I was so touched.

Twenty-three years ago, a young woman wandered into our village. She was disheveled and filthy, always grinning foolishly at people, and shamelessly urinating in public. As a result, the village women often spat at her, some even kicking her and telling her to "get lost." But she wouldn't leave, continuing to wander the village with her silly grin. At that time, my father was 35 years old. He had lost his left hand in a machine accident while working at a quarry, and because of poverty, he had never married. My grandmother, seeing that the woman was somewhat attractive, decided to take her in as my father's wife, hoping she would "continue the family line" before sending her away. Although my father was extremely reluctant, seeing the family's current situation, he gritted his teeth and agreed. In the end, my father became a groom without spending a penny.

When my mother gave birth to me, my grandmother held me in her arms, her toothless mouth beaming with joy, saying, "This crazy woman has given me a grandson!" But as soon as I was born, my grandmother took me away and never let my mother near me. My mother always wanted to hold me, repeatedly pleading with my grandmother, "Give me, give me..." But my grandmother ignored her. I was so small, so chubby; what if my mother accidentally dropped me? After all, my mother was mentally ill.

Whenever my mother asked to hold me, my grandmother would glare at her and scold, "Don't even think about holding the child. I won't give him to you. If I find out you've secretly taken him, I'll beat you to death. Even if I don't kill you, I'll kick you out." My grandmother meant no ambiguity when she said this. My mother understood, her face filled with fear, and she could only watch me from afar each time. Although my mother's breasts were very engorged, I never got to drink a drop of her milk; my grandmother fed me spoonful by spoonful. Grandma said my mother's breast milk contained "mental illness," and it would be a problem if I caught it. At that time, my family was still struggling in the mire of poverty. Especially after my mother and I were born, we often went hungry. Grandma decided to send my mother away because she not only ate "free meals" at home but also caused trouble from time to time.

One day, Grandma cooked a big pot of rice and personally served my mother a large bowl, saying, "Daughter-in-law, this family is too poor. I'm sorry, but after you finish this bowl of rice, go find a richer family to live with, and don't come back again, okay?" My mother had just shoveled a big mouthful of rice into her mouth when she heard Grandma's "eviction notice," and the mouthful of rice froze in her mouth. My mother, looking at me in my grandmother's arms, cried out incoherently, "No, don't..." My grandmother's face suddenly darkened, and she adopted a stern, domineering tone, shouting, "You crazy woman, what are you talking about? If you keep doing this, you'll suffer the consequences. You've been wandering around for two years, and I've taken you in. What more do you want? Finish your meal and leave, do you hear me?" With that, my grandmother took a hoe from behind the door and slammed it heavily on the ground like a dragon-headed cane, making a loud "thud." My mother jumped in fright, looking timidly at her mother-in-law, then slowly lowering her head to look at the rice bowl in front of her, tears falling onto the white rice. Under her intense gaze, my mother suddenly did something strange: she divided most of the rice in her bowl into another empty bowl, then looked pitifully at my grandmother.

My grandmother was stunned. It turned out that my mother was telling her that she would only eat half a bowl of rice at each meal, just begging her not to leave. My heart felt like it had been ripped apart. My grandmother was also a woman; her tough attitude was just an act. Grandma turned her head away, forcing back her tears, then hardened her face again and said, "Eat quickly, eat quickly, and leave. You'll starve to death in my house." Mother seemed desperate; she didn't even eat the half-bowl of rice, and staggered out the door, but stood there for a long time. Grandma hardened her heart and said, "Go, go, don't look back. There are plenty of wealthy families in the world!"

Mother, however, came closer, reaching her hands towards Grandma's arms. It turned out Mother wanted to hold me. Grandma hesitated for a moment, then handed me, still in my swaddling clothes, to Mother. Mother held me in her arms for the first time, grinning broadly, a radiant smile. Grandma, however, was on high alert, catching me with both hands, afraid that Mother's sudden outburst would cause her to discard me like trash. Mother held me for less than three minutes before Grandma snatched me away, turned, went inside, and closed the door.
When I was old enough to understand things, I realized that all my friends had mothers. I asked my father and my grandmother for her, but they said my mother was dead. My friends, however, told me, "Your mother is crazy; your grandmother chased her away." So I argued with my grandmother, demanding she give me back my mother, calling her a "wolf in sheep's clothing," and even throwing the food she served me on the ground. At that time, I didn't understand the concept of "crazy"; I only knew I missed her terribly. What did she look like? Was she still alive? Unexpectedly, when I was six, my mother, who had been away for five years, returned. That day, several friends ran to tell me, "Xiaoshu, come quick! Your mother is back! Your crazy mother is back!"
I was overjoyed and ran outside, my father and grandmother following after me. This was the first time I saw my mother since I could remember. She was still dressed in tattered clothes, with some dry, yellowed bits of grass in her hair—heaven knows where she had spent the night. My mother didn't dare enter the house, but instead sat facing our house on a stone bench in the village threshing ground, holding a dirty balloon in her hand. When I and a group of friends stood before her, she frantically searched among us for her son. Finally, she fixed her gaze on me, staring intently, and called out, her mouth agape, "Little Tree... Ball... Ball." She stood up, waving a balloon in her hand, trying to coax me into her arms. But I kept backing away. I was utterly disappointed; I never imagined my mother, whom I had longed for so much, would look like this. One of my friends jeered, "Little Tree, now you know what a madwoman looks like, right? Just like your mother." I angrily retorted, "She's your mother! Your mother is the madwoman, your mother is the one who looks like this!" I turned and ran away. I didn't want this mad mother anymore.

