yangyang's messy hair, picking out the leaves and grass seeds hidden inside, and said, "Let's wait a little longer, we'll see each other when it gets dark."

Yangyang never doubts Xingxing; everything Xingxing says is right, and Xingxing knows everything.

As darkness fell, it wasn't cold in the height of summer, but there were too many man-eating mosquitoes. Yangyang rubbed his arms and snuggled closer to Xingxing. Xingxing found some dry grass under the tree roots, gathered it into a ball, placed it on a large rock, lit it with a flint and steel, and covered it with more dry grass to create thick smoke to repel the mosquitoes.

"Xingxing, how come you can do everything?" Yangyang looked up with admiration, her big obsidian eyes fluttering as she watched Xingxing adjust the hay.

“My mom taught me,” Xingxing said.

"Chen Aniang?" Yangyang asked. "I've never seen her before."

Xingxing looked up at the stars hanging in the sky and said calmly, "Dead."

"What happens if I die? Will I never see you again?" Yangyang asked.

The seven-year-old child, whose development was delayed, didn't seem to fully understand what death meant; he only knew he would never see her again. But Xingxing had just said that waiting here would allow him to see Lu Yaqing again, so he didn't feel particularly unhappy.

“…No.” Xingxing looked at the stars and said, “My mom said that the stars in the sky are the freest and most beautiful, and she hopes that I can be a star. Later, my mom told me that she was going to go to the sky to be a star too.”

"So that's how you got your name, Chen Wanxing." Yangyang leaned on Xingxing's shoulder. The twelve-year-old boy was even thinner than him, and the bones in his shoulder were uncomfortable, but Yangyang didn't want to move away.

His name isn't Yang Bawan, it's Chen Wanxing, Xing as in star; and his name isn't Yang Tianhu, it's Lu Chenyang, Yang as in sun.

It was late at night, and Yangyang fell asleep nestled in Xingxing's arms, wrapped in a linen shirt that was almost worn through.

The stars continued to gaze at the stars, twinkling.

The rustling footsteps didn't wake the sleeping Yangyang. Xingxing gently placed him on the pile of hay and followed the sound to him.

About an hour later, Xingxing ran back to Yangyang's side and shook him awake.

Yangyang stared sleepily at the stars, his face covered in sweat. His pants, which were already hanging down, were now even shorter, with loose threads and frayed edges, making them asymmetrical and dripping with water.

"Yangyang, I'll take you to see Aunt Lu."

"Okay!" Yangyang scrambled to his feet. Xingxing picked up the linen shirt that Yangyang had thrown off the ground, put it on, and took his little hand as they walked deeper into the back mountain.

Lu Yaqing's face was clean, her hair was neatly combed and draped over her shoulders, and her hands were folded in front of her chest, making her look like she was asleep.

A layer of hay was piled around his waist, extending all the way to his ankles. The hay was stacked neatly, as if someone had stroked each blade of hay.

"Mom." Yangyang squatted down next to Lu Yaqing and poked Lu Yaqing's hand with his own. It was a little cold, even though it used to be warm. He turned around and asked, "Xingxing, is my mom dead too?"

After waiting for a long time, Yangyang didn't get Xingxing's answer, but he seemed to have guessed the answer and continued to ask, "What happens when a person dies? Is he just left here? Won't he get eaten by wolves?"

My mother is so beautiful, how can we let wolves bully her?

“I want to be buried,” Xingxing said.

What is burial?

"Just bury it."

Yangyang understood. He had seen the small mounds at the west end of the village. Yang Tieshuan had told him that the place was called the ancestral graveyard, and only men with the surname Yang who had sons were qualified to be buried there.

He disliked Yang Tieshuan, and even more so the men who always entered Lu Yaqing's room in the middle of the night. Yangyang thought that his mother was always crying, so she must also hate them. Therefore, Yangyang believed that the place called the ancestral graves should be far away from his mother.

"Then let's bury Mommy." Yangyang squatted on the ground and looked back. For a moment, he saw stars in his eyes, especially bright ones, brighter than the ones in the sky.

"good."

The two boys used twigs they had picked up to dig a hole in the ground, and it wasn't until dawn that they had dug a hole deep enough for one person to fit in.

Yangyang had never felt his mother was so heavy. He held the feet that had been dangling in front of him during the day and put them into the small pit. He followed Xingxing and gradually piled soil on Lu Yaqing, covering her face.

The last strand of hair was buried by the soil, and Yangyang, who had never cried before, suddenly burst into a loud wail. Before this, Xingxing thought he would never cry, because even when he was being beaten, he would remain quiet.

"Cry," Xingxing said. He neither stopped him nor comforted him; Yangyang needed to cry. Don't worry about disturbing the villagers, because they're all afraid of this place, saying it's haunted. But who is the ghost?

After Yangyang cried himself out, Xingxing squatted down beside him, looking at the little mound, "Yangyang, you must remember her. Her name is Lu Yaqing, a third-year student at Beijing XX Dance Academy, her ID number is XXXXXXXXXXXX. She is your mother. She doesn't belong here. Repeat it to me."

Yangyang had never heard Xingxing speak in such a stern tone. In his memory, Xingxing was always gentle and tall, with a broad chest that was more comfortable than sleeping in a bed.

“Carry it!” Xingxing repeated, emphasizing her words.

Yangyang was startled by him, sniffling and sobbing, “Her name is Lu Yaqing, a third-year student at Beijing XX Dance Academy, her ID number is XXXXXXXXXXXX, she is my mother, she doesn’t belong here.”

Xingxing patted Yangyang's head with a sigh of relief, then took a few steps to a tree. She dug out a small red flower still attached to its roots with her bare hands.

"Plant this, and its roots will connect to Mother Lu." Xingxing didn't let Yangyang, who was sobbing, do it. He planted it himself next to the small mound where Lu Yaqing was buried. He remembered that this spot was next to Lu Yaqing's head.

"Star, do I not have a mother anymore?"

"You will see her when the stars disappear and the sun rises."