Ài Yǒngpíng lived his days in a manner reminiscent of a grand fable. For ten long years, a brief flash or a lifetime, depending on one's perspective, the little boy brought tranquility to his home, and all was well in the world.
Yet on a quiet morning, the chronic illness that had long held his mother in its grip finally swallowed her remaining light.
Hearing the boy's heartbroken cries, the neighbors rushed inside. When they beheld the pale effigy that had once housed the most loving soul in the district, they fell to their knees, weeping bitterly and cursing the heavens for claiming such a saintly life.
Their laments echoed through the streets, and soon, thousands gathered around the modest dwelling. An endless crowd lined the muddy avenues to mourn a woman who could only be remembered as a true Mother of Goodness.
Amidst the growing sorrow, Ài Yǒngpíng used his tiny limbs to climb atop the thatch roof of his collapsing shack.
