Fever

Author: Bei Cun
Author Country: China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2004-11-01
Features: Love is genuine, not only comforting the other person but also oneself—truly wonderful. A person loved by God is fearless. It seems that the main occupation of humanity should be love, to love without stopping at any moment. When love ceases, the sacred presence disappears, and there is no fear in love. Therefore, love brings eternal life. I think, love should be the confirmation of the significant value of an object. When this confirmation reaches a certain extent, it is called love. Moreover, this value is unique, so love is exclusive. Thus, love is truth. Love has different depths, so only the deepest love is true love. To love that deeply, there is no other way than to sacrifice oneself. Therefore, love is faith. Love is certainly unrequited, but love truly has its rewards. If there is no response, it is either that the love we give is not love, or we do not love deeply enough. The love that person (Jesus) had for Lazarus was so profound that Lazarus would be brought back to life. Therefore, love is resurrection. Love is genuine, not only comforting the other person but also oneself—truly wonderful. A person loved by God is fearless. It seems that the main occupation of humanity should be love, to love without stopping at any moment. When love ceases, the sacred presence disappears, and there is no fear in love. Therefore, love brings eternal life. —Bei Cun.
Excerpt: Zhang Cao came. He knocked hard on the door, which was all he knew to do. At any sign of dissatisfaction, he would resort to brute force—it was his trump card. The dwarf had no choice but to get up. It made him very unhappy because this might be the last time he could avoid getting out of bed. The dwarf opened the door a crack, and the sunlight struck him down. Zhang Cao stared at him from outside with a triangular eye, "Dwarf, you're really something—a dead sleeper! Listen, there's a death!" The dwarf knew what he meant; it had been about deaths every day lately. Zhang Cao said he wasn't just hearing it this time—he had actually seen a death. He could say such nonsense with his eyes wide open. "Could he see dead people with this disease?" the dwarf thought. Zhang Cao said, "Go on, let me in! Are you going to trap me in this crack?" The dwarf let him in. Zhang Cao slipped inside and said, "See, I'm not afraid. I even came to your place." The streets had become like a ghost town, but it was said that Guangzhou was bustling with activity. You'd think it was seeing ghosts with your own eyes. The dwarf lay in bed, lit a cigarette. Zhang Cao took one from his cigarette case. "You damn brat, put it back!" Zhang Cao said. "Dwarf, do you think you're something? I know your age is fake. If you were 22, a donkey could breed." The dwarf opened the window and looked downstairs. Only a few heads were moving below. About 50 meters away, a group of people in isolation suits were distributing food. A household received 50 pounds of flour and 50 pounds of rice, with faint sounds coming from them. He understood—the isolated people were receiving 50 pounds of grain per household. The dwarf said to Zhang Cao, "I'm already ready." Zhang Cao looked at him in shock, "Are you crazy? Dwarf, are you kidding me? I tell you, even I'm scared. I didn't put on a mask until I got downstairs. Look." He took out the mask. "I wasn't afraid of anything before, but I saw a dead person." The dwarf said, "Who are you lying to?" Zhang Cao insisted it was true. He had an uncle who worked as a funeral worker and was transferred to a designated crematorium. He went to find him and saw his uncle pushing a dead body into the furnace from a distance, still waving at him. Zhang Cao said he saw his uncle's expression through the mask—it was one he had never seen before. "So, Dwarf, don't do it. No one will call you brave, and no one will sympathize with you." Zhang Cao said, "And no one will praise you for being awesome." The dwarf said, "I only told you one person what I'm going to do, so don't stand in my way." Zhang Cao was playing with a dart in his hand. "I won't stand in your way—it has nothing to do with me. But a woman isn't worth dying for." The dwarf said, "It has nothing to do with Chen Xinyi." The dart in Zhang Cao's hand struck the bullseye again and again. "Dwarf, if you want to die, you will. And you will die because you're a dwarf. You're short—you'll definitely hit the mark." The dwarf managed to get Zhang Cao to leave. He reluctantly went downstairs. He had no one else to play with—nobody wanted to see him in this sensitive time. The dwarf didn't have time to chat with him; he had to prepare. First, he had to prepare his appearance. If he said he was 22, they would believe it. How old could they be? They wouldn't be able to tell his real age. The dwarf had once gone as a special correspondent for the City News to interview a famous writer. He chatted with the writer for two hours about literature, then for another two hours about idle talk. Then the writer heard the dwarf was only 17 and froze. He must have regretted it, thinking the entire morning's conversation had been pointless. The dwarf saved him, saying the other reporters had been joking, and he was indeed 22. The writer laughed and was very pleased. Because the dwarf was 22. There wasn't much to say about age. The dwarf was actually only 17, but...