Lemao couldn't open his eyes, as if a blazing Sun was scorching him. But even this burning pain couldn't suppress his urge to smoke opium. It was as if a worm was constantly gnawing at his heart, brain, and blood vessels; this distress was a thousand times more painful than a burn.
"Burn me! Burn me to death! Just give me a suck, just one!" he yelled.
He heard someone ask, "Just one puff?"
He nodded quickly. "Just one bite, just one bite!"
The man said, "Climb out, I'll give you a puff!"
He opened his eyes and found himself in a cast-iron house with a small hole in the corner. He peered down and saw a mountain of white powder piled up outside the hole, with swarms of rats crawling through the powder, squeaking excitedly.
He was filled with emotion, feeling a renewed sense of hope for life.
However, the hole was so small that only a cat or dog could probably squeeze through it.
He paced anxiously around the room, touching every brick on every wall, trying to find an exit.
There must be a door, right? he thought, otherwise how did he get in?
"Don't bother looking anymore. You're a guilty man. There's no way out for someone with such a wicked heart," he heard the man say.
For some reason, he felt the man was right. He admitted his guilt and was willing to accept punishment. But before that, he just wanted one more hit. Just one more hit, and he was willing to go to jail or die.
He then looked at the low dog hole.
The voice rang out again. "Come on in, you can suck as much as you want!"
The allure of the white powder was too great, so he tried to shove his head into the hole. The entrance was uneven and had many sharp iron nails, which made his head ache terribly.
He stepped back and then started groping around the walls.
This time, he found a door in a wall.
He burst into laughter. "There's a door here! Haha, there's a door here!"
He pushed the door open forcefully, and a gust of wind blew in, making him stagger. His eyes were blurry as he walked towards the door, but he suddenly stopped abruptly when he reached the entrance.
Outside the door was a bottomless abyss. The wind howled like Tiger, swirling in the abyss below.
"Jump! Jump down and you'll be free!" the voice said.
To jump or not to jump?
Lemao hesitated.
He wanted to be free. Jumping down would be the only way out!
But... his gaze shifted to that small hole—outside the hole lay paradise—a drug addict's paradise!
He stepped back and closed the door.
The wind stopped, and his heart pounded.
He didn't want to die yet. He wanted to take one last drag, even if it meant dying, he wanted to take one last drag before he died.
He went back to the small hole and tried to stick his head inside.
This time, his head went in.
The hole seemed to spring open as his head stretched it open.
He felt his head had already passed through, and tried to lift it up to look, but he couldn't. All around him was pressure like a taut rubber band.
Perhaps the wall was a bit thick or the hole a bit deep, because before his head could even get through, his body had already squeezed in.
The pressure from all around him grew stronger, enveloping him completely, like a cocoon. He became a pupa inside the cocoon.
The cave was sticky and damp. He crawled forward with difficulty, as if going against the direction of his birth, returning to his mother's body.
Over the years, the things he had gained from eating and drinking were slowly being squeezed out of his body. His blood, brain matter, and bone marrow were all flowing out of his seven orifices.
He was in extreme pain!
From this pain, he imagined the pain his mother had endured during his birth. These two kinds of pain were interdependent, one being a tension, the other a pressure.
The moment a person is born is the moment their mother suffers.
It's just that people focus more on the joy brought by a new life and ignore the suffering of the person who gave birth to it. Moreover, in the face of a great emotion called maternal love, any suffering is insignificant.
Lemao inexplicably thought of his mother—the woman who ultimately died on an opium bed.
Lemao still remembers her last words before she breathed her last. "Don't touch opium!"
Now, should we give everything back to our mother?
The pain was slowly subsiding. The air in his lungs had been completely expelled, and his heart was now just a tiny, lifeless organ, no longer beating because there was no blood left.
Suddenly, his body relaxed, and the external pressure disappeared. He floated up, surrounded by a pale yellow, transparent liquid that felt warm.
He couldn't open his eyes and couldn't see anything. But he could feel his own existence—he was a baby—curled up in his mother's womb.
How comfortable!
Opium! Morphine! None of that matters anymore!
If he could live his life again, he would never touch these things!
But can life truly be relived?
As he pondered this question, a light suddenly flashed in the darkness.
He opened his eyes and saw that he was tied to a pillar in the familiar west room, unable to move his body except for his head.
Standing opposite him was a disheveled man holding a bowl of steaming porridge.
The man stepped forward and untied the rope for him.
Just moments ago, he was struggling desperately, trying to escape. But now, without the ropes binding him, he seemed to have lost all his strength, his body collapsing. If he hadn't been leaning against a pillar, he might have fallen.
"Why do you smoke opium?" the man holding the porridge asked.
Lemao leaned against a pillar, panting, his eyes staring blankly at the roof, as if recalling his life.
"At first, it was out of curiosity. I saw everyone doing it, so I took a puff. Just one puff, and I felt great immediately! You can feel good doing other things, but nothing comes as quickly or as easily as this."
"For example, having sex with a woman can be very enjoyable. But from meeting her to actually doing it, it takes a lot of time and effort. But opium is different. You only need one puff to get the same amount of pleasure. I thought to myself back then, why bother picking up girls anymore? I can just smoke opium."
"After using it a few more times, the pleasure wasn't as noticeable. Every time I finished, I felt incredibly guilty, saying I'd never do it again. But I felt sluggish, constantly daydreaming, and my eyes were practically closed. I missed the feeling of my first time using it so much, that feeling that was sweeter and more exhilarating than first love, I could never forget it. So I said, 'Let's do it one more time, just the last time... the very last time!'"
"Later, I felt increasingly uncomfortable all over, like every bone in my body was cramped. What could I do? Medicine didn't work, so I had to keep using it. I'd take a puff when I was tired, a puff when I was sleepy, a puff when my back hurt, a puff when my legs hurt, a puff when I was working in the fields, and even a puff while pickling vegetables..."
Lemao twitched his nose as he spoke.
"So, do you still want to smoke now?" Qingmu held the bowl in one hand and took a cigarette out of his pocket with the other, put it in his mouth, and lit it with a lighter.
White smoke quickly dissipated, filling the dimly lit room.
Lemao's breathing quickened, his chest heaving. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing on his thin neck, and said cautiously, "I... take a sip?... Just one sip!"
He held up one finger to his chest.
Qingmu nodded, then flipped his hand and poured a bowl of scalding hot porridge onto Lemao's face.