"Dad, I’ve made myself very clear. I ca back to this family without any other expectations; I just hope I can live happily and comfortably. Why can’t you satisfy even this simplest request of mine? I have no ulterior motives—I just want to live a happy, joyful life, and that’s enough. Why can’t you try to think from my perspective, consider how miserable and painful my life has been? All I want is a stable life, and since you agreed to let return to this family back then, why are you saying such things to now? These words—where do they leave ? Where do I stand?
You know pain and sorrow deep inside, but do you think I don’t? You’re human, and I am, too. You’re not gods, and neither am I. I’m certainly not a Saint. Why have you never considered how I’ve been surviving all these years outside? I know you’ve been silently watching my every move. But you never openly spoke a word to call back ho. You were afraid—afraid that if I ca back, I’d hurt you again. Yet now that I have returned, I still ended up hurting you, and so deep down you think I shouldn’t have co back. You’ve pinned all the bla on , pushed all the faults onto my shoulders.
Does this family’s current state truly stem from my return? If my return really caused this situation, then I can leave this household. Are you saying that if I leave, everything in this family will magically return to its forr harmony? I can’t believe that—I will never believe that the consequences now are entirely my fault. I hope you won’t push all the responsibility onto ; doing so is absolutely not a solution to the problem. Every ti you shift all the bla onto , do you think my heart is truly untouched, that I feel nothing at all? I can’t do it—I’m not a Saint. What I want is so simple, so straightforward: just for everyone to live happily and joyfully together. I don’t need anything else. But why won’t you take a mont to think about how hard my life has been?"
Old Master Zhang was genuinely rendered speechless by his son’s words. What does he an, I haven’t considered his feelings, that I haven’t thought about his struggles? Have I lived easily all these years? Ti and again, I’ve missed him. Ti and again, I’ve sent people to secretly protect him. Ti and again, I’ve followed his tracks, but what has he given in return over all these years? Only hurt. Just look at the past few incidents alone—they’ve already brought so much harm and pain. I’ve never asked for anything else—is it truly that my demands have been too harsh?
"Have I said anything to you these days since you’ve co back ho? Have I caused you trouble? Ask yourself—over these past few days, what have you brought to this family? How many here have felt sadness, disappointnt? Yet has a single one of us blad you? We’ve believed in you ti and again; we’ve accepted you because we understand that life isn’t easy for anyone. Living in this world brings its own weight and pressure, and we have tried to empathize with you, to care for you. But why can you not show understanding for the effort we’ve put into this for you? Look at your daughter-in-law now—she’s in this state, and you haven’t even shown her any concern. Yet here you are arguing with , debating who’s right and who’s wrong. Are these rights and wrongs really that important? Is the health and safety of your own family not more crucial? In your eyes, what truly counts as a major issue?"
At tis, I really want to ask myself: if I were to suddenly die here and now, would you shed even a single tear? I’m terrified—what if I die, and not a single tear falls? Then what has all my effort in raising you been for? And this person I’ve poured years of toil into raising turns out to be soone so ungrateful—you expect to accept that? It hurts. Deep down, it feels unfair.
You ought to know how much I’ve sacrificed over the years. I also know what you’ve sacrificed. Everyone contributes, everyone earns sothing in return. How much that return is, no one has the ability to asure. Everyone’s path is different, and so the results are different as well. You know better than anyone what kind of principle this is. But why, now, are you treating this way? What benefit does treating like this bring you? Why can’t you try to think from my perspective—to consider just how deeply I hurt, how sorrowful I feel deep down?"
"My own father—are you really my own father? Not once did I ever imagine that one day you would say such cruel, heartless words to . You’ve dumped all your dissatisfaction onto , burdened with all your sha. In your eyes, my very existence is your disgrace, your humiliation. Have you ever stopped to think—how did I end up like this? Who is really to bla for walking this path? Back then, wasn’t I begging, almost groveling, to return to this family? And at the door, who was it that ruthlessly shut out? You only focus on my mistakes—you never think about the pain you’ve inflicted on . I’ve made mistake after mistake—but can you truly say they have nothing to do with you?
You’re my father—I know that. This fact has always been anchored in my heart. I’ve never wanted to change it because you’re my father, and that makes proud. But pride doesn’t an I can endlessly endure all the pain without boundaries, ignoring how I, your son, feel deep down inside. How do you know I haven’t gone to check on my daughter-in-law? I wish for her wellness, too. But so things are simply out of my control. I’m not a doctor—I can’t save lives. All I can do is pray, over and over, to the heavens for her peace and safety. Isn’t that enough for you? What more do you want from ? Would you rather I leave this family entirely? Or that I end up hospitalized for depression?
I know that saying these words to you today may make you feel angry or unfair. But you’ve pushed into a corner, backed against the wall to this extent. There’s nowhere left for to go. I can only fight with my life; I refuse to believe that there is no justice. I refuse to believe that all the bla, obviously unrelated to , should be forced upon my shoulders!"
User Comments
0 comments from readers