Explore "China's Son" by Da Chen on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
On the ninth day of the ninth month of 1976, Chairman Mao died like an ordinary man. Superstitious farmers said nine was the number of an emperor and heaven had intended that he die like an emperor. It could have been a coincidence, but the sun, covered by clouds, didn't shine over Yellow Stone for ten days following his death. Rumor had it that it was mourning the loss of a great leader, but Dad thought the sky was upset because Mao hadn't died earlier. But a leader, no matter how rotten, was almost a supernatural figure. Confucianism had taught people to be obedient to the emperor unconditionally. Mao's rule had reinforced such a tradition. For days after his death, people gathered in knots, in the fields, under the trees, whispering quietly and mysteriously as though a disaster were about to befall the whole nation.
Mom and Dad told me to be especially careful about what I said.