Chapter 2: Third Uncle

Though my father had established his own household away from grandfather years ago, the two families remained close - separated only by a single street's width.

I stood watching, curiosity gnawing at me, as the strange visitors made their way into grandfather's house. Something about their presence felt unusual, and I couldn't help but wonder who these people might be.

The peaceful afternoon shattered as violent arguments exploded from within the mud-brick house, punctuated by the cacophony of cookware crashing against the floor.

The sounds galvanized me into action. Snatching up a wooden stick, I bolted toward the house. As I reached the doorway, I witnessed an extraordinary sight - my grandfather, his face contorted with rage and his beard bristling like angry needles, wielding a rolling pin like a weapon as he forcefully drove several men from his home.

The men stumbled out howling in pain, blood streaming down their faces. The two women accompanying them stood paralyzed with shock, oblivious to their briefcases spilling open at their feet. The contents scattered across the ground - bundles of crisp red banknotes, so many that their bright color seared my eyes.

One of the men, rage and frustration contorting his face, bellowed at my grandfather: "Old man Zhang! Know your place! What century do you think this is? Still clinging to your worthless relics like they're precious treasures!"

"Just look at your miserable existence! Even beggars live better than this! Here we are, offering you a path paved with gold, and you choose to waste away in this worthless village! Is that what you want?"

The man's vicious words hung in the air, but grandfather's response was ice-cold, his dark glare accompanied by a single, thunderous command: "Get out!"

"Fine then, Old Zhang!" the man snarled. "Have it your way! You win today! But remember this - your Zhang family is marked with sins! Sins so deep they'll stain generations to come!"

"You think you can bear this curse alone? Shield your entire family? We'll see if the heavens permit such arrogance!"

The men and women scrambled to gather their scattered wealth, their movements frantic and angry. With one final venomous glare at grandfather, they retreated to their luxury cars and roared away in a cloud of dust.

The village was quiet, everyone busy with the summer harvest, leaving the confrontation unwitnessed. All except for me - a young boy in ragged summer clothes, burning with righteous anger as I hurled my stick at their retreating vehicles.

My stick found its mark with a resounding crack against their rear window, sending spiderweb fractures across the glass and drawing terrified shrieks from within.

The cars disappeared in a cloud of dust, leaving grandfather and me alone in the sudden silence. As we crouched together, gathering the scattered debris of broken cookware, I noticed something that made my heart ache - grandfather's hair had turned snow-white, and his once-proud back was now bent like a weathered bow.

He was pushing seventy now, though somehow I'd never truly noticed the weight of those years until this moment.

A heavy silence fell between us after we finished cleaning. Some questions are better left unasked - I didn't probe about the identity of our visitors or their purpose. Some truths, I sensed, would reveal themselves in their own time.

Grandfather offered no explanations, choosing instead to fill the silence with cigarette smoke, each exhaled cloud carrying unspoken burdens.

When he finally broke the stillness, his words fell like heavy stones: "Little Nine," he said, using my childhood name, "pack your things. You're leaving tomorrow."

My hands trembled as the weight of his words sank in. "Where?" I managed to ask, my voice barely a whisper.

"To Shimen," he declared with finality, naming our provincial capital. The way he said it made the city sound like a different world entirely.

The finality in his tone struck me like a physical blow. My mind reeled as the reality sank in - my life in this village was coming to an end.

Grandfather caught sight of my reddening eyes and let out a heavy sigh. "Little Nine," he said softly, "for six years you've studied my collection. I've shown you both what was meant for your eyes... and perhaps things that weren't. Some knowledge carries a price."

"Some mysteries reveal themselves only with time. What seems dark now will one day become clear - when you're ready to understand."

"Those people today," I forced the words past the tightness in my throat, "they're the reason, aren't they, Grandfather?"

Grandfather stroked my head, his smile carrying both warmth and sadness. "Their visit is both everything and nothing," he said cryptically. "But it has shown me one truth - there are some paths we cannot avoid walking, no matter how hard we try to find another way. We can only face them with courage."

"Go prepare yourself," he said gently. "Leave your parents to me." The weight in his voice suggested he knew the harder battle lay ahead.

Grandfather had always ruled our family with an iron will. His word was law - though my father and uncles had their own homes now, none dared challenge his authority. Such was the old way of things.

But that night shattered decades of quiet obedience. My parents erupted in a furious argument with grandfather, their voices rising so high they seemed to make the very rafters tremble. My father's rage echoed through the house: "Sending him to that bastard in Shimen?! You might as well kill him yourself!"

But then grandfather's voice rose like thunder, drowning out all other sounds with its primal force.

The identity of this "bastard" in Shimen remained a mystery to me, but the battle of wills raged on deep into the night, until finally, utterly drained, my parents surrendered to grandfather's unshakeable resolve.

And so it was decided - I would be sent to find this mysterious "bastard" in Shimen, though no one bothered to explain to me who he was.

That night, my parents packed my bag with trembling hands, their movements betraying a desperate tenderness. They stuffed it full with everything I might need - summer shirts, T-shirts, jackets, and even a thick winter coat, as if preparing me for a journey with no certain end.

My father took an enormous stack of cash - nearly five thousand dollars - and divided it carefully into three separate bundles, hiding each in different corners of my backpack, as if preparing me for some great uncertainty ahead.

The thoroughness of their preparations made my blood run cold. "Grandfather," I asked, my voice wavering, "when will I be able to come home?"

Grandfather stroked my head, his answer as cryptic as a riddle: "You'll return when the time is right - when you yourself know it's time to come home."

His words left me baffled, but one thing was clear - this would be no brief journey. The down coat my mother had packed told its own story: wherever I was going, I might be there long enough to see the seasons change, to feel winter's bite before I returned home.