Grandma and Father, however, brought her back inside. Years ago, after Grandma had driven Mom away, her conscience tormented her. As she grew older, her heart could no longer harden, so she willingly kept Mom. I was extremely unhappy because Mom had embarrassed me. I never gave my mother a kind look, never spoke to her proactively, and never called her "Mother." Our communication mainly consisted of me yelling, and my mother never dared to talk back. My grandmother couldn't just keep my mother around for nothing, so she decided to train her to do chores. When working in the fields, my grandmother would take my mother out to "observe," saying that if she disobeyed, she would be beaten.

After a few days, my grandmother thought my mother was sufficiently trained, so she sent her out alone to cut pig feed. Unexpectedly, my mother cut two baskets of "pig feed" in just half an hour. My grandmother was both anxious and panicked when she saw it—my mother had cut rice that was just beginning to ripen and head in someone else's field. My grandmother angrily scolded her, "You crazy woman, can't you tell the difference between rice and grass..."

Just as my grandmother was thinking about how to cover it up, the owner of the rice paddy arrived, claiming that my grandmother had deliberately instigated her. Grandma was furious. In front of everyone, she grabbed a stick and smacked Mom on the lower back, yelling, "I'll beat you to death, you crazy woman! Get the hell out of here..." Although Mom was mentally unstable, she still felt pain. She hopped around, dodging the stick, constantly whimpering, "No, no..." Finally, the other people couldn't bear it any longer and said, "Forget it, we won't pursue it. We'll just keep a closer eye on her from now on..." After the commotion subsided, Mom lay on the ground, sobbing. I said to her disdainfully, "You can't even tell the difference between grass and rice, you're such a pig." No sooner had I finished speaking than I received a slap on the back of the head—it was Grandma. Grandma glared at me and scolded, "You little brat, how dare you talk like that? Even if you keep this up, she's still your mother!" I curled my lip in disdain, "I don't have such a crazy, stupid mother!" "Damn it, you're getting more and more outrageous. I'll teach you a lesson!" Grandma raised her hand again, but then Mom sprang up from the ground like a spring, standing between Grandma and me. She pointed to her head, shouting, "Hit me! Hit me!" I understood; Mom was telling Grandma to hit her, not me. Grandma's hand, raised in mid-air, fell limply to her side, muttering, "This crazy woman, she does know how to love her child!"

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While he was still dramatically imitating, I grabbed the pencil case in front of me and hurled it at him, but Fan Jiaxi dodged it. He rushed forward and grabbed my neck, and we started fighting. I was small and no match for him; he easily pinned me to the ground. Just then, a long howl came from outside the classroom, and Mom rushed in like a knight-errant, grabbed Fan Jiaxi, and dragged him outside. They say crazy people are strong, and it's true. Mom lifted Fan Jiaxi, who had bullied me, into the air with both hands. He cried and screamed for his parents, his chubby little legs kicking wildly in the air. Mom ignored him completely and threw him into the pond at the school gate, then walked away indifferently.
My mother had gotten herself into serious trouble because of me, yet she acted as if nothing had happened. In front of me, she reverted to her timid demeanor, looking at me with a pleading expression. I understood that this was maternal love; even when her mind was clouded, her love was still clear, because her son had been bullied. At that moment, I couldn't help but call out, "Mom!" It was the first time I had ever called her that since I could speak. My mother trembled, looked at me for a long time, then blushed like a child, grinned, and smiled foolishly. That day, my mother and I shared an umbrella on our way home for the first time. I told my grandmother about it, and she was so frightened that she fell back into her chair. She immediately sent someone to call my father back. As

