CDJMM – Volume 1 – Chapter 53 Writing in the Republic Era (52)

Chu Jin suddenly flung the newspaper aside. He was panting heavily, drenched in sweat, his mind in complete chaos, staring at the paper as if it were some terrifying monster.

[I was going to be devoured by filial piety!

That sentence kept echoing in his mind, refusing to leave.

Chu Jin began to tremble. His skin contracted wildly, goosebumps danced all over his body. His brain was overwhelmed, waves crashing and surging within.

Suddenly, countless past memories resurfaced. The beatings from his father—because “a filial son is raised under the rod.” His mother forcing him to marry his cousin—because “if you don’t marry her, you are being unfilial to me!”

It was difficult to describe his feelings at this moment.

If one had to put it into words, it was as if he had been walking blindly down what he believed was a bright, spacious road, when suddenly a cold draft rose from beneath the ground and licked at the tops of his feet. When he removed the cloth covering his eyes, he discovered that night had fallen, and the abyss was staring back at him.

What exactly is filial piety?

Confucius once said: “When serving your parents, if they make a mistake, remonstrate with them gently. If they refuse to listen, do not disobey. Continue to serve them respectfully, work hard without resentment.”

The meaning was that when parents are wrong, children should point it out tactfully and respectfully. If parents don’t listen, children must not resist but continue to serve with respect, laboring for them without complaint.

Is this filial piety???

Is such filial piety really right?

Does filial piety mean blind obedience? If parents are wrong, yet children must still obey, isn’t that simply aiding and abetting wrongdoing, compounding error upon error?

Confucius demanded that regardless of what parents did, children should “work hard without resentment.” But Confucius was a sage—he measured others with the standards of a sage. Yet in all of China’s thousands of years, how many people were ever like Confucius? The rest of humanity were no more than ordinary, mediocre people like himself.

When parents are unkind, who can truly spend decades willingly serving them?

In his writings, Li Jingran said that so-called filial piety is nothing but “pretending.” Pretending to listen to one’s parents, pretending to make them happy. Only then could it be called filial piety. As for one’s own thoughts and will, those were irrelevant.

A foreign sage once said, “Man is but a reed that thinks.”

What makes a person human is thought. Without thought, what difference is there between humans, reeds, or emotionless beasts?

Yet if one disobeys parental will, then one is called a beast.

Isn’t that utterly absurd???

Li Jingran chose resistance. Even if it meant being called a beast, he still chose to resist.

But how many so-called “filial” children in China are nothing more than puppets in their parents’ hands? They may not be beasts in their parents’ eyes, but having lost all thought and will, how are they any different from beasts?

In other words, no matter which path one chooses, does one end up becoming a beast?

He thought for a long time, as if he had figured out something, yet also as if he had figured out nothing at all. In the end, only a powerless desolation remained in his heart.

Suddenly, a piercing shame overwhelmed him. Because he had so easily believed what the newspapers said, he had truly thought that Mr. Watchman was such a disgraceful person.

Unlike his previous self-righteousness, now, whenever he recalled the way he had barked orders at the Watchman, sneering and belittling him, his face burned as if he had just been slapped several times—shame scorching hot.

He had always thought himself clever, but that so-called cleverness wasn’t true wisdom at all! He was nothing but a mediocre man, self-important and pretentious.

At his age, he still couldn’t see matters as clearly as a teenager could—how utterly shameful.

The Watchman was the truly intelligent one! Even without a high degree, he was a genuine genius, someone worthy of admiration. Though still young, his thoughts were broader and more profound than those old pedants who prattled endlessly about “benevolence, righteousness, morality.”

He himself had once been one of those pedants, full of empty words. But after reading the Watchman’s essay today, he realized he too was no better than a “beast.”

A foreign sage once said: “Life is precious, love is more precious still; but if it is for the sake of freedom, both can be given up.”

Man is born free.

Rather than let “filial piety” extinguish his will to be free, he would rather be a free “beast.”

The sun had risen high, warm light filtering evenly through the window, falling across Fu Kemao, who was hunched over his desk reading the newspaper. Yet despite the sunlight, he couldn’t stop trembling from the cold.

This was the Watchman’s new article.

Its title was “The Path of a Beast.”

A strange title. If it were before, Fu Kemao would never have bothered to read it.

But reputation follows the man like a shadow. The article’s author was the Watchman. For the past few days, newspapers had been filled with sordid stories about him. Almost overnight, the Watchman’s reputation had been dragged into the mud.

Yet, at the very center of the storm, the Watchman had remained utterly silent—no words, no defenses, no articles in rebuttal.

Fu Kemao too had shifted from half-belief to growing anger and disappointment.

But that anger suddenly transformed into a flash of revelation when he read a certain name in one newspaper.

Li Jingran’s younger brother was called Li Jingliang.

And coincidentally, Fu Kemao also knew someone named Li Jingliang.

Fu Kemao belatedly came to a sudden realization—so Le Jing was actually Li Jingran? So The Watchman turned out to be quite handsome? And so young! He was actually his peer!

Fu Kemao admired The Watchman even more.

