The true story that happened to me

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This is an event that happened after I returned from military service. I married my wife, whom I had loved for many years. Young and ambitious, I believed that although my background was less privileged than others, I could still succeed and create my own success through my own abilities and hard work. I diligently underwent various training programs, joined various clubs to increase my exposure, and worked harder than others in my career. In just a few years, I had achieved some success.

I remember that on my thirtieth birthday, which also happened to be the opening day of my company's expansion, I happily announced to the company employees that it was my thirtieth birthday. I had achieved five things: a wife, a son, a house, a car, and a career. Young and ambitious, I always thought that I was just a country boy, and that my small achievements were a reward for my hard work. "Where there's a will, there's a way" was my unwavering principle.

However, this happy time didn't last long. Perhaps fate was playing a cruel joke on me, because the following year, my youngest son was born. A lovely little life appeared before me, with pink skin and a body weighing three kilograms. The only difference was that he didn't cry or open his eyes, so my intuition told me that he wasn't a normal baby.

In the days that followed, this little life spent undergoing a series of examinations, from newborn screening, ultrasound, and MRI. When he was three months old, the diagnosis from National Taiwan University Hospital was "central nervous system damage." This was undoubtedly a death sentence for my life. I never dreamed that I would give birth to an abnormal child. He was so cute and lovable, never crying or fussing, waking up when hungry and smiling. I simply couldn't accept that he wasn't a normal baby.

Like many parents, when my husband and I couldn't find the answers we needed through medicine, we resorted to the most foolish method—seeking divine intervention. It was only after having this child that I realized the sheer number of shrines in Taiwan was a kind of Taiwanese miracle. Back then, if someone recommended a renowned master or expert, I would travel great distances to visit them, no matter how remote the location, whether it was at the very beginning or the end of Taiwan—I wouldn't miss any opportunity as long as there was a glimmer of hope.

Looking back on those years, it was truly absurd; as an intellectual, I actually believed in spirit mediums and temple priests. At that time, I always thought that as long as my child could wake up, I would be willing to go bankrupt. As the years passed, there was no progress; the little life remained dormant, and my life remained bleak and suffocating.

Like some TV dramas depict, every parent of a child with disabilities struggles in a vicious cycle of despair, self-deception, and self-destruction. When my child received his severe disability certificate, I had to seriously consider my future. For a long time, I lived like a zombie, with no tomorrow, no future. Watching my child grow day by day, I truly wanted to tell God that this burden was too heavy, I couldn't carry it anymore, really, I couldn't.

Humans are so selfish. I often thought that even if one in two children has disabilities, I didn't want it to happen to me. During those desperate days, my husband and I cried, we had mental breakdowns. I, who once thought I could fight against fate, realized how insignificant, fragile, and vulnerable humans are. I even considered sending my child to a reformatory and even contemplating suicide with him. Looking back now, I realize that the greatest pain isn't life's hardships, but the inability to face one's own heart and one's own future.

God's trials for me seemed to have come to an end. Just as my child was about to turn ten, he was admitted to the National Taiwan University College of Medicine with meningitis. When I saw him in his hospital bed, with an oxygen tank and tubes everywhere, and when the doctor told me to prepare myself, I pulled over on the way home and burst into tears. Ten years of hardship and suffering, ten years of torment, but I never imagined my child would leave me.

Thinking back to the days my child spent in the ICU, they were actually the most peaceful times of my life. Under the care of the nurses and doctors, I found it so good to be free of burdens. In this situation, a painful decision arose in my heart: to take my child out of the hospital. Yes, rather than let my child suffer in the hospital, it would be better to send him off peacefully. Even if the hospital saved his life, I would still have to face a person in a vegetative state for the rest of my life. In this selfish and contradictory state of mind, I resolutely decided to be the executioner who ended my child's life.

When our child had been in the ICU for over a month, my husband and I had almost finished making arrangements for his funeral. With joy, we told him our decision, and I will never forget the angelic smile he gave me. The next day, I went to the hospital to sign the discharge papers. Holding my weak child in my arms, I got into a taxi. His breathing was so rapid; I knew he was fighting for his life. Just as we entered our room, his trembling body went limp. His short, ten-year life was gone.

Sometimes, I wonder if God can't care for every little angel, and instead sends some exceptionally loving parents to care for them, or if God sends little angels to guide some people and test their path. Thinking of the thousands of parents in this world who have suffered the same fate as me, I deeply feel how great these parents of little angels are. Another

wound that will never be erased from my heart is that my beautiful wife, for the sake of our child, was swindled out of money and sexually exploited by a charlatan. Just as my child turned one year old, I met a "savior" in my life, a woman who sold dzi beads. This woman was very kind to my child and also gave my wife many high-value dzi beads. Soon, my wife and she became like sisters. It was through her introduction that I met the "master."

