We are all pests.

Author: Tang Song
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2005-01-01
Features: This novel primarily tells the growth story of Li Yu during four stages: primary school, junior high school, high school, and university. The author attempts to describe the inner history and the bumpy life journey of a person with a slow, orderly rhythm and calm, composed words. There is warmth and happiness, but also sorrow and helplessness. It also involves the different life outcomes and encounters of various characters such as Song Ke, Li Xiang, Qin Yu Xiao, Li Xiao Shu, Lin Ke, and Yu Xia. Li Yu walks through our vision, carrying the shadows and joys of childhood, the confusion and struggles of adolescence, the love stories of campus, and the warmth and hardships of family. Their vastly different personalities determine that they must accept their respective destinies and belongings. The novel depicts the love stories of Li Yu with Lin Ke, Yu Xia, and Teacher Xiao Yu with a gentle and tender touch. Additionally, there are the love entanglements between Li Xiao Shu and He Xiao Fei, Lu Teacher, and Song Ke and Dou Juan. As the author states at the end, for this world and the illusory God, we have long been great, or stripped bare of any secrets. Or as Camus says, the happiness we call happiness is often nothing more than pity for our own misfortunes. Autumn has arrived, and the autumn wind is already cool. The leaves on the branches have begun to turn yellow in groups. In the spacious courtyard, three sunflowers are in full bloom. The afternoon sunlight is like an elderly beauty, with a lazy and tired face. With nothing to do, I knelt on the ground watching ants carry food. A dense crowd of ants swarmed before me, coming and going. A large green caterpillar lay motionless on the ground, letting the ants gnaw at it and suck it. Six wild geese and one large red rooster with a high crown fought over the food behind me. The courtyard was quiet, only the sound of chicken beaks tapping the ground could be heard. Curiously watching the busy ants, my mischievous ideas popped up like popcorn, competing to jump out. First, I broke a piece of dry willow branch and cut the long line of ants into several segments. But in no time, they were connected again into a thick black line. I thought, "No, this won't work. Then I'll just spit on them." I spat a mouthful of saliva onto the dense crowd of ants. More than ten helpless ants struggled desperately in the white saliva. Satisfied with the feeling of schadenfreude, I scratched my head and smiled happily. Suddenly, a large hand reached out from behind and covered my eyes. It was pitch black in front of me. I said, "Let go, Uncle. I know it's you." I tried to pull off his iron-like hand, but I couldn't move it at all. Uncle was already in his twenties and lived next door. He should have been married long ago, but the children of people his age had already run all over the village. Only he, who had no occupation and did nothing all day, was almost crazy with the desire for a wife. He clung to our grandfather like a climbing plant, asking him to find a wife for him. Our grandfather said, "When you learn to live properly, I'll find you a wife." That's why the house was destitute, with dishes piled up in disarray. After meals, he didn't even wash the bowls and plates before throwing them into the pot. The lid was pushed to the side, and a swarm of flies and ants had fattened up. It looked very dirty. Usually, if Uncle was at home, he would behave well. He wouldn't go east if told to go west, or chase chickens if told to beat dogs. Otherwise, Uncle would hang him on the tree and beat him severely. Now, Uncle has run off with his second wife (to put it simply, she was the wife he picked up, but in today's eyes, they should have fallen in love freely. But in rural areas at that time, it was considered indecent and shameful). A few days ago, his mother-in-law gathered a group of mischievous people and wrecked Uncle's pots and pans, even tearing down the two wooden doors. They felt this wasn't enough, so they also caused chaos in my uncle's brother's house, making it a scene of chaos. The fate of those two wooden doors was that they floated in the pond in front of the house for two days. My uncle's eldest daughter, Sister Ping, fell seriously ill because of this. Now, the third uncle has come to his daughter's house along the winding path behind the village. The third grandmother passed away young, and with the second uncle and second aunt leaving, the house was empty like a pot. Uncle had more than enough space in the courtyard to do cartwheels and play with crabs. However, Uncle was indeed clever. He could learn anything and master it quickly—essentially, learning without a teacher. He made a flintlock with a bicycle chain, which made me envy him greatly. He could a kite with a few pieces of waste paper, but it never flew high. Additionally, he selected a "Y"-shaped tree branch, bought some rubber bands, and tied a piece of leather to make a slingshot. He went around shooting birds every day. Because of this, I followed him everywhere like his shadow, rolling around like mud. Uncle said, "Li Yu, let's go play." Without giving me a chance to refuse, he pulled me outside. We walked through a vast field of crops and slid down the like sliding down a slide. It was a dry ditch, overgrown with wild grasses. Some grass had turned golden in the sunlight. We sat facing each other. He said he would tell me a story. I said, "Okay." Then he said, "Once upon a time, there was a mountain, and on the mountain, there was a temple. In the temple, there was an old monk. The old monk said—" He suddenly braked abruptly and fell silent as if speechless. I asked impatiently, "What did the old monk say?" He said, "The old monk said, once upon a time, there was a mountain, and on the mountain, there was a temple. In the temple, there was an old monk. The old monk said—" He spoke slowly but stopped at every crucial point. I asked eagerly, "What happened next?" He continued to say, "The old monk said, once upon a time, there was a mountain, and on the mountain, there was a temple. In the temple, there was an old monk. The old monk said—" I got impatient and saw he was going in circles. So I said, "Stop talking, stop talking. This is a lie." He then said he would tell another story. He said, "Once upon a time, there was a hunter who carried a gun with no ammunition to hunt rabbits. He didn't hear a gunshot but killed eight rabbits. Then, he stole a pot with no bottom, placed it over a fire, and put the rabbits inside to cook. But a blind man saw this and told a deaf man, who quickly sent a lame man to report to the police. The police rode a motorcycle with no wheels to catch the hunter." I asked, "What happened then?" "What happened?" He thought for a moment, "Who knows?" Every story Uncle told began with "once upon a time," then "then," but he never knew how it ended. The "end" became like a headless fly, ramming around randomly. Moreover, his stories were either wildly made up or heard from somewhere, full of strange and bizarre things that no one could understand. Only he chewed sugar cane, the more he chewed, the sweeter it became. A mournful cry of geese came from above my head. I quickly looked up. This well-trained flock of geese suddenly stretched into a long "one" shape flying across the clouds, then spread into a wide "man" shape, rising and falling. At this moment, Uncle suddenly said, "Li Yu, take off your pants and lie down on this slope." I asked, "Why do you want me to take off my pants?" He said, "Don't ask why. Just do as I say, and I'll give you that gun when you go home." I immediately perked up at the mention of the gun. He added, "It will hurt, but you have to endure it." Lying on the slope bare-chested, I greedily inhaled the faint scent of soil and wild grass. These yellow and thin wild grasses resembled a group of hungry and thirsty children, stopping their running on the ground. I thought I might have smelled the scent of autumn. Soon, I felt something hard rubbing against my buttocks, then suddenly. "Ouch, it hurts so much!" I screamed like a pig, tears streaming down my face. My buttocks felt as if they were torn open, the excruciating pain hitting me all at once. I clutched the dry grass with both hands, gritted my teeth, and endured it until he was satisfied. He lay on me like a wet cloth, as if he had fallen seriously ill. It took a while before he stood up. I touched my buttocks and found it sticky and messy, so I quickly grabbed some dry grass and wiped it. When I pulled up my pants, he was also pulling up his half-retracted pants. By this time, it was already dark. On the way home, every step I took, my buttocks ached intensely.