My Destiny

From Immortal Peak to the township government seat was about fourteen li of mountain road, all downhill. Being a winding mountain path, the slope was relatively gentle. Back then, the township government seat was the former commune headquarters. Besides the office buildings, there were several rows of dormitories at the back where some commune cadres and staff lived. Both the offices and dormitories were single-story buildings with gray bricks and red tiles. Locals disliked using red bricks for walls, considering them inauspicious. There wasn't really any folk custom basis for this; it was mainly because they weren't used to the sight. And if everything from bricks to tiles were uniformly gray, it would look too monotonous, so they all used red tiles. The Cultural Revolution had already ended, and some of the large slogans written in white lime on the walls were no longer appropriate, so they were painted over, still in gray, making them look quite new. After all, it was the township government seat, so there were shops: a barbershop, a public bathhouse, a clinic, and even a bookstore in a single room. Correspondingly, there were also a parking lot, a small garden, and several flower beds. In 1982, that parking lot hadn't yet seen any cars or trucks, but it had already hosted tractors with trailers. Every three days, the township would hold a market, and then the parking lot would be filled with bicycles, three-wheeled flatbed carts, donkey carts, and occasionally ox carts, all brought by farmers from various villages. There were almost no horses in the local countryside because they were all in the mountains, and horses were less suited to mountain paths than donkeys or oxen.

Compared to Immortal Peak, the township was a beautiful and lively place.

Zhang Jiagui, after all, had once been an "old senior high school graduate." He had some abilities that other men in Immortal Peak couldn't match. He bought an old bicycle, saved up money to replace parts here and there, and eventually built himself a three-wheeled flatbed cart. Though homemade, it was sturdy, durable, and rode smoothly.

When my father borrowed the cart from him, it was nothing less than an honor. He happily pumped up all three tires of the flatbed cart for my father.

When my two sisters helped my father load my mother—or more precisely, both my mother and me—onto the flatbed cart, none of them spoke. They certainly understood why our parents were in such a hurry to go to the county town. Since it was mutually understood, what was there to say? Why bring up an uncomfortable topic? The cart had been pre-laid with a mattress, and my second sister placed two pillows behind my mother's back to make her more comfortable on the journey. Of course, I indirectly benefited from those two pillows as well. It was purely a bonus, because when my second sister did that, she definitely wasn't thinking about me.

My two sisters stood at the doorstep, watching the flatbed cart leave Immortal Peak.

My second sister murmured to herself, "I hope it's a boy."

My eldest sister said flatly, "I'll soon be part of another family. Whether it's a boy or a girl has nothing to do with me."

My second sister turned her head to look at my eldest sister, opened her mouth, but didn't say anything more, as if looking at a complete stranger.

My father gently applied the brakes, letting the three fully inflated tires roll along at a steady, unhurried pace. The road was three meters wide, with a rocky mountain on one side and a deep ravine on the other. The surface was paved with crushed stones. It had been built during the production brigade era, organized by the commune through voluntary labor from brigade members. In those days, it was considered a decent mountain road.The flatbed cart had just rounded a small bend about half a mile from Immortal Peak when some small rocks tumbled down from the mountain. My father, a man with strong self-preservation instincts and quick reflexes, immediately hit the brakes and looked up. He saw a figure at the summit, one arm wrapped around the trunk of a crooked-neck tree, the other holding a crowbar, prying something loose—clearly, it was his "would-be son-in-law," Zhang Jiagui.

My father shouted, "Jiagui, how did you get up there in the blink of an eye? What mischief are you up to? Trying to take my life?"

Zhang Jiagui yelled back that he was trying to pry loose a large rock. Someone in the village below had offered him a few fruit tree saplings, and he was scouting around for a suitable spot to plant them. If he could dislodge that big rock, the hollow left behind would be perfect for planting a sapling. He added that he wanted to take responsibility for my eldest sister and ensure their future children would have all kinds of fruit to eat. He was well-liked and had made friends in the villages below. Whenever he needed help, friends from both the mountain and the valley were happy to lend a hand.

"Your idea is a good one, but be careful! If you fall or hurt someone else, won’t that turn into a tragedy? I don’t think whether your future children can eat fruit is all that important. If you, Jiagui, can guarantee they’ll have enough to eat, I’ll thank heaven and earth as their grandfather!"

"Don’t worry, that’s absolutely not a problem! Times are different now, and life for us farmers is bound to gradually improve. Just don’t tell anyone else. I’ve only just become the village head—if people find out about this, won’t they laugh at me?"

After they exchanged a few more shouted words, my father continued pedaling the three-wheeled flatbed cart forward.

