Now, we come to our other antagonist – Feng Ye. Will his background and history be similar to Lin Qingyan’s? Interestingly, Ding Mo has chosen to write this from the 1st person perspective, so we have the ‘privilege’ of seeing Feng Ye’s thoughts, emotions and motivations first-hand. How do we react to this revelation?
Let us know what you think of Feng Ye in the comments below, or join the Meraki Team on DISCORD (link on the sidebar to the right)! —
We are All Mortals
Feng Ye Short Story Part 1.1
From a young age, I knew that I was different from other people.
I was not afraid of pain, I never cried, and I was seldom sad. From my perspective, this world was so beautiful.
My parents were deaf and mute, and they treated me pretty well. They spent all the money they had on me, so that I became tall and as strong as a horse, while they were all skin and bones. They were really a pair of pitiful wretches.
Therefore, I did not kill them, and hid a lot of things from them. I did this as a kind of filial piety, in order that they could continue living happily in their poverty-stricken, confined little world, muddle-headed and ignorant.
When I was ten, I was in fourth grade. When I went to school one afternoon, I discovered a lot of students crying. Upon asking, I found out that an elderly math teacher had been struck down by a sudden illness in the morning, and had died. The entire classroom was full of weeping and wailing, and the young, female form teacher, with her red-rimmed eyes, told everyone, "Let's observe a moment of silence."
At that time, I wanted to laugh. Someone else had died, so why did we have to observe silence? That old math teacher had been very long-winded, and always complained that my workbook was not clean enough, even though my answers and logic were excellent. Looking at it from this perspective, it was so much better for him to die.
Who knew, when the form teacher looked at me, she seemed especially surprised as she asked, "Feng Ye, why are you . . . laughing?"
All the children looked over at me. With their tear-stained faces, they looked really foolish.
I immediately straightened out my mouth, and threw myself on the table with a loud 'waaah'. After all, as a good student, I naturally knew how a good student should behave. It was just that I had momentarily forgotten.
After a while, I felt the form teacher walk over to me and pat my hair. She commented to another teacher, "It looks like he's in shock. He was always the math teacher's favourite."
I buried my face in my hands and laughed.
Although I could not conjure up this mysterious thing called sympathy, I still had an ardent love for life.
I loved the praises my teacher gave me, I loved the admiration of my schoolmates, I loved this hypocritical and beautiful world. I lived each day very happily – so happily that I became a little bored.
The first time I hurt someone was when I was twelve. That occasion was enlightening, as it enabled me to realize why I felt bored.
It happened when I was leaving school in the afternoon. I was merrily going on my way when a big boy rushed out, seized me by the collar, and hit me. When I felt the sting of pain in my cheeks, I became acutely aware of the shock to my spirits, which was quickly followed by a surprising frisson of excitement.
I was very quickly beaten until I lay on the ground. My stomach hurt, my head also hurt, and the dirty ground was stained with the blood from my nose.
With a 'humph', the boy said, "From now on, don't be with Zhao Tingting. She is my girlfriend."
Ah, I understood. She was a fifth grade student who had written me a love letter. Her skin was fair, and she had big eyes.
I nodded.
The boy turned and walked away, seemingly very satisfied, and his footsteps were so light- almost as if he was floating. Like a cat, I soundlessly got up, picked up a brick from the ground, and ruthlessly aimed for the back of his head . . .
It's worth mentioning that this boy was older than me by a couple of years, and his foresight was pretty good. The site he had chosen for his sneak attack was a secluded lane, lined with trees on both sides which formed a good screen. I squatted next to his body for a fairly long time, and didn't see a single soul pass by. I looked at his blood, like red ink, seeping slowly from the wound in his head, reaching the ground, being absorbed by the soil. So slowly, so quietly.
I dabbed my finger into a bit of blood and put it into my mouth so I could taste the blood. It had a faint, fishy taste, but I felt as if my body was shaken by a deep sense of pleasure.
Excellent.
Leaving the lane, I headed for home as usual, prepared the meal and ate a little by myself, leaving the rest for my parents. They returned home very late from work. After that, I went to my neighbour's house, where I helped the third grade girl review her homework before completing my own. When the neighbour saw that my face was hurt, he got somewhat angry. "Who bullied you?" he asked as he applied some ointment on my face.
"A senior student," I replied softly. "It seems to have been due to some girl, I don't really understand what it was about. I was beaten senseless, and when I woke up, I came home."
The neighbour was so angry, he immediately called the form teacher.
