Dark Theme: Perverted Sex Maniac

"Hope" is a South Korean film about a child sexual abuse case, based on a true story, and its tear-jerking power is unparalleled. The protagonist is named So-won, a five or six-year-old girl with innocent eyes and a honey-like smile. But one rainy morning, she was raped on her way to school, suffering severe physical and psychological trauma. She was on the verge of death, bleeding profusely from her genitals, with multiple injuries and tears from her rectum to the top of her large intestine, and parts of her large and small intestines necrotized. After the amputation, the doctor reconstructed an artificial anus. From then on, she had a colostomy bag around her waist, like filthy internal organs turned inside out, accompanying her through the gloomy rest of her life.

After watching this movie, my mother and I chatted idly at the dinner table. While chewing on a carrot, she nonchalantly said, "These kinds of things happen all the time. It used to happen frequently in the countryside. I know of several cases, but these raped girls aren't pitied at all. The villagers call them 'loose shoes,' 'sluts,' 'cheap sluts,' and they'll have a hard time getting married. Matchmakers won't even go to their homes to propose."

My mother's dismissive attitude reminded me of a similar incident I had personally experienced.

At that time, I was a teacher at a rural middle school. Once, a second-year junior high school homeroom teacher was in the office, grading homework, and casually said, "Oh, did you know, one of the girls in my class is pregnant?" Everyone looked up. She raised her voice and continued, "At first, we thought she had just gained weight, but when her belly was huge, we realized something was wrong. When we asked, we found out she was pregnant, six or seven months along. We asked her who did it, and at first she wouldn't say, but finally she did. Guess who? Her father, her own father."

The audience was indeed very excited, bombarding her with questions for details. Later, they learned it was an old widower who, when his lust took hold, would push his daughters onto the bed. In that closed-door home, he created a sinful paradise, but for the girls, their bright future might have been destroyed.

"What a beast! Why didn't he do anything about it?"

"Who could? He's their own father. If he goes to jail, who will take care of her?!"

There was a brief silence in the office, followed by sighs, and then someone jokingly said, "Let's call that girl over and see her!"

That afternoon, the girl was called over and stood in the office for everyone to inspect. She was an ordinary-looking girl with dark brown hair twisted into a thin ponytail. Her face was flat, with droopy, puffy eyes. She wore a baggy school uniform, which was a bit dirty, and her belly was slightly protruding. She kept her head down, shoulders hunched, and hunched forward, constantly tugging at the hem of her uniform.

Everyone glanced at her from left to right, and after a while, this "exhibition subject" was sent away by the homeroom teacher. After all, there wasn't anything else she needed to be called in for.

After she left, the office erupted in commotion.

"So young, not even fully developed, and she's already had this kind of thing happen. She'll definitely have a lot of health problems later..."

"The child is so big now, it's hard to abort her now, she'll definitely have to have an abortion. Sigh, this girl probably won't be able to be a mother..."

"These kinds of things happen all the time." Someone suddenly leaned over, glanced left and right, and said in a low voice, "Isn't so-and-so's father at our school the principal of such-and-such village primary school? Someone in the village reported him, saying he slept with several fifth and sixth graders..."

"Huh? Really? What happened then?"

"What happened? He's still attending classes normally, isn't he?"

...

Amidst these scattered voices, a vague yet clear sentence came through, "How interesting, hehe!"

Later, this poor child dropped out of school, leaving with her belly even bigger than before. The day she left, I saw her father. His face was purplish-brown, thin, and he looked rather dull, like one or two farmers sitting under the cypress trees at the entrance of any village. He carried his daughter's bedding and trunk on a shoulder pole, walking a distance away from the girl. The girl followed behind, head down, when suddenly she picked up a pebble and struck him in the lower back.

I never saw her again.

I don't know how that 13-year-old girl would unload the unbearable burden of life, how she would skillfully navigate a life filled with one problem after another, one trouble after another, and what methods or materials she would use to fill the void in her abdomen, hollowed out by metal objects, and the terrible emptiness deep within her soul.

All of this, I cannot know. I only know that when I later read some of Lu Xun's critiques of national character, I would often hear a hallucination, "Heh heh, heh heh..."

Not long after this incident, another major event occurred at our school—it was truly a turbulent time, truly a turbulent era.

At the beginning of the next semester, students had just registered, received their books, and gone home, returning to school on Sunday afternoons. The students of the town's middle school were scattered across the surrounding villages, their journeys traversing dangerous, uninhabited areas fraught with peril, including mountains, rivers, and dense forests. Sure enough, something happened during the return to school.