soon as my father entered the house, a group of burly men wielding knives and clubs stormed in, smashing pots and pans to pieces without any explanation. It was as if a magnitude nine earthquake had struck the house. These were all people hired by Fan Jiaxi's family. Fan's father pointed a vicious finger at my father's nose and said, "My son's been scared into a nervous breakdown and is now in the clinic. If you don't come up with 1000 yuan for medical expenses, I'll burn your house down!" 1000 yuan? My father only earns 50 yuan a month! Looking at the murderous Fan family, my father's eyes slowly turned bloodshot. He stared at my mother with a terrifying gaze, quickly unbuckled his belt, and began to beat her mercilessly. Blow after blow, my mother was like a frightened mouse, or prey trapped in a dead end, helplessly jumping and dodging. I'll never forget her shrill screams and the crisp sound of the belt striking her skin.

Finally, the police chief arrived and stopped my father's violence. The police's mediation result was that both sides had suffered losses, and neither owed the other anything. Whoever caused trouble would be arrested! After the group left, Dad looked at the mess of broken pots and pans scattered throughout the room, then at Mom's bruised and battered body. He suddenly hugged her and burst into tears, saying, "Crazy woman, it's not that I wanted to hit you, but if I didn't, this matter couldn't be resolved, and we wouldn't have the money to compensate them. This is all because we're poor!" Dad then looked at me and said, "Shu'er, you must study hard and go to university. Otherwise, we'll be bullied like this for the rest of our lives!" I nodded understandingly.

In the summer of 2000, I was admitted to high school with excellent grades. My grandmother, who had been working hard and was ill, unfortunately passed away, making life even harder for the family. The Civil Affairs Bureau of Enshi Prefecture listed our family as an extremely poor family, providing a monthly subsidy of 40 yuan. My high school also appropriately reduced my tuition and fees, allowing me to continue my studies. Because I was a boarding student and the studies were demanding, I rarely went home. My father continued to work for 50 yuan a month, so the responsibility of delivering vegetables to me fell squarely on my mother's shoulders. Every time, my neighbor's aunt would help me prepare pickled vegetables and then give them to my mother to bring over. My mother memorized the 20-kilometer winding mountain road perfectly, rain or shine. It was truly a miracle; my mother wasn't crazy at all when it came to doing things for her son. Besides maternal love, I couldn't explain this phenomenon medically.

On April 27, 2003, another Sunday, my mother came, bringing not only vegetables but also a dozen or so wild peaches. I picked one up, took a bite, and asked her with a smile, "They're quite sweet, where did you get them?" My mother said, "I...I picked them..." I never expected my mother to pick wild peaches. I sincerely praised her, "Mom, you're getting more and more capable." My mother chuckled. Before she left, I reminded her to be careful, as usual, and she responded with "oh, oh." After seeing my

mother off, I plunged back into my final review before the college entrance exam. The next day, while I was in class, my aunt rushed to the school and asked the teacher to call me out of the classroom. My aunt asked if my mother had brought the vegetables. I said she had, and she had gone back yesterday. My aunt said, "No, she hasn't come home yet." My heart tightened. Could my mother have taken the wrong road? But she had walked this road for three years; she shouldn't have gotten lost. My aunt asked, "Didn't your mother say anything?" I said no, she brought me more than a dozen wild peaches. My aunt clapped her hands, "Oh no, oh no, it might be because of these wild peaches."

My aunt asked if I had taken leave, and we followed the mountain path back. There were indeed a few wild peach trees on the way home, with a few peaches hanging sparsely on them, preserved because they grew on the cliff. We also discovered that one peach tree had broken branches, and below it was a deep abyss. My aunt looked at me and said, "Let's go down to the bottom of the cliff and take a look!" I said, "Auntie, don't scare me..." Without saying a word, my aunt pulled me into the valley... My mother lay quietly at the bottom of the valley, surrounded by some scattered peaches. She was still clutching one tightly in her hand, and the blood on her body had long since congealed into a heavy black. I was heartbroken, my insides were breaking. I hugged my mother tightly and said, "Mother, my poor mother, I regret saying that the peaches were sweet. It was your son who took your life... Mother, you never enjoyed a single day of happiness in your life..." I pressed my head against my mother's cold face, and I cried so hard that even the stones all over the mountain seemed to weep with me...

On August 7, 2003, the 100th day after my mother's burial, the gold-embossed admission notice from Hubei University traveled the path my mother had walked, past those wild peach trees, past the rice field in front of the village, and flew straight into my home. I placed this belated letter on my mother's cold and lonely grave: "Mother, your son has made something of himself, can you hear me? You can rest in peace now!"

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I was so touched.

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