The fuel lamp became Liu Banxia's constant companion. Its flickering flame was a tiny sun in the vast darkness of their nights, a silent witness to his relentless pursuit of knowledge. He was no longer just helping his father in the fields; he was racing the setting sun. The moment he finished his chores, he would run home, wash the mud from his hands, and sit at the small wooden table, his head bowed over a stack of tattered books.
His only library was the small collection of textbooks belonging to Old Man Zhao, the village's retired teacher. Zhao, a kind-hearted man with a gentle face and a love for learning, had taken a liking to the earnest boy. He saw in Liu Banxia a fire that he had only seen in a handful of students in his long career. The boy wasn't just smart; he was hungry. He didn't just want to pass; he wanted to understand.
"The secret to medicine isn't just memorizing facts, Banxia," Zhao would tell him, his voice raspy with age. It's about knowing the human body, knowing its stories, its weaknesses, and its incredible will to survive.
Liu Banxia would absorb every word, his mind a sponge soaking up the old man's wisdom. He started with basic biology textbooks, the illustrations of skeletons and organs a fascinating mystery to him. He would draw them from memory, his charcoal sketches becoming more and more accurate with each passing night. He moved on to elementary chemistry, fascinated by the reactions and formulas that could explain the world around him. He devoured every book Zhao gave him, his progress so rapid that the old teacher had to start a new search for more advanced materials from his contacts in the nearest town.
The rest of the family watched his transformation with a mixture of pride and quiet anxiety. His mother, her fingers now calloused from endless hours of sewing, would silently bring him a bowl of warm rice gruel late into the night. She would look at his hunched shoulders and his tired eyes and her heart would ache. The kerosene was not cheap, and the wicks were consumed at an alarming rate, but she never complained. Every stitch she made, every garment she sold, was a silent investment in her son's future.
His father, a man of few words, expressed his support in a different way. One evening, after a particularly long day of plowing, he found Liu Banxia struggling with a complex physics problem. He didn't understand the formulas, but he understood the dedication. The next morning, he came back from the market with a small, second-hand abacus, a tool of learning that he had sold a portion of their meager rice harvest to acquire. It was a tangible sacrifice, a quiet affirmation of his belief in his son's dream.
But the biggest sacrifice was yet to come. The day the applications for the regional high school entrance exams arrived, they brought with them a steep fee. The cost was exorbitant, a sum that seemed impossible for the family to raise. Liu Banxia saw his dream, so clear just a few months ago, begin to cloud over. He was ready to tell his parents he would just stay in the village and work, that his dream was too expensive.
But before he could, his father called him outside, to the small shed where their most prized possession stood: a water buffalo, a beast of immense strength and a partner in their farming life for years. The buffalo was not just an animal; it was an extension of their family, a source of their entire livelihood.
"Your mother and I... we talked," his father said, his voice heavy with a finality that Liu Banxia had never heard before. He patted the buffalo's strong flank. "This animal is worth more than all the rice we can sell in a year. We've decided to sell it. The money will be for your exams, your books, your journey. You will go to that school, Banxia. You will pass these exams. You will become a doctor. And you will make Mei better."
Tears, hot and unexpected, stung Liu Banxia's eyes. The sight of his father, a man who never showed a hint of weakness, with his head bowed and a hand resting on the buffalo's back, was a memory that would be seared into his mind forever. It wasn't just money; it was their life, their future, their very means of survival that they were giving up for him.
The day of the exam came, and Liu Banxia left the village for the first time alone. He carried a small satchel with his exam papers and a single, worn-out textbook. He didn't look back. He couldn't. His mind was a whirlwind of equations, historical dates, and biological diagrams, but beneath it all was the quiet, determined echo of his father's words and the image of his sister's fragile smile. The kerosene lamp's promise had become a reality, and the weight of that promise felt heavier than any textbook he had ever carried. He was on his way, a single boy with a world of responsibility on his shoulders, taking the first step on his long and solitary journey.