I looked at that policeman—a middle-aged man, not tall, with a faint smile. He said, “Whatever daily necessities you need, I’ll have your daughter bring them for you. I won’t go running errands to buy them. Remember, clothes can’t have zippers or small buttons!” <br><br>I nodded and said, “Alright, I’ll write down the phone number for you.” <br><br>After finishing the instructions, my father said, “I haven’t bathed in so long. I’ve been lying in bed all this time. Can you help me wipe my body?” <br><br>I fetched some warm water, soaking a towel in the basin, allowing every fiber of the towel to absorb the heat. After wringing it out, I started wiping his face, his neck, and his hands. <br><br>I took off his undershirt and began wiping his body. His entire body radiated exhaustion, so thin that touching him felt like touching his bones. <br><br>He lay in bed as I repeatedly wiped him. Tears streamed down my face silently. I made an effort to use the warm water to moisten this almost dried-up body, hoping this could somehow dispel the scent of death. <br><br>The policeman outside called out to me, “Family member, bring his belongings and buy some milk. You can leave for now. If needed, we’ll call you again. You can check with the doctors about his condition.” <br><br>My father gave me one last deep look. “Goodbye, Yichuan.” <br><br>I said to him, “Dad, I’ll wait for you to come out!” <br><br>I didn’t expect this to be a painful separation. <br><br>When I returned to the ICU, I saw my father hanging on, hand in hand with death. At his bedside, I held his hand. His hands started showing blotches, and I felt as though he was becoming stiff. <br><br>Ding-ding, ding-ding—the phone rang. <br><br>I stepped out to the reception area to take the call. “Attorney Yu.” <br><br>Attorney Yu said, “What’s the situation? Don’t sign anything. Wait for me to come. Keep all evidence intact and record everything they say—it can be used as evidence for future lawsuits.” <br><br>I replied, “Attorney Yu, my father won’t make it. I don’t want to do anything anymore. I just want him to have peace, and I want some too. He’s tired, and so am I.” <br><br>Attorney Yu persisted, “Yichuan, think about it. He left you with so much debt. If he passes away, we must request an autopsy and file a lawsuit against the detention center.” <br><br>Suddenly, it struck me: Today is not about abandoning me or pushing me into the fire pit or making me inexplicably indebted to billions. He is just my father. A man who once held my hand so warmly, tenderly, like a child, as we walked the same path. <br><br>What is love? Dad, in this moment, it feels just like when I stood outside The Threshold of Fate over ten years ago. Besides helplessly crying, what else do I have? My resentment, my complaints for 36 years—all feel so fragile right now. <br><br>Love is like a puzzle cube—joy, fear, pain, hurt, desire—all tangled together. When it was first handed to me, every side was the same color. Happiness was pure happiness, sorrow was pure sorrow, and emotions were so easy to control. I could twist it once and always remember the steps to turn it back. Striving to keep all six sides consistent. But after decades of changes, accidents, and upheavals, can a puzzle cube still return to alignment on all sides? Subjected to the ephemeral nature flipping it at every moment, it becomes chaotic and unrecognizable. After every argument, every cry, and every moment of introspection, I tried desperately to find a way to reset it to its original harmony—to make all six sides match again. But I ignored that love is not just one side—it is a whole. Love cannot be equated to any single emotion, for it isn’t an emotion. Emotions are fleeting, but love is a lasting bond—a connection between people. <br><br>At this moment, my puzzle cube no longer needs questioning or twisting—it has returned to its perfect, original state, just as when I first received it. Yes, I only have love for him now—no hate, no complaints, no blame. <br><br>I held my head in my hands and sat on the cold steel bench in the reception area, crying bitterly. This time, it’s truly just me—even the fly hasn’t come anymore. <br><br>I love him. I feel an immense love surging over me like a tide, and my tears are merely love overflowing. <br><br>Attorney Yu’s voice came through the phone, “This matter must be publicized. Let more than 700 claimants know—it’s a matter of accountability to them. We must take the initiative with the police, fight for compensation, and notify everyone we can…” <br><br>I asked, “If I do all this, will he survive?” <br><br>I hung up the phone. <br><br>My father is tired, and so am I. I don’t want to talk. Life or death doesn’t need to be explained to anyone—it’s a personal matter. The system has already pushed us to the edge of the precipice. I just want to take responsibility for myself and let him rest peacefully." )
