I struggled instinctively, but was pinned down. In a blur, I saw Master being blocked outside the bedroom by several people with guns pointed at their chests. I asked loudly, who are you? What do you want to do! Only then did I realize that my voice was hoarse.
The man holding me down said, "We are the glorious successors and defenders of our leader. I want to ask you now, did you secretly burn incense and worship the dead man at the door last night?"
I quickly recalled what happened last night in my mind. From the time I slipped out of the door to the time I came back, I didn't see anyone. Could it be that someone secretly saw me from a distance and reported me? But I just gave the dead a little paper money. This is a traditional custom of us Chinese people. How could I become a lackey of the feudal remnants?
So I felt angry and said loudly, "I burned it. No one took away the body after the death. I felt pitiful. I was scared to die in front of our house, so I paid homage to him." The second half of my sentence was a lie. To tell the truth to these arrogant people might even bring Master into trouble.
After listening to my answer, the person holding me down gave instructions, and the two men who pointed guns at my master came over, one from the left and one from the back, and held my hands behind their backs, and then lifted me up. . Only then did I see clearly the face of the guy who was pressing me just now. He looked about the same age as me. He had his sleeves rolled up, an armband on his arm, and a leader's head badge on his left chest.
He looked at me coldly, but his eyes were full of joy. It felt like "I finally caught one again." He took out a red booklet from his breast pocket, raised it high above his head, and said loudly to me, the leader said, we must clean up the leftovers of ancient culture and overthrow all the bad habits! Only then can we save the country and the people! Today we captured another feudal element and made another contribution to the leadership and the people!
That kind of tone sounded impassioned, just like the tone in a movie I watched when I was a kid, "The War of the World." Master was staring at this group of people angrily, and I raised my eyebrows at Master, meaning to tell him not to get involved, so as not to cause more trouble. In fact, I feel that even if I am caught, this matter should not be serious. The most they can do is arrest me, interrogate me, and let me go after a clear explanation.
But it turns out that I was too optimistic. That day, I encountered the biggest setback since I was born.
Since I was picked up from the bed, I was only wearing shorts and a vest, and was escorted out of the main entrance, as if on a parade, through the door steps and to the road at the end. Fortunately, the neighbors were all scared and most of them did not go out to watch. Occasionally, one or two people watched from a distance at home.
Passing by the place where I burned the paper last night, I found that the body had been taken away, leaving only a pool of red and black blood on the ground and the ashes left by the paper I burned last night. When we got to the side of the road, several people pushed me and stuffed me into the cargo box of a large Dongfeng truck. There were three or four people sitting inside who were almost tied behind my back. Everyone had their heads lowered and looked extremely miserable. Frustrated, just like the landowner I saw at Seven Archways at the beginning of the year. And there were several young people standing next to them holding red tassel guns.
Now my mind is clear, and I know that it is best not to be the first person at this moment, so as not to suffer a loss. Now that I have been arrested, it cannot be done in an unclear manner. It would not be so absurd to convict me just because of my behavior of burning paper last night. So I didn't say a word, and the car drove for about ten minutes. We arrived at a yard not far from the old city wall. I had never been to this place, but a man fiercely greeted everyone in our car to get out of the car. I just saw this yard clearly. Judging from the size and furnishings, it should be a school playground.
The group of people asked us to stand in a line and say our names one by one. In front of us sat a man who was writing vigorously. After everyone says his or her name, he will repeat the name, then ask why he arrested you, and then add a crime. When it was my turn, I told him my name was Situ Shan, and I was caught for burning paper money to the dead. He repeated, Situ Shan, a feudal element.
So the thing is that simple. I have no room for explanation at all, or even the right to speak out to defend myself. I have already been convicted. And so on, there were many "lawless elements", "capitalist roaders", "counterrevolutionaries" and so on present. From that moment on, I realized that I had probably imagined this group of people too simply, and started to worry about myself.
