He said, “Today, destiny decrees our meeting. So, I must obey and tell you everything I know. Take this magic charm I give you. At midnight tonight, find a west-facing slope outside the hospital. Light three incense sticks and prepare a bowl of rice wine. Add a large handful of rice grains, burn the magic charm, and mix it thoroughly into the bowl. Then, as you hold this bowl, walk across the mountain, sprinkling the wine and rice as you go, and shout his name loudly. Keep walking until you see your own shadow appear. Then place the bowl under his bed.” <br><br> <br>Word for word, I dared not miss a single detail of what he said. I took out all the money I had. “Take it, please. This is all I have. I don’t know if it’s enough.” <br><br> <br>He smiled and said, “Keep it. You’ll still need to buy wine and incense. If you give me everything, what will you do? Our meeting is predestined; the cycle of cause and effect doesn’t need to be settled in one go. Go now. The sun is setting. Remember: Faith moves mountains!” <br><br> <br>He paused and asked, “Wait, what’s your name? Write it on my hand.” <br><br> <br>He held out his hand. I traced the letters in his palm with my finger as I said aloud, “Yichuan.” <br><br> <br>His hand trembled slightly. He muttered, “Not an easy name.” <br><br> <br>I said, “Master, please continue.” <br><br> <br>He said, “A river with no turning back, destined to wander and rest, searching.” <br><br> <br>I asked, “Searching for what?” <br><br> <br>He replied, “A lifetime quest for the passage!” <br><br> <br>He paid me no further attention, muttering to himself, “A lifetime quest, wandering and resting, to find a stream, as fate decrees, as the path dictates.” <br><br> <br>I didn’t understand, but I had to leave. Bowing deeply to him, I knelt in respect. He continued mumbling into the palm of his hand, his tone low as though saying, “Goodbye, Yichuan.” <br><br> <br>That night, I wandered the mountain alone, calling my father’s name, until sunrise when I saw my shadow. <br><br> <br>Father really woke up that same night. <br><br> <br>I have always thanked Yin the Blind for his life-saving grace. Countless times, I’ve returned to the tiger exhibit road at West Suburb Park, but I’ve never seen him again. <br><br> <br>This was Father’s first death. Perhaps I should call it his rebirth. If death signifies an end, perhaps it comes in two stages: the death of the body and the death of being forgotten forever. That time, it was the death of his facade. He became someone else, his true self, living solely for himself, no longer for anyone else. <br><br> <br>Three months ago, he died again, surrounded by police officers, prison doctors, and people from the Procuratorate in the ICU ward. Officer Yi from the Economic Investigation Department informed me over the phone: “Your father is critically ill. Come to the hospital’s intensive care unit immediately. For safety reasons, come alone!” <br><br> <br>I rushed by taxi to the location he mentioned. On the 16th floor, stepping out of the elevator into the modest waiting area, a group of about ten men in uniforms stood or sat, resembling actors waiting for a stage play to begin. The moment I appeared, they all moved as though following a script. I couldn’t make out what they were saying as a doctor handed me a thick stack of papers to sign. My mind roared with chaos. <br><br> <br>I was told that at 7:30 in the morning, in the city’s first detention center, my father collapsed while brushing his teeth. It was his second sudden brain aneurysm rupture. <br><br> <br>In the ICU ward, the scene was all too familiar. Father lay there with his sallow face. Doctors, along with people from the Procuratorate, filmed him using a video camera. A nurse pried open his eyelids, shining a small flashlight into his pupils. “Light reflex is absent,” she said. <br><br> <br>I asked, “Is he still alive?” <br><br> <br>The doctor replied, “There’s still a faint heartbeat.” <br><br> <br>The police officer said, “Given his current condition, it is no longer suitable to continue detaining him. Complete the bail procedures. As his guarantor, you can handle it. Quick, hand me your ID so I can make a copy outside the hospital.” <br><br> <br>I said, “I didn’t bring it.” <br><br> <br>Officer Yi from Economic Investigations said, “Forget it; get it done first, and supplement the paperwork later.” <br><br> <br>He took out a bail document stamped with the district police bureau’s seal, placed it in front of me, used a medical record as a makeshift writing pad, and shoved a pen into my hand. This paper, something my father had longed for day and night, could now be signed so easily. After all, his unlawful collection of 500 million still left him with debts of roughly 300 million RMB. Just yesterday, the lawyer told me bail was out of the question. <br><br> <br>I signed my name and asked, “Is he free now?” <br><br> <br>Director Yi solemnly replied, “You can take him home, but he cannot leave his residential area.” <br><br> <br>The uniformed whirlwind dispersed before me as quickly as it had assembled. I sat beside him, carefully wiping his face and body clean with a warm towel. His chest bore the bruises from electric defibrillation. I felt his throat—soft to the touch—and noted no external injuries on his body. <br><br> <br>The doctor came by and said, “The first episode gives a 60% chance of survival. For a second episode, the odds drop below 10%.” <br><br> <br>Two weeks earlier, he had his first brain aneurysm rupture in detention, and they transferred him to a local hospital. <br><br> <br>At the hospital, I was granted a rare visit and saw him lying feebly on the bed, one ankle shackled. The room had five officers stationed. I asked him, “Dad, were you beaten inside? What happened?” <br><br> <br>He always gave that dismissive, knowing smile, as though seeing through me. “No. I just fell down on my own. I’m a doctor myself; I know my condition well.” <br><br> <br>Leaning in closer, he softly said, “Give me a cigarette.” <br><br> <br>I glanced at the officers, who didn’t object. I took out his favorite white-box Five-Five-Five smokes from my bag, handed one to him, and lit it with my lighter. He tilted his head to catch the flame, weakly saying, “My phone. Keep it. Never let it be disconnected; there’s crucial information on it.” <br><br> <br>Then, with a deliberate rhythm, he tapped his finger against my hand. I silently counted: one, two, three… seven. He withdrew his hand. <br><br> <br>Turning to one of the officers, he said, “This is Officer Zhou, who oversees me. He’s been kind. Make sure to thank him. Leave your number with Officer Zhou so he can contact you if needed.” )
