Fiction: Group 4
It was evident what had happened that night. Yixing’s father had sneaked into Yixing’s home, unable
to resist the strong bond of blood between father and son. Yet out of the blue, he had been assassinated by
Qing guards, in an attempt to wipe out the revolutionists.
He had never got the opportunity to reconcile with his son, nor said a word to a soul about how he
had actually forgiven Yixing a long, long time ago, that he would accept his coming back at any time of any
day. He had not played Mahjong for years, and he had missed having a son. Without his son by his side, he
had always performed his daily routines in solitude, feeding Boxer and Clover and remembering how his son
had named all the animals in their farm. Sometimes when he grumbled about people mistrusting the
government, he would feel a pang in his heart, recalling the person who had left it hollow and desolate.
Ironically, the government he had depended on and trusted so much had murdered him in cold blood.
However, he had sacrificed himself for his only son, a last and final fatherly act.
Now Yixing missed the cerulean sky, the great rolling fields, the creatures he had named, and most of
all, his father. Although he remorsefully blamed himself for all that had happened, and loathed himself for
letting his father die in his place, he reminded himself again and again that this was the path he had taken,
that there was no turning back.
The fiery ball in the sky maintained its never-stopping route, day and night, day and night.