Those of us who were escorted in the same batch were all put into a classroom together. After entering, the pungent smell was overwhelming. There were already more than a dozen people crowded inside. Everyone looked like they had been away from King Yama, with injuries all over their bodies and faces. Among them were tailors, veteran cadres, and teachers. Each man had a sign hanging around his neck with his name and his crime.
This sign is like a shame. Even though most people are unwilling to mention it again many years later, I still feel that it was a great insult and devastation for me to hang the sign in the first place. Those who were imprisoned before us all seemed to have been beaten and abused, and there were even women among them. At this moment, I noticed a sign that also said feudalist, which was the same as my crime, so I looked at this person carefully, from the appearance of his clothes, to the posture of sitting on the ground, and then the fragrant scar on his head, so I You know, this is a monk.
Although I am a Taoist, I am not a monk. But my master is a monk, so I can also distinguish between Taoist priests and monks who are both monks, but there is still a big difference. People like Master are free-spirited and have no taboos on meat and vegetables, but they cannot get married and have children. Other than that, they are no different from ordinary people. But a monk must be pure of heart and have few desires, and not care about the affairs of the mortal world. This monk meditates and chants sutras in the temple, and occasionally goes out to beg for alms. Most of the Buddhists who really understand the craftsmanship do not stay in the temple, but work among the people. The temple will only facilitate believers on the first and fifteenth day of the lunar month and conduct pujas and so on.
What Master told me a few days ago about a Buddhist temple being smashed and a monk being forced to return to secular life came to mind again. Although the monk in front of me should not be from that temple, it can be seen that this incident was not an accident. But it's everywhere. He had been concentrating with his eyes closed, but his brow bone was broken, and half of his face was marked by dried blood.
I began to feel that I might be beaten too. So I secretly made up my mind that if they want me to confess my crime, I should be more pitiful, recognize my mistakes more, and have a better attitude, and maybe they won't use torture. In fact, I didn't believe that they would be so merciful at the time, but I had to convince myself in this way so that I would not be so afraid.
However, I still overthink it. In the evening, someone called my name through the door outside the classroom and asked me to stand at the door. So I stood up silently. After the door opened, there were still two people dragging me to another classroom, one on the left and the other on the right. There were four or five people in that classroom. Before I could explain myself, several people gathered around and started beating me violently.
Like the children who grew up in my era, most of them would fight when they were young. Of course, I also had times when I was beaten up. At this time, the only person who usually helped me was Di Baotian. But the beating that day almost killed me.
I had no chance to say anything about my situation. Even when I was being beaten, I tried to speak several times, but before I could even finish a sentence, someone would kick me hard in the stomach. Soon, a astringent, slightly salty feeling appeared in my mouth, which was the taste of blood. My head was buzzing, and the fists hit my body, and I even felt numb and painless.
They stopped beating me, but I vomited blood and fell to the ground. I didn't even have the strength to stand up.
This beating will be remembered by me for the rest of my life, and it also taught me that in the future, the use of force is to protect the weaker people, not to dominate others.
I was angry and wanted to resist, but I knew that if I resisted, my life might really be in danger. The group of guys in front of me must have been tacitly allowed to commit such atrocities, so I gritted my teeth and endured it without saying a word. Two of them pulled me up from the ground, came up to me and looked at my face, as if to see if I had lost consciousness, and slapped me twice. Then he dragged me aside and made me squat on the ground. One of them pointed at the chalk on the ground and said to me, "Explain it."
Explain? I've already been beaten, what else do I need to explain? Is there any use what I say now? So I shook my head and said, I can’t read or write. A man kicked me on the shoulder and knocked me to the ground. He said, "You can't read, right? Then you tell me and I will write it for you."
I know that no matter how clearly I explain at this moment, I will ultimately be guilty. So I decided to make up a story, try to make it as far away as possible, and then I would plead guilty. This was just to avoid suffering physical pain, but at that moment I secretly swore in my heart that it would be fine if I were killed by these bastards, but if I didn't die, I would definitely make life worse than death for you bastards.