One girl was missing from the evening study hall. The homeroom teacher, a young woman, was terrified something might have gone wrong and frantically inquired about the student's whereabouts. To no avail. After the evening study hall ended, she went to every dormitory to ask, but still no word. Worried something was wrong, she quickly reported to her superiors. Back then, there were no cell phones or telephones, so she couldn't immediately contact the parents. They could only comfort each other, saying that everything should be alright.

A restless night passed. When the frosty morning arrived, she thought everything would return to normal, and the girl would be sitting in the classroom as if

nothing had happened. But the girl still didn't come.

The teacher took leave and went to the girl's home. The road from the school to the village was about ten miles long, half of it a highway and half a mountain path. Three or four miles of that road were completely deserted, and occasionally the howls of wild animals could be heard. After walking for nearly an hour on the mountain road, she arrived at the girl's house. The father said, "She went to school on Sunday afternoon, definitely. I saw her leave..."

At this point, some suspicions about danger could no longer be ignored. The teacher and parents called the police. For the next two or three days after the report, the town was enveloped in a strange excitement. People eagerly awaited news, as if life finally had a glimmer of hope. All the police officers in the town's police station were dispatched, and like the onlookers, they were filled with a strange excitement as they questioned everyone in the village.

That same day, they found a clue: a farmer hoeing in the field had heard the girl's cries for help and screams. Using that sound as the center, the police searched the surrounding mountains and fields. Later, at the entrance of a cave, in the middle of a pile of messy, withered grass, they found the girl dead, along with a stone stained with blood and flesh. The girl was naked, her lower body covered in blood.

Police searched nearby villages, summoning all the men to the open space in front of the village office. They stripped them naked and checked for pinch marks or scratches.

The perpetrator was easily found; with almost no effort, the man confessed to raping and murdering the girl. That day, he was carrying a hoe to the fields when he saw a girl returning to school alone on a path. Seeing her beauty, he was overcome with lust, grabbed her, and dragged her uphill. She cried for help and struggled fiercely. He became frightened and, in his panic, hit her twice with a nearby stone. When she stopped moving, he pulled down her pants. Only afterward did he realize the girl's body was already cold.

The butterfly effect of this incident in a small, unremarkable town was predictable. For a long time, this was the most talked-about topic after meals.

The Wang family man and the Li family woman would always start their conversation like this when they gathered together with their rice bowls.

"Ugh, what a beast, worse than a pig or a dog!" The word "beast" hardly needed to be explicitly stated; everyone knew who it referred to.

"How many years was that guy sentenced to?"

"Why did he target just one young girl?"

Some slick thugs chuckled, "That guy's got guts..."

It was the weekend, and I returned home as dusk was falling when my neighbor, Fatty Lan, came over for a visit.

Fatty Lan was the biggest, most shrewish woman in our village, the kind who, like a member of the Communist Party, thought she represented the will of the common people. And indeed, she held a minor official position: the village women's director. Normally, she and my mother didn't get along, but for some reason, a certain atmosphere had suddenly made them closer those days.

She slipped into our dark kitchen and asked my mother, "What good food did you eat?"

I forget what my mother replied. I

only remember that they quickly steered the conversation to that lively topic.

Fatty Lan said, "That bastard!"

My mother said, "Yes, she really deserves to be torn to pieces!"

I thought to myself, "Yes, she really deserves to be torn to pieces!"

But what Fatty Lan said later has stayed with me to this day.

She spoke in her usual nonchalant yet unquestionable tone, "Actually, it's not entirely the man's fault. I heard this girl developed quite early; her breasts are already bulging. She's also quite provocative. At 11 or 12, she likes to play with young boys—she's not proper. How could that old man not have designs on her? If you ask me, both are at fault in this kind of situation. The man is wrong, and the girl herself is also indecent. Why didn't she rape someone else? Flies don't land on eggs without cracks..."

My mother was still talking to Fatty Lan, but I couldn't hear her anymore. I stood there, stunned in the yellow light of the stove, suddenly feeling that all evil was pre-permitted, and the ignorance and indifference of the masses had been giving it the green light. In the face of evil, silence is already a form of acquiescence, and the disguised criticism of the victim is already aiding and abetting the evildoer, kicking someone when they're down.

When the fish and meat begin to defend the butcher, when the lambs begin to defend the wolves, when the slaves begin to speak for their masters, when the abused begin to sing praises to their perpetrators, then this is a world where conscience has collapsed, morality is bankrupt, and reason has crumbled.

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