The courtroom was packed with people. Two old men sat side by side, their eyes red. In front of them were 11 biological children, divided into groups, red faces arguing, and shouting throughout the hall. All because of the 1,200m2 of land that my parents had left behind.
The old man trembled and took out the 5 red books from his shirt and placed them on the table, choking his voice:
– “My parents only had this little bit in their entire lives… I never expected that when I grow up, I would have to sit in court and watch my children sue each other.”
Immediately, the six children shouted, all competing for more shares. Some people pretended to cry, asking for their mother’s protection to hold the land and enjoy more of the red book. The girls were dizzy and frustrated because they were marginalized.
The air was suffocatingly tense. At that moment, the father wiped away his tears, suddenly stood up, his voice was as cold as ice:
“Do you still consider us parents? If you have forgotten all the meaning of flesh and blood for the sake of the land, then listen: All these five red books, I changed my name to … nursing home.”
The entire auditorium was stunned, 11 siblings opened their mouths. The fighting suddenly stopped. The mother hugged her face and sobbed, and the father continued, word for word:
– “Parents don’t need their children to be raised on a piece of land. What parents need is a heartfelt hug … But it seems, none of you can keep it.”
The air in the courtroom was as heavy as lead. That statement was like a thunderbolt, making the 11 children stop, their faces pale – as they all realized that the land could be fought for, but their friendship was forever lost.