<h3>The filial piety of a little boy</h3>
<h3>Text/Xin Yunxia</h3>
A little boy, but five or six years old, was born white and pure. His mother was very ill, lymphoma, which was at an advanced stage.
The little boy rarely went out, and every day he stayed in front of his mother's hospital bed, sang all the nursery rhymes, and read to his mother. The words he recognized were too limited, the pinyin was not yet fully recognized, and the sentences were always incoherent. But he was so persistent, bursting word by word, bringing a tearful smile to his dying mother.
One day, the little boy went out and overheard people talking about who had lymphoma and where they had been cured. The little boy somehow tossed and turned to find the man, knocked on the door of the house, and said, "Auntie, my mother also has lymphoma, you tell me where you are optimistic about the disease, I also let my mother go..."
There was a Buddhist hall at home, and the little boy often ran to the Buddhist hall to worship the Buddha when his mother was sleeping, murmuring a prayer: "Let my mother get better, men can't live without their mother..."
But the mother eventually died, and the little boy's clean white shirt was pinned with a harsh black veil. It was early summer, and the few peonies in the garden blossomed. Every morning, the little boy took the artist and cut a peony flower in the garden. Someone asked, what do you do when you cut flowers? The little boy looked up, his big clear eyes full of sadness, and said to my mother. Every day in front of his mother's portrait, he offered a glass of water and a flower.
No one could bear to blame the child any longer, and the kind aunt gave him the flowers raised in her yard. There are roses, there are moons, there are red, yellow, white carnations...
One day, the little boy's grandmother was working in the back room, and she saw the little boy running to the Buddhist hall again. Since his mother's death, the little boy went to the Buddhist temple for the first time.
"Buddha, please, let me dream of my mother tonight, I think she..."
The grandmother hiding in the corner of the house could no longer support herself, and the tears rolled like broken beads over the wrinkled face...
March 2005
About the author: Xin Yunxia: Media person, member of the Chinese Essay Literature Association, published a collection of essays "Women's Notes".
Editor: Ma Xuemin
One point number Qingwei Heze creative base
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