Chapter 175 Crying Wood
Nancun—this small village in the water town is where loquats were born, but not their mother's home.
When Pipa was very young, she had a vague feeling that her mother did not like this village.
Not only that, but the mother also didn't seem to like the father very much, even though Pipa's father was known in the village for doting on his wife.
It seems to be a consensus among everyone in the village that Pipa's father dotes on his wife.
Especially those gossipy old women and aunties, when they gossip, they always bring up this matter and talk about it, and then they all lament that his father was blinded by lust and that his mother was ungrateful.
Pipa couldn't tell how good her father was to her mother.
But there was one thing that set his father apart from the other men in the village: he never beat his wife.
In Pipa's memory, his father was an extremely taciturn man. He was strong and capable of doing chores, and seemed to have some martial arts skills as well.
So whenever the village needed manpower or labor, everyone would come to his father for help.
I heard that his father was a skilled fisherman and hunter when he was young, but Pipa has never seen him bring home any fish or birds since he can remember.
Instead, he stayed in his small plot of land in front of his house, occasionally going out to help others in the village.
Sometimes, Pipa would have a strange feeling, as if his father wasn't actually guarding any kind of land, but something else—for example, Pipa's mother.
This may sound strange, but Pipa's thinking is not based on unfounded conjecture.
Because when Dad was at home, Mom always seemed to be constantly busy.
They were either washing and preparing meals inside and outside the house, or sitting on the edge of the bed doing needlework.
The couple only exchange a few words during mealtimes.
It was always his father who would initiate the conversation during a break from drinking, sharing stories of his experiences helping out in the village. He would then casually mention what he wanted to eat the next day.
Occasionally, the man will say a few words of concern to ease his wife's burden.
Where there are people, there is dust; a little more or a little less doesn't affect daily life.
No matter what the other person said, her mother would always lower her head and nod silently in agreement, as if she had never known what arguing was.
The next day, they continued sweeping and wiping as usual, repeating their daily routine without any sign of slacking off.
Pipa knew that his father had seen all of this, but he wouldn't say anything to his face; he would just keep smoking in silence.
When it came time for dinner that evening, it was the same conversation, the same instructions, and the same uninspired responses.
Similar scenes were repeated again and again at the dinner table, seemingly without any difference.
But as time went on, Pipa sensed the undercurrents surging beneath the calm surface, as if a hidden rope was being silently and methodically tightened little by little in the shadows.
Just wait for the day when the rope snaps under the strain, and that's when the calm facade will be brutally torn apart.
At that point, even the smallest thing can become a pretext for making a fuss, a spark that ignites a bomb.
Everything inside and outside the house—tables, chairs, benches, bowls and plates—everything, whether cheap or expensive, food or household items, was smashed.
From the intermittent curses, Pipa vaguely sensed that his father's dissatisfaction seemed to stem from his wife's indifferent attitude.
Sometimes his father would scold him, saying that marrying her was worse than marrying a dead person.
[You think you're still some rich city heiress?! If I hadn't saved you back then, you'd probably be kidnapped somewhere, maybe even living as a prostitute in some brothel.]
[...]
[Now that you're still alive, you're putting on airs like your savior? Do you think I'm being too kind to you?! Don't think I don't know what you're scheming about every day. You're thinking about him, but he needs to remember who you are. He's probably forgotten you by now. You really think...]
—What exactly is the reason?
The loquat was a little curious.
But whenever this part was mentioned, his father's voice would lower, leaving Pipa completely confused.
After making a mess of the house and yard, the man, having vented his anger, would always slam the door and leave without a care in the world...
Often, it wouldn't be until the early hours of the morning that they would stagger in, reeking of alcohol, and burst into the house. Without changing their clothes or taking off their shoes, they would collapse onto the bed, pull the covers over their heads, and fall fast asleep…
I slept until the afternoon of the next day, by which time my mother had already tidied up the house inside and out.
