My mom is waiting for treatment, and you're summoning me to be a hero?

The screen of light shows a village.

A child dressed in tattered clothes stood at the entrance of the village.

Standing beside him was a woman, her face roughened by the years, her hair tied in a simple bun at the back of her head, and wearing a similarly faded coarse cloth shirt.

Her rough hands rested on the child's shoulders, and the mother and son looked together at the end of the dirt road outside the village.

The child stood on tiptoe and craned his neck to look at the end of the road.

"Mom, when is Dad coming back? He said he'd take me to the factory for a big meal when he left."

The child asked.

The woman smiled and said, "Look how greedy you are. Your father will be back soon."

As the words fell, a figure slowly walked out from the end of the dirt road in the distance.

His steps were heavy, and he carried a tattered snakeskin bag on his shoulder.

Only when you get closer can you see clearly that he is a middle-aged man with dark and rough skin, wearing a work jacket that has been washed so much that you can no longer tell its original color, and the cuffs are frayed.

The mother and son went to greet them.

"Dad, you're back."

"How are you? Are you tired?"

Faced with their concern, the man scratched his head, smiled somewhat awkwardly, and grinned widely.

"My boss said I did a good job this year, so he gave me a 300 yuan bonus and bought me a train ticket. He said he'll need me next year."

The man's voice was hoarse and loud, carrying a deliberately feigned joy.

The child looked up at his father's face, and the light in his eyes dimmed slightly for a moment.

He was still very young, but he could already understand what his father didn't say.

There was no salary this year, only a 300 yuan "bonus".

The promised year's wages turned into a simple "I'll still need you next year."

The mother was taken aback at first, then forced a gentle smile onto her lips, her voice steady and soft.

"It's okay, as long as we work hard, things will definitely get better and better."

The child looked up at his mother, then at his father.

The father was still scratching his head, the smile still on his face, only the curve of his lips was smaller than before.

The child nodded obediently, without crying, making a fuss, or mentioning the big meal in the county town again.

The family of three turned and walked back into the village.

The father's shadow stretched long in the setting sun, the mother's steps were light and steady, and the child walked between the two.

The next day, the father still took the child into the city.

The scene shifts to a noisy street.

The streets were lined with stalls selling vegetables, fruits, and cheap clothes, with shouts of vendors rising and falling.

The father held the child's hand tightly, and with his other hand he reached into the inside pocket of his coat, clutching the three hundred-yuan bills.

His knuckles were slightly white from gripping so tightly, and the sweat from his palms had dampened the banknotes.

The child had to walk very fast to keep up with his father's pace.

The two arrived at the red sign with yellow lettering at the end of the street.

McKenzie.

Lin Mo, standing in front of the light screen, could naturally tell that this was a counterfeit hamburger fast food restaurant.

But the child's eyes lit up immediately in the light screen.

The father paused for two seconds at the shop entrance, looked up at the signboard, and then looked down at his son's bright eyes.

He pulled his hand, which was clutching the banknotes, out of his pocket; the banknotes were wrinkled and soaked with sweat.

Then he took a deep breath, pushed open the glass door, and walked in with the child.

The shop is very simple.

A few plastic tables and chairs, faded posters on the walls, and the aroma of fried food in the air.

The father walked to the counter, bent down and looked at the menu for a long time, silently reading out each price line as his lips moved.

Finally, he extended a rough finger and pointed at the cheapest set meal: "This one, it's 20 yuan."

The shop assistant took the money without expression.

He picked up the first hundred-yuan bill and then put it under the money detector.

drop.

The banknote detector emitted a short beep.

"Fake."

The clerk tossed the banknotes back onto the counter.

The father was stunned for a moment.

He quickly pulled another bill from his pocket: "Change it, change it."

The clerk picked up the second card, the same action, the same alarm.

"It's fake too."

The second banknote was thrown back onto the counter.

The father's Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

He opened the inside pocket of his coat, took out the last bill, and his fingers trembled slightly as he handed it over.

"This one is definitely real, this one is definitely..."