As expected, that boy's parents stormed furiously into the school the next day to look for me. Their family's financial situation was very good, such that they even drove to school. The form teacher and several other young teachers were driven to angry tears as they pulled me in front of the parents. "Look for yourself! Do you see how your son beat up Feng Ye? He has never had an altercation with any of his schoolmates, he is an excellent student, how could he possibly have struck your son with a brick?"
"You really shouldn't bully someone in this way. Feng Ye's parents are deaf and mute, his family's situation is not good, yet he is so hardworking. Your son is always fighting . . ."
"Could it have been someone else who hurt him? At that time, did your son see who was responsible?"
……
In the end, the matter was never settled. But, a new window had opened in my life.
——
The first time I killed someone, I was in my second year of high school.
At that time, there was suddenly a lot to feed my spirit – Hong Kong films had arrived on the mainland: heroic heroes, beach scenes, gangsters . . . watching the scenes of carnage* unfolding in front of the camera, I felt my palms becoming hot and sweaty. We had an old video recorder at home. When my parents were at work, I would pull shut the curtains, and sit by myself in the darkened room. Outside, the summer storms raged on, while I froze those scenes, and replayed them; froze, replayed.
*(血肉横飞 – lit. flying flesh and blood)
Those sudden impulses seized hold of my very life, and took control.
I had never felt this way before. My entire lifetime was concentrated on the intensity of these moments. It was the very peak of emotion, such that I felt like I was immersed in an ocean of happiness.
That feeling was poison, it was medicine, it was what my lifeblood most eagerly desired, and I had no way to stop myself. I did not want to stop.
Human life is bitter and short, we are all mortals. Why should I stop?
However, to kill someone required funds and skills. I didn't want to do rough and slipshod work*, and I still needed to evade the police, so I couldn't leave behind a single clue.
*(粗制滥造 – lit. to churn out large quantities without regard for quality)
After the final examinations and graduating at the top of my year, I finally had the time to attend to my own business. I conducted careful investigations for more than ten days, then chose to take action on a clear afternoon.
It was a small park in the city. Because it was a working day and very hot, there were few people around. I sat for a while in a secluded corner that was not monitored by CCTV, when a young man came up the path and smiled faintly at me.
Bingo! My internet research said that this was the favoured meeting place for homosexuals, and it really was true.
The man was twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, quite tall, and he looked fairly foppish. He sat down beside me and asked, "You're alone?"
I nodded, and smiled at him.
He placed his hand on my shoulder – damn it, it was so disgusting!
"My place is nearby, do you want to go there for a while?" he asked softly.
I thought for a while before answering. "I don't like to be outside my home. Come to my place. There's lots of space." I watched him with a slight wariness, and he laughingly said, "Little brother, your sense of precaution is strong. All right, uncle will go with you."
"Then … I'll wait for you at the public transport station." I held my breath, causing my face to flush. He again patted my back, and nodded.
We left the park one after the other.
I took him to an abandoned factory in the suburbs. I had put up a hut there, and furnished it with an old sofa and an old bed. My school uniform was still draped over the railings.
He was taken aback. "You're a high school student?"
"Yes." I poured him a glass of water, and continued, "That's why I don't dare to be in the city . . ."
His smile deepened as he swallowed a mouthful of water. He started taking off my clothes, removing them one by one until he lost consciousness and fell onto my bed.
Wow . . . what a stupid man. Serves him right for falling into my trap.
I played until evening of the second day, when I finally left the factory to return home.
I first sealed the pieces of him in plastic wrap, so that the smell would not be too strong, then separated the pieces into two woven bags. I left the bags in a corner of the hut, covered with debris. That night, I took some pieces back with me in a black plastic bag. I had walked some distance away from the factory, when I met some of my father's colleagues on the road. One of them smilingly asked me, "Xiao Ye, are you picking up bottles again?" Then, he commented to the person beside him, "This child is too sensible. His results are exceptional, and he will definitely get into Peking (Beijing) University."
I nodded my head in an embarrassed manner and said, "How do you do, uncles. I'm only doing what is within my power to do, as I should."
I waited until they had walked far away, then looked curiously at the bulging bag in my hand – surprisingly, they could pass as bottles? Really a miracle from the gods.
I finally found a barren mountain and buried this person's bones there. Once, I saw the police asking questions at the park, but no one suspected a uniform-wearing high school student.
Translator: shl
TL Checker/Editor: Tranzgeek
Proofreader: Librismuse