That year, she was only ten years old.
On her tenth birthday, her father never came up from the mine again. After the gas explosion, her father left her and her mother forever.
Her mother almost went blind from crying, and within a year, her hair turned completely white. Her mother said, "Child, let me take you to another family, so you can go to school."
She cried and choked out, "Okay," because if she continued, her mother would die from exhaustion.
Her mother married a man recommended by her distant cousin. She didn't want to leave her hometown, so the man said, "Then I'll go to her family."
The first time she saw him, she was shocked—how could he be so old and ugly? Compared to her own father, he seemed to be more than ten years older. His eyes were so small they were just slits, and his face was full of wrinkles. He must be fifty years old. She felt disgusted just looking at him.
After marrying her mother, this man also went to work in the mine. He gave her every penny of his salary, and after work, he would buy her flowers and candied hawthorns, hoping she would call him "Dad." But she refused. Her mother told her to call him "Dad," but she stubbornly replied, "Why should I? My father is dead." He stood to the side, smiling awkwardly. "Then call him Uncle," he said. But
she refused to call him Uncle, finding him nagging and his poor table manners, slurping as he ate.
At fourteen, she went to junior high school in town. Every weekend, he would come to pick her up. The family only had one bicycle; her mother couldn't ride it, so he had to come. On the way, he would ask her many questions, but she answered little, feeling it unnecessary to talk to him. A classmate asked her, "Who's the man who picks you up?" She coldly replied, "A distant relative." But every time he came to see her, he would bring her lots of delicious food, saying, "Your mother asked me to bring this for you." Later, she discovered that her mother hadn't brought anything; her mother had let it slip, saying, "The family is short of money, so I won't be bringing you anything this month." But she still received biscuits and milk powder from him, saying, "Your mother said you're growing and need to eat more nutritious food."
Although she came from the countryside, she felt she wasn't eating worse than the city kids. She knew this man cared about her. At that moment, a little warmth touched her young heart, but she couldn't bring herself to call him "Dad."
She got into high school, and he said, "Why don't we move to the city?" Her mother objected, saying, "What's the point of moving to the city? How will we live?"
He said, "For the sake of the child! How can we leave her to rent a place outside? Besides, money is easier to earn in the city. The mine is about to close, I need to earn more money for you and the child; she still needs to go to university."
She was seventeen then, twisting her clothes, on the verge of tears. High school was expensive, and he couldn't afford the tuition, so he sold his blood. She occasionally saw his blood donation receipt in the drawer; it had his name on it—Liu Dacang. A very vulgar name, it made her want to cry. She said, "Uncle, thank you."
He smiled shyly, rubbing his hands, "We're family, why thank me?" He wasn't good with words, but he always tried to make conversation with her. One day, she overheard him telling his mother, "This child is so pitiful. She lost her father at ten. If I don't treat her well, I can't live with myself. Tomorrow is her birthday. Ask her what she likes, and we'll get it for her."
That was the first time someone celebrated her birthday. He made noodles by hand and gave her a small cloth horse—it cost ten yuan from the market town because she was born in the Year of the Horse. She ate the noodles, feeling a lump in her throat.
For her sake, their whole family moved to the city. He became a shoemaker on the street, and his mother ran a fruit stall. She passed by his mother's fruit stall and his shoemaker's stall every day. He was always busy there, and sometimes when he saw her, he would say, "Wait a minute." Next to his shoemaker's stall was a bakery and a sweet potato roaster. Sometimes he would buy her a piece of bread; sometimes he would buy her a roasted sweet potato, then continue repairing shoes with a smile. When
he smiled, his eyes seemed to shrink even further. She stood there, stunned, in the wind, holding the piece of bread.
She knew he lived near the bakery, but she was certain he had never eaten a loaf of bread himself. At that moment, she felt a deep connection with him, a sense of mutual dependence.
Tragedy struck again during her second year of high school. Her mother suddenly collapsed at a fruit stand and never woke up. She thought, she was a poor child, without a father or a mother, who would she rely on now?
He said, "Child, don't cry, your uncle is here." Yes, she had an uncle! Her ugly uncle! What would become of her and this man with whom she had no blood relation? Without her mother, would he still care for her? Would he stay in this house? Would he marry another woman to be her stepmother?
He said nothing, still leaving early and returning late, cooking for her, and telling her to eat more. She was busy studying, and he washed and folded all her clothes. A year later, she was admitted to a top university. He held the acceptance letter and cried, saying, "Uncle is going to have a drink to celebrate." At that moment, she wanted to call him "Dad," but she still said, "Uncle, I'll cook you a couple of dishes."
University tuition was expensive. He went back to his hometown and sold the old house. He said, "I always thought about returning home when I got old, but now I don't. I'll use the money from the sale to pay for your schooling. As long as you graduate, I'll be at ease."
She went to university with the money from the house sale. He sent her living expenses every month; she knew he had saved every penny. That money had endured so much wind and sun; his hair had turned white, and his face was even darker.
Later, she passed the TOEFL with excellent grades. Before going to America, she went home to say goodbye to him.
That was the first time she saw him cry. He said, "Child, if things don't go well abroad, come back. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."
She cried too, saying, "Uncle, I'm worried about you alone..." He choked up and said, "It's okay, I'm made of iron, don't worry."
When she left, he saw her off. She said, "Uncle, go back, take care." He waved, the wind blowing his white hair. Before leaving, he handed her a bag. What was wrapped in the red paper?
She opened it on the train and was stunned—it contained ten thousand yuan. There were hundred-yuan notes, ten-yuan notes, one-yuan, two-yuan, and five-yuan notes—a tattered pile of money. She held the money and wept.
Years later, she flew back to handle his funeral arrangements. He had suffered a sudden cerebral hemorrhage and died at his shoe repair stall.
When sorting through his belongings, there were only a few pieces of clothing, some patched.
There was also the little pony he had bought for her, which he had kept. The white horse was still as beautiful as ever; it was her birthday present.
The money wasn't much, and it was still just as dirty, hidden under the cupboard. The coffin she ordered for him was better than her mother's. Following local custom, she wore mourning clothes and smashed a bowl at the grave—things a daughter should do.
Many people said, "Look at her, returning from studying in America and still treating her stepfather like this." But she knew she owed him far more than she could ever repay. She always wanted him to have a good life. To repay the debt of gratitude she had accumulated over half a lifetime, she now understood that he had long been her family, and in his heart, she was his dearest daughter.
When she smashed the bowl, she was supposed to call out to her family. Everyone assumed she would call for her uncle—she had called him that for so many years—but she cried out with all her might, "Dad, your daughter has brought you this bowl!"
That one word, "Dad," brought her to tears. "
Dad, can you hear me? Your daughter is calling for you, Dad, my ugly, dearest Dad!"
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