Thinking back to that quarrel between the two brothers the other day, his heart’s balance had completely tilted toward Li Jingran. This had to be a setup! The newspapers were full of lies! The author he supported was a good person!

As for the mastermind behind all that slander, Fu Kemao didn’t even need to think much before locking onto Li Jingliang.

Because he could smell the exact same odor from that article as he did from Li Jingliang himself. If Fu Kemao were a modern man, he’d know exactly how to describe that odor—the article, just like Li Jingliang, reeked of that cloying white lotus act.

Just as he was planning to secretly find someone to teach Li Jingliang a lesson, the long-silent Watchman finally spoke out in the newspaper to defend himself!

When he heard the news from his personal servant and study companion, Zhang Shun, he immediately rushed to open the Literary Gazette, eager to see how the author he admired would personally strike back at the haters.

[I was born into a wealthy household in the Northeast. From a young age, I was a strange child.
…
…
And so, I began to observe—my subject of observation was my stepmother’s son.]

Fu Kemao felt something stir uneasily in his heart.

It was as if a cold venomous snake had tightly coiled around his heart, its forked tongue lightly licking at the veins.

A nameless panic and terror welled up inside him, though he couldn’t explain why.

Still, he kept reading.

[My stepmother’s son was my younger brother.

Since childhood, my brother had been the “dutiful son” in our parents’ eyes. In front of them, he treated me with respect, often flattering me with sweet words. My parents were very pleased with him, and so they grew all the more dissatisfied with me—the useless, undutiful son who couldn’t show brotherly affection.

I believed I could learn the secret of “filial piety” from my brother.

My family was a large clan, so mealtime was especially bound by rules. Only the legitimate son could enjoy the privilege of dining with our parents. For me, this was the most terrifying moment of each day.

I sat closest to Father. Usually, I would remain silent like a ghost, burying my head in my food, praying for the torment to end quickly. But today was different. I had resolved to uncover the secret of my brother’s “filial piety.”

What was agony for me was like a theme park for my brother. I watched with curiosity as he eagerly recited classics for Father, told him stories about school life, and even picked food for him.

“Father, this is delicious, you should eat more.” His smile looked like it had been pasted on with glue—perfectly standard, yet utterly lifeless.

Father returned the same kind of smile. “You are truly filial! Unlike your elder brother, this undutiful son who never cares about what his father likes to eat!”

Then both of them turned their gazes to me. Their eyes were cold, but their mouths still bore those same standard smiles. “If you could be even eight-tenths like your brother, I could die laughing in my sleep.”

‘If a man doesn’t eat, he will die.’ A teacher once warned me this as a child.

But my brother gave up his precious food to Father, because that was what a filial son should do.

In a daze, I suddenly realized—

This wasn’t a dinner table.

This was a miniature sacrificial ritual.

My brother was offering part of his life to our sacred father in exchange for the title of “filial.”

Memories surged back—

Brothers studying diligently at Father’s command, meekly enduring his scoldings, gratefully accepting his punishments…

At last, I understood. Every moment, in countless hidden ways, this ritual of sacrifice was being carried out. The more life offered up to Father, the stronger and happier he became.

Realizing this, my head suddenly dropped, saliva flooded my mouth, my stomach heaved violently—I felt an overwhelming urge to vomit.
…
…

I am being eaten alive by filial piety.

Just like Guo Ju, who buried his son to serve his mother, now they want to bury me too. 

Whether filial or unfilial, the ending is still death.

The only difference is whether you die as a beast in your parents’ eyes, or as a “filial” child.

I don’t want to die.

So I left home.

So I became a beast.

But in the end, I still have to die.

Because even if a beast gains freedom, it is still only a beast.]

Fu Kemao’s hands shook, as if he had fallen into an ice cave. In an instant, he was certain he had just seen something terrifying. He shot to his feet, the world spinning, his stomach lurching violently. He doubled over, retching dryly, as if his very soul might spill out.

…
…

Zhou Dezhang put down the newspaper and stood up. With his hands clasped behind his back, he stared blankly at the patches of lingering snow in the courtyard.

The warm winter sun laid a golden shimmer over the dazzling snow. Sparrows chirped crisply on the branches. Children’s laughter floated in from beyond the walls; a few cats meowed somewhere in the yard.

A strange realization suddenly welled up in his heart.

So the birth of a legend didn’t require any earth-shaking spectacle. Legends were often born on the most ordinary of days.

It would take a very long, long time—so long that he himself might already be dead—before people would truly feel the aftershocks of this silent earthquake. And yet, on the day the legend was born, children laughed, sparrows sang.

Even though he was certain he was witnessing the birth of a great legend, at this moment, his heart was still sunk in a kind of dull numbness.

Only time could wash away that numbness, just as only time could bring the aftershocks.

He let out a long breath, then suddenly burst into uncontrollable laughter. He laughed until his whole body trembled, until tears streamed down his face.

He had trudged through the long night for so long, so long that he was beginning to grow accustomed to the darkness.

But if it was Li Jingran—maybe, just maybe, he could truly lift the veil of this country’s endless night.

Until then, all he needed to do was watch Li Jingran step forward, watch him ascend to the heavens, watch him become a torch, watch him become a legend.