Once his anger subsided and he sobered up, his father acted as if nothing had happened, returning to the quiet, capable, and excessively doting husband that the villagers spoke of.
So, is Mother really as indifferent as Father says, like a dead person?
No.
Mother also cries, laughs, and complains, but only when Father goes out and it's just the two of them at home.
The woman no longer just kept her head down and worked silently.
Occasionally, she would talk to Pipa about things outside the village, but those things were all too new, even bizarre and unbelievable, to Pipa at the time.
After listening, Pipa's biggest feeling was not longing for that kind of life, but confusion: why did her mother still come to this village when there were so many fun, beautiful and delicious things outside?
In response, my mother would always fall into an involuntary silence.
Pipa didn't want to see the complex emotions and sadness on the woman's face at that time, so he decided not to know.
But after a brief moment of distraction, his mother would always hold him tightly in her arms, smiling as she answered where he couldn't see her expression: "Of course it's because of my good child. I can only live because of you..."
Perhaps it really is because of the mother and child.
Pipa gave a vague reply, but inwardly she felt no agreement whatsoever.
Firstly, before my mother came to this village, there was no such person as Pipa in the world, so how could the other party have known in advance to come looking for me?
Secondly, although Pipa knew in his heart that he was not as stupid and ignorant as the gossipy villagers said, he was still not good enough for his mother to give up such a blissful life for him.
But he didn't say it, because Pipa already knew that some lies sound better than the truth.
Just as the loquat prefers to believe that her mother may genuinely love her child, which is why she is willing to stay here as a wife and a mother, rather than being forced to pretend to love him...
Sometimes, my mother would stare at the loquat tree in the corner, lost in thought, and sometimes she would even shed tears involuntarily.
Pipa knew that her mother was actually crying herself.
This tree did not originally belong here.
It was just by chance, because of an unintentional act by a greedy bird, that they landed and took root in this completely unfamiliar place.
From a tiny loquat seed, it has grown into this trembling little tree.
Perhaps due to the unfamiliar environment or lack of proper care, this tree has never borne fruit in all these years.
As the old saying goes, "A person thrives when they move, but a tree dies when it's moved."
This means that the loquat tree's fate was already sealed the moment it took root in the ground: it would either wither away waiting for the end of its life or fight to the death out of resentment.
Mother chose the second option.
However, she ultimately failed to escape and instead came under even tighter surveillance and control.
But being human, she survived, though Pipa didn't know whether living or dying was better for her mother.
However, from that day on, the thin rope that was always being pulled up in the dark could no longer be hidden.
Instead, it was blatantly tied to the loquat.
For no other reason than to tie him up, hang him up, and beat him in front of his mother.
At that time, Pipa didn't understand, but later she learned there was a phrase called "killing the chicken to scare the monkey," which might not be appropriate here.
But when Pipa first saw this word, she did recall those days when she was frequently beaten.
Later, my mother really changed; she no longer always had a blank face in front of others.
Occasionally, she would smile at her husband. She would also greet those gossipy old women with a smile.
But there was always an indescribable awkwardness in Pipa's eyes when he saw that smile. It wasn't until the village invited a theatrical troupe to perform for the gods and he saw the joys and sorrows painted on the faces with watercolor paint that he belatedly felt a strange sense of familiarity.
Worshiping the gods is a fixed part of the annual ritual.
This is a rare and grand event in this remote and isolated village. It is usually presided over by the village chief and the village's chant master.
It's rare for them to invite people from outside to perform, with operas and parades... it's bound to be a noisy affair that lasts for several days.
Everyone else in the village, adults and children alike, loved to join in the fun.
But Pipa only found it noisy and the images of those gods terrifying; they seemed more like man-eating evil spirits than gods.
Even though I knew it was a painting, the moment I looked into the eyes of the deity in the painting...
Loquat still feels a strange fear.
My scalp tingled involuntarily, and I felt a chill run down my spine, as if I were being watched by something...
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