By the time the plane landed in Shenyang, it was the middle of the night. I hailed a taxi straight for the Wenguantun crematorium. Zhao Na had said on the phone that Zhao Zhiyong died instantly, no chance for rescue.
Staying on the line to calm her, I saw her standing under a streetlight, hugging herself, gaunt and pale from shock. She ran to me. "You're finally here."
"Are you hurt? What happened?"
In the car, she recounted events after my departure. Since converting to Christianity, Zhao Zhiyong had changed—paranoid, filling the house with holy items, yet sleepless. After buying a New York ticket, he never let it out of his sight, waking daily to ask, "What time is it?"
Once, his wife Li Qian said, "7 AM." He replied, "Why isn't it time yet?" When asked, he'd brush it off. Strangely, this repeated for three days. The day before the crash, he insisted on wearing a 10-year-old suit. Li Qian gave in.
Leaving, he asked her to drive. At an intersection, he yelled, "Stop! There's money on the ground." Before Li Qian could react, he ran into the road. A truck crushed him from the legs up. The only intact parts were his hands, clutching a bloody silver cross and his plane ticket.
I sighed. The King of Hell had asserted his dominion—though the Atlantic wasn't his realm, he'd ensured Zhao Zhiyong never left. The bloody cross showed the King of Hell's vindictive nature.
As the saying goes: Fate always cycles; retribution clarifies good and evil. All is predestined—why scheme in life?
Zhao Zhiyong's sins were grave. Legend says powerful Taoists can traverse the underworld, but I wasn't there yet. He'd likely descend to the 13th layer of hell.
This reminds me of a true story from when I was 8. My grandpa in Xinmin countryside died four months after my grandma. They'd lived with my uncle, whose wife mistreated them—separate meals, no hospital visits. After my grandparents died, we cut contact.
Worst of all, when grandpa was dying, my uncle and aunt sold his grain and traveled (the land was grandpa's). My mom found grandpa's body; they delayed returning for three days (they were in Yingkou, a day's trip), likely to avoid funeral costs.
On grandpa's seventh day, my aunt saw him in the kitchen. As she turned, a knife fell, almost slicing off her ear. After stitching, she begged my mom to plead with grandpa. Later, on a cloudy afternoon, she was paralyzed in bed, seeing grandpa scold her. She converted to Christianity, skipping graveside visits, claiming "Christians aren't ruled by the King of Hell."
Last year, visiting Xinmin, I saw my cousin—she demanded money like her mother, once threatening to blow up the house with a gas tank. Vice begets vice; filial piety is paramount.
Back to Zhao Na. Her red eyes pleaded, "What should I do?"