The clerk picked up the third bill, and the money detector beeped for the third time.

All three are fake.

The shop assistant looked at him expressionlessly, her eyes showing neither sympathy nor contempt, only indifference.

The father stood there, clutching the three counterfeit bills that had been returned. His lips moved several times, as if he wanted to say something but didn't know what to say.

His hand unconsciously rubbed the edge of the counter, and a fine layer of sweat appeared on his forehead.

Then he turned around, looked down at the child, and put on an awkward smile again.

That smile was even more forced than yesterday at the village entrance; the corners of his mouth looked as if they had been forcibly pried open.

"Let's go back to eat today, your mom steamed some buns."

The child looked up at his father.

He is very sensible; he is more sensible than other children his age.

He didn't say he wanted to eat, didn't make a fuss, and didn't even look at the golden-fried chicken legs behind the counter.

He nodded obediently, reaching out to tug at his father's clothes, as if afraid his father would feel sorry for him.

Then he followed his father out of the store.

The scenes began to switch rapidly.

Like an emotionless projector, it played out all the memorable moments in this family's lives in chronological order.

They lost money farming because they didn't understand a small line of print in the contract.

I borrowed money to buy seeds, but less than half of them germinated, and the seed seller had already run away.

My mother was too afraid to go to the hospital when she was sick, so she stayed in bed for half a month and endured it. She became so thin that her cheekbones protruded.

My father changed jobs several times, but he never stayed in any of them for long. He was either cheated out of his wages or his boss ran away. The most respectable job he ever got was only half a year's salary.

The family sat down to eat together.

There was only a plate of stir-fried greens and a dish of pickled vegetables on the table. The father pushed the dish of pickled vegetables towards the child, but the child pushed it back.

The mother smiled, but as she smiled, her eyes welled up with tears.

The child grew up gradually.

The tall, thin man was still wearing faded clothes, and his expression changed from bewilderment to silence.

His grades were consistently excellent, so much so that everyone said he would amount to something.

His parents said the same thing, and they believed it too.

Then my parents got old.

My mother's health never fully recovered after that serious illness. In her old age, her old ailments relapsed, and she had difficulty even turning over in bed.

My father is still working. He's over sixty and still carrying cement on construction sites. His back is getting more and more hunched.

The child—no, he's not called a child anymore; his name is Bai Mu'en.

Bai Mu'en dropped out of school and started working odd jobs to earn money.

He's done all sorts of jobs: moving bricks, washing dishes, running errands, and handing out flyers.

He sent every penny home, but his mother still passed away one winter.

He wasn't home that day.

He was washing dishes at a small restaurant in the city, his hands turning white from being soaked in icy water.

When he received the call, he just stood there silently, the plate in his hand falling to the ground and shattering into pieces.

My father aged very quickly after my mother passed away.

He left in less than a year.

The image freezes on a simple funeral hall.

Two black-and-white photographs are placed side by side on the altar, the people in the photos smiling gently and restrainedly.

It's like knowing you shouldn't laugh too loudly when taking photos.

The young Bai Mu'en knelt before the mourning hall.

His knees hit the cold cement floor, and his shoulders trembled slightly.

He looked at the two black and white photos in front of him, his lips moving.

Finally, he managed to squeeze out a hoarse question from deep in his throat.

"Why is everything going wrong in our family? Why can everyone else have all their wishes fulfilled... God, you are so unfair."

His voice echoed in the empty mourning hall, but no one answered.

Just then, a blue light appeared beneath his feet.

The blue light emerged from the ground, spreading outwards from him, outlining an extremely complex magic array pattern.

The light from the magic circle grew brighter and brighter, illuminating the entire mourning hall and the black-and-white photograph on the offering table.

It illuminated the shock and bewilderment in Bai Mu'en's bloodshot eyes.

At the same time, the light screen trembled violently, and the image began to distort, tear, and disintegrate.

The Pope's last vestige of life force was fading, and the light barrier, barely maintained by his remaining imagination, could no longer hold.