One night four years ago, my younger sister and I went to the night market to buy dinner,
and we saw something unforgettable. Sitting at a roadside food stall was a family.
A young couple and a little girl,
and that little girl was so adorable,
with those big watery eyes that made her look so pitiful.
She was only about three years old at the time,
but her parents were already making her eat by herself, and their attitude was extremely fierce.
When they left the table and walked to the roadside,
because no one was holding the little girl's hand, she was almost hit by an oncoming car.
And her mother's reaction was actually: "XXX, get back here."
At the time, my sister and I felt both furious and heartsick seeing that,
especially the deep wound on her forehead, which looked fresh, as if it had never been treated.
Today, four years later, just as I was about to forget about her, she appeared in front of me again.
She was standing at the intersection with a schoolbag on her back, and the scar on her forehead was still clearly visible.
I watched her standing there at the intersection, holding a carton of milk, but with no intention of moving forward.
I walked up to her and crouched down beside her,
and said, "Little girl, are you going to school?"
Only then did I remember that today was the first day of elementary school opening.
Why was no one taking her to school?
She didn't answer me for a long time.
After a moment, she suddenly noticed someone beside her and seemed startled.
I couldn't worry about that anymore,
so I took her hand and said, "How about big brother takes you to class?"
She looked at me and nodded.
After that, every day we met at the same intersection,
and I always held her hand and talked to her.
She didn't talk much and was always quietly by my side. Usually when I asked her something,
she wouldn't answer unless I asked two or three times.
She always looked like a frightened little bird, and so half a month passed.
Then one day, she didn't come.
I guessed she was probably sick.
But after two more days, there was still no sign of her.
I was a little worried, but since I didn't know where she lived, I had no choice but to go to her school and find her teacher.
When the teacher saw me, she was a little surprised at first. After I explained my relationship with the little girl,
the teacher said with red-rimmed eyes, "She's gone."
I couldn't believe my ears, so I asked again, "Transferred to another school?"
The teacher shook her head and, holding back tears, told me
that she had been an abused child since childhood, and that the day before yesterday, when her parents were abusing her,
they accidentally beat her to death.
Hearing this, I was so grief-stricken that I couldn't say a single word.
I only felt as if I could barely stand, desperately trying to think whether this was all a dream.
When I finally came back to my senses, it was because her teacher called out to me.
She was holding a drawing in front of me.
I tried hard to take in what was in the picture, and what I saw was
a big brother holding the hand of a little girl, the little girl holding a carton of milk,
and on her right ear, there was a hearing aid.
Beside them was a cardboard box of kittens.
With trembling hands, I pointed at that ear,
and the teacher told me it had been deafened by her mother beating her.
I had never imagined that beneath her black hair, there was actually a deaf ear.
Then the teacher took my hand and led me to the back door of the classroom,
and what I saw were the kittens in the cardboard box.
The teacher told me that she had picked up all these kittens herself.
Every day she would bring milk for them to drink,
and she would also bathe them and clean up their pee and poop.
The teacher picked one of them up and said, "This was her favorite."
I took it and looked at the frightened kitten
curled up in my arms. Its right ear had only half left.
Holding the kitten, I walked out of the school gate.
Its frail body—who knows how many days it had gone without milk.
I walked into a convenience store and bought the first carton of milk to feed it.
and we saw something unforgettable. Sitting at a roadside food stall was a family.
A young couple and a little girl,
and that little girl was so adorable,
with those big watery eyes that made her look so pitiful.
She was only about three years old at the time,
but her parents were already making her eat by herself, and their attitude was extremely fierce.
When they left the table and walked to the roadside,
because no one was holding the little girl's hand, she was almost hit by an oncoming car.
And her mother's reaction was actually: "XXX, get back here."
At the time, my sister and I felt both furious and heartsick seeing that,
especially the deep wound on her forehead, which looked fresh, as if it had never been treated.
Today, four years later, just as I was about to forget about her, she appeared in front of me again.
She was standing at the intersection with a schoolbag on her back, and the scar on her forehead was still clearly visible.
I watched her standing there at the intersection, holding a carton of milk, but with no intention of moving forward.
I walked up to her and crouched down beside her,
and said, "Little girl, are you going to school?"
Only then did I remember that today was the first day of elementary school opening.
Why was no one taking her to school?
She didn't answer me for a long time.
After a moment, she suddenly noticed someone beside her and seemed startled.
I couldn't worry about that anymore,
so I took her hand and said, "How about big brother takes you to class?"
She looked at me and nodded.
After that, every day we met at the same intersection,
and I always held her hand and talked to her.
She didn't talk much and was always quietly by my side. Usually when I asked her something,
she wouldn't answer unless I asked two or three times.
She always looked like a frightened little bird, and so half a month passed.
Then one day, she didn't come.
I guessed she was probably sick.
But after two more days, there was still no sign of her.
I was a little worried, but since I didn't know where she lived, I had no choice but to go to her school and find her teacher.
When the teacher saw me, she was a little surprised at first. After I explained my relationship with the little girl,
the teacher said with red-rimmed eyes, "She's gone."
I couldn't believe my ears, so I asked again, "Transferred to another school?"
The teacher shook her head and, holding back tears, told me
that she had been an abused child since childhood, and that the day before yesterday, when her parents were abusing her,
they accidentally beat her to death.
Hearing this, I was so grief-stricken that I couldn't say a single word.
I only felt as if I could barely stand, desperately trying to think whether this was all a dream.
When I finally came back to my senses, it was because her teacher called out to me.
She was holding a drawing in front of me.
I tried hard to take in what was in the picture, and what I saw was
a big brother holding the hand of a little girl, the little girl holding a carton of milk,
and on her right ear, there was a hearing aid.
Beside them was a cardboard box of kittens.
With trembling hands, I pointed at that ear,
and the teacher told me it had been deafened by her mother beating her.
I had never imagined that beneath her black hair, there was actually a deaf ear.
Then the teacher took my hand and led me to the back door of the classroom,
and what I saw were the kittens in the cardboard box.
The teacher told me that she had picked up all these kittens herself.
Every day she would bring milk for them to drink,
and she would also bathe them and clean up their pee and poop.
The teacher picked one of them up and said, "This was her favorite."
I took it and looked at the frightened kitten
curled up in my arms. Its right ear had only half left.
Holding the kitten, I walked out of the school gate.
Its frail body—who knows how many days it had gone without milk.
I walked into a convenience store and bought the first carton of milk to feed it.
MSN：tiqit2@hotmail.com