This master was truly amazing. He only came to Taipei twice a week. He was about sixty years old, with a buzz cut, a sharp suit, and drove a BMW with a model number starting with 7, worth at least four or five million. Every time he came to Taipei, his clinic was packed with patients. His treatment method was very simple, about ten minutes, and cost one thousand dollars. He saw about forty or fifty patients a day. However, those ten minutes could make you feel like you were dying and in excruciating pain.

His treatment method was to have the patient lie almost naked on the treatment bed, then use a cupping device the size of a bowl to scrape four bloody marks on your body, then use a gua sha board to scrape your joints, and finally use his fist to strike your most painful acupoints. Ten minutes could make you feel like you were dying and in excruciating pain. His reasoning was that this could repay karmic debts from past lives or remove impurities from your body.

Of course, he explained to my wife and me the reason why our child hadn't woken up, using the concept of karma from past lives. He said that if we received treatment once a month for three years, the child would wake up. For the next three years, my wife and I endured this agonizing monthly treatment. During those three years, the older sister's office became like my wife's second home; she often stayed out all night. More than two years later, I questioned the master about why the child still hadn't woken up. The master said that my wife and I had too much karmic burden, and he would take my wife to mainland China to find his senior brother, which would make it easier for the child to wake up.

This aroused my suspicion. I secretly asked another woman selling dzi beads, and she secretly told me that the master was using my wife to make money and told me to go to her at 2 a.m. That night, we sneaked into my older sister's office. She stole a key from her desk, opened a safe, and took out a large pile of videotapes. She played them on fast-forward, each tape showing the same content of sexual intercourse. There were no subtitles, no spray, and the private parts of the men and women were clearly visible. The video quality was so poor, it looked like it was filmed with a hidden camera. What surprised me even more was that I recognized many of the men and women on the tapes; they were all patients who frequently visited the "master."

She then took out another tape, also showing sexual intercourse, but the female lead looked so familiar. I knew who she was without even looking at her face—it was my wife. A chill ran down my spine. She played a scene at normal speed that I would never forget: a woman undressing in front of an old, fat man, touching her breasts and genitals in front of him, then kneeling down to give him oral sex. Then the obese man pressed down on her, doing what I had done with her. This woman was my beloved wife.

Then she played many more videos on fast-forward, featuring the same female protagonist with different men—some one-on-one, some one-on-two, and some mixed-gender. In the videos, my wife used every possible form of sexual intercourse. Then she recounted the events to me. Apparently, the master told my wife that she and our child were reincarnations of Japanese officers, and therefore had to repay their debts with their bodies in this life. She claimed that if my wife practiced with 49 men, our child would awaken

. The master then deceived many patients, claiming that practicing with men and women could resolve many past karmic debts. So, for the past three years, my wife practiced with 49 men, seven times a year. Sometimes, to save time, she would practice with several men simultaneously. During these sessions, the master charged each man 70,000 yuan.

If watching the videos was the first thing I regretted, then the second was following my wife. That day, I saw my wife dressed beautifully as she went out. I knew she was going to have another sedition with a man. I secretly followed her. I saw her leave the children at her older sister's house, and then she went into a hotel. I followed her in. The elevator stopped on the seventh floor. The hotel had seven floors. I asked the clerk, and she said there were four rooms on each floor, but the seventh floor was for luxury suites, so there were only two. I rented the other one.

The room was indeed luxurious. Besides a large bed, there was a sofa, but no balcony. I opened the window and looked over the windowsill. I saw that there were curtains in the window. I climbed up the shelf to the top of the curtains and saw a three-centimeter gap. I looked inside and saw the master watching the news wearing only his underwear. What surprised me even more was that the master was covered in tattoos. At this moment, my wife came out of the bathroom, completely naked except for a bath towel. Even more outrageous, my wife actually lay on top of the master and licked the master, who was old enough to be her father. Finally, she even took off the master's underwear.

The master's genitals were noticeably darker and longer than normal, but they were limp and not erect. My wife was able to perform oral sex on him repeatedly. Later, when he became erect, I discovered that his genitals were thicker than normal; I later learned that this was called beading. The master was very rough with my wife; he even inserted his penis into her vagina. I could hear my wife's screams from outside the window

. Afterwards, when the two of them were dressed,
someone knocked on the door again, and a middle-aged man entered. I knew my wife was about to have another client. I couldn't bear to watch anymore and went home, weeping uncontrollably.

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The true story that happened to me

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