There was no market in the township that day, and everywhere was quiet. In just over half a month, it would be National Day. Since the end of the Cultural Revolution, the variety of goods at the big markets had grown year by year, and the atmosphere had become livelier with each passing year. The approaching National Day of 1982 seemed to gather even greater enthusiasm from the farmers than previous years. After all, land had been allocated to households, and farmers had regained the long-lost freedom of individual labor. Restrictions on buying and selling agricultural and sideline products had loosened, and even surplus grain could now be openly traded. So, before National Day in 1982, farmers had requested that the market schedule change from once every three days to twice every three days. In other words, there would be big markets both tomorrow and the day after, and my parents naturally didn’t want to pass through the township on market days.

Even though there was no market that day, my father still parked the flatbed cart in a spot where it wouldn’t be easily spotted. In short, my parents’ actions were far from open and aboveboard. My father relieved himself, smoked a cheap cigarette, rested for a while, and then got back on the cart. The road from the township to the county town was flat, unlike the earlier stretch, which had been much easier to navigate. My mother hadn’t had a sip of water or a bite of food since waking up that morning. With her large, protruding belly, she moved with great difficulty, afraid of causing trouble for my father along the way.

In the end, wasn’t it all because of the trouble I was causing them? Their feelings about my impending arrival were a mix of joy and worry. If I were a boy, my parents and I would naturally be overjoyed. But what if I were a girl? Wouldn’t I be letting them down terribly? Not only did they not know whether I was a boy or a girl, but even I didn’t know myself!My father was quite pleased with the marriage between my eldest sister and Zhang Jiagui. Although some people in Shenxian Peak did not think highly of their union (mainly feeling sorry for my eldest sister), my father truly believed he had considered everything thoroughly and had good judgment. Looking across Shenxian Peak, whether among the He family or the mixed surnames, Zhang Jiagui was the most educated among all the unmarried young men. With higher education, he could see things more comprehensively and handle interpersonal relationships more maturely than other youths. As for being twelve years older than my eldest sister, my father believed that would make him cherish her even more, which might very well be a blessing for my eldest sister. Moreover, Zhang Jiagui being elected as village chief through a public vote seemed to prove that my father’s judgment in choosing a son-in-law was correct. The most important point was—the person he favored was surnamed Zhang, not He. Generally speaking, in Shenxian Peak, the next generation born from marriages within the He family seemed to have lower intelligence compared to those from mixed-surname families, and their looks were similarly inferior. Only two people in Shenxian Peak had noticed this phenomenon: one was my father, and the other was the Old Party Secretary. Although both of them had noticed it, neither dared to speak openly about it, fearing public outrage. Or perhaps it could be said that two and a half people had noticed it, with the half being my eldest sister.

My second sister later told me that my eldest sister had once said to her, "I’d rather never marry than share the same surname as my husband." Did this mean she had also noticed the phenomenon? Someone as clever as my eldest sister likely had that much insight. In that case, she probably had been relatively accepting of her own marriage back then.

Riding a bicycle on flat ground, compared to going downhill, still requires effort. The next dozen or so miles left my father drenched in sweat. By the time he entered the county town, he was already panting heavily. After all, he was in his late forties, and his health wasn’t particularly good.

A public trial was being held in a small square in the county town. No matter which direction one was heading, they had to detour around that small square. The atmosphere in the square was quite solemn, with many armed police officers present. From the loudspeakers came stern accusations of multiple crimes, repeatedly mentioning the phrase "so-called great immortal." Before National Day in 1982, a nationwide campaign to "eradicate feudal superstitions and establish new social customs" was underway across the country.

My father listened with a chill down his spine, stopped his bicycle, and asked someone who was being publicly tried.

The person, seeing my mother slumped on the bicycle, immediately understood the situation and kindly advised, "Are you looking for 'Ma Banxian'? He’s the one bending over in front of the stage! He swindled over a thousand yuan in the past two years and caused tragedies in several families. He’s definitely going to get a heavy sentence! Hurry up and leave, and never believe in his tricks again!"

Without even checking the direction, my father quickly pedaled away from that solemn place, fearing that any delay might bring trouble upon himself.

My mother, of course, heard it too. Her shock was immense, almost like being struck by thunder. Regardless of my mother’s reaction, my father alone was truly a contradictory person. Since he valued education so much, why would he believe in something like a "half-immortal"? Did he consider the tricks of certain charlatans to fall within the realm of culture? Twenty-six years later, I was still puzzled but had never asked him about it.

My father pedaled through two streets when my mother cried out on the bicycle.

My mother was about to give birth to me right there on the street.My father panicked, at a loss for what to do, and shouted loudly, "Someone, please help us! My wife is about to give birth!"

A few people gathered around the cart, and one woman told my father to follow her, first taking my mother to her home. My father’s body had gone weak, and he couldn’t pedal the cart anymore, so a man pedaled for him. The others all seemed to know the woman and understood that only she could help my mother.

With everyone’s assistance, my mother was "carried" into the woman’s home.

Under the woman’s experienced hands, my mother gave birth to me on her bed, staining the bedsheets with blood.

When she came out of the room and told my father I was a girl, my father leaned back against the wall. To be precise, his body slid down the wall. His large, dark hands, with their prominent knuckles, covered his thin face completely. He began to cry.

To the woman and a few others who were concerned, his tears were tears of relief, of overwhelming joy.

"Fellow countryman, mother and daughter are both safe. Congratulations. You and your wife can stay here tonight. I’ll ask a neighbor to look after you. If you need anything, just tell her. As for me, I’m on duty tonight, so I won’t be able to stay with you. Don’t worry—if anything happens, the neighbor will come find me right away."

After saying this, the woman quickly set about cooking a pot of millet porridge, adding two eggs and brown sugar. She also prepared a small plate of pickled vegetables with sesame oil and asked an elderly neighbor to buy baked flatbread and steamed buns.

The next morning, when the woman returned home, my parents were already gone. Only the elderly neighbor was there, holding me while I slept soundly.

The neighbor said, "I’ve never seen people like that couple. Early in the morning, they hurriedly ate a few bites of food, didn’t leave a single word, and just stood up and walked out like mutes! Even if they were truly mute, they could’ve gestured or mumbled something to show their gratitude. I even chased them out into the yard, but the child was still asleep in bed. Besides, with my bound feet, how could I catch up to a three-wheeled cart?"

The woman was stunned. She took me from the neighbor’s arms, looked at me, and said, "Poor child, your parents have abandoned you."

Yes, my parents abandoned me just like that.

Twenty-six years later, in 2008, I finally had the chance to ask my father some questions.

"Dad, on the way back to Shenxianding that day, did Mom cry?"

This was what I most wanted to know.

I felt that knowing this was of great significance to me.

My father said that after leaving the county town, the sky turned overcast, and it looked like rain. He just pedaled the cart as hard as he could, never once looking back, so he didn’t know whether my mother had cried or not.

To me, his words almost meant she hadn’t cried.

But I was about to cry.

My father added, "Maybe your mother shed tears on the cart. Sometimes, when people are heartbroken, they only shed tears without making a sound. After all, you were a part of her body. She carried you with great difficulty and never even got to hold you once. How could she not be heartbroken?"

I asked again, "Then, were you heartbroken?"

My father answered without hesitation, "No."

I was stunned.My father said solemnly, "Back then, we left you with a family in the county town. From their circumstances, it was clearly an upper-class household. That was something we believed we did right, and there's nothing we owe you an apology for, right?"

Yes. My parents did indeed leave me with an "upper-class family" in the county town. This was certainly far better than trading me for two sacks of sweet potatoes or thirty or forty fish-scale tiles, and far better than bringing me back to Immortal Peak, where my two older sisters would have gained another younger sister, and Immortal Peak would have gained another peasant girl surnamed He in the future.

In that sense, my abandonment was perhaps a stroke of luck for me, and thus, of course, something for which I should be grateful to my parents for their wisdom and decisiveness.

Upon careful reflection, I had to admit that this was indeed the case.

And so I no longer had any questions to ask, and thus nothing more to say.

My father told me that as he pedaled past the township, it indeed began to rain—a torrential downpour. By then, the cart was already on the mountain road, and the way back was all uphill, with nowhere to take shelter from the rain. Both he and my mother were drenched like drowned rats, and he was so exhausted he didn't even want to pedal forward.

Just before reaching Immortal Peak, they encountered a police car head-on. The police car had stalled, and a police officer, also drenched like a drowned rat, begged my father to help push the car—the road beneath the wheels had collapsed, something that rarely happened in previous years.

My father silently helped push the police car. If he didn’t help, the flatbed cart couldn’t pass by. That police car was old, its rear window already missing its glass. As my father pushed, separated by a row of iron bars, he came face-to-face with Zhang Jiagui’s utterly despondent, despairing expression.

Before my father could speak, Zhang Jiagui said, "Uncle, I’m sorry. I won’t be able to become your son-in-law. Tell Xiao Qin to forget me completely and find another match. I’m finished. My life might be over..."

After the police car was pushed out of the ditch, my father slumped into a puddle of water.

Zhang Jiagui had indeed managed to pry a large stone from the mountaintop. The hollow beneath the stone was indeed spacious enough to plant a fruit tree sapling or sow a few corn seeds come spring. But his small wish could no longer be fulfilled.

The large stone that rolled down the mountain struck a yellow ox, sending it tumbling into the ravine where it died—that ox, because no one knew how to fairly distribute it when the collective assets were being divided, and no one dared slaughter it to share the meat and hide, remained public property. It was rotated among households for care and also took turns helping each family with heavy labor too strenuous for people.

It was in the prime of its strength...