Head not stitched together

Upon hearing my words, my mother and third uncle looked at me with surprise, clearly not understanding what I was saying. At that moment, my high fever had returned, and I felt extremely uncomfortable, struggling to even stand properly. However, I managed to convey everything that had happened over the past two days.

After hearing my story, my mother's face turned pale and she grabbed my arm, exclaiming in alarm, "This is bad! Your Heavenly Gate has opened again and you've been caught by that little ghost's dirty energy! What are we going to do?" Her words made me nervous, but my physical discomfort made it difficult for me to react. I just swayed unsteadily, my legs giving out and causing me to collapse to the ground.

Seeing my condition, my third uncle hurriedly helped my mother support me while they helped me into the house. He said to my mother, "Don't say anymore, Aihen's fever seems to be getting worse. We need to find a solution quickly."

My mother responded anxiously and helplessly, "What solution? Old Granny Tao passed away last year. Who can we turn to now?" Her worry and helplessness were not without reason, as I mentioned briefly at the beginning of this story. Let me explain more in detail here.

The story starts from when I was born. The midwife dropped me on my head and I ended up with a scar on my forehead, which also gave me my unlucky name. However, it was clear that the situation was not as simple as it seemed, and it had other effects beyond the scar and name.

Initially, my parents didn't notice any other effects and just tended to my wound until it healed. But as time went on, it became clear that the scar on my forehead had caused my skull to remain unfused, leaving a direct opening to my brain. This led to some strange behaviors that my parents couldn't explain, such as me often laughing to myself or making faces as if talking to someone who wasn't there.

According to my mother, these behaviors started when I was still very young and didn't understand much. Despite their concerns, they couldn't see anyone else in the room with me.

It all started when I was born. The midwife who delivered me dropped me and left a scar on my forehead, which led to my unlucky name. However, this incident had a much more profound impact on me than just a scar and an unfortunate name.

Initially, my parents didn't notice anything unusual. They bandaged the wound and watched it heal over time, thinking everything was okay. But things weren't okay at all. The scar on my forehead also caused my skull to remain unfused, creating a bone seam that went straight to my brain. This led to some strange behaviors when I was young and didn't understand much.

According to my mother, even as a toddler, I would often laugh by myself and make faces at something in the room that my parents couldn't see. This strange behavior caught my mother's attention, and being a superstitious rural woman, she started to suspect that something might not be right with me.

My father was skeptical at first, thinking it was just typical childlike behavior, but things soon progressed beyond his imagination. When I was around five years old and still struggling to speak fluently, my mother took me to work in the fields. On our way back home in the evening, we passed by a graveyard, and I pointed to the graves and asked my mother, "Mom, why are those people squatting on the graves? What are they doing?" My mother was terrified because she saw that there was no one in the graveyard, but I could see people, and not just one or two, but many.

According to my mother's recollection, she ran back home with me in her arms, her legs still shaking from fear. My father realized then that I was different from other kids and asked my mother to take me to an old woman named "Grandma Witch" at the north end of the village to have me checked out. This old woman was actually a witch who spoke in riddles and was generally considered a bit strange, but people in the village trusted her and often went to her when they had any strange occurrences in their homes.

My mother grabbed a basket of eggs and took me to the old witch's house in the northern part of the village. I still remember the scene vividly to this day. It was in the afternoon, with the golden sunlight shining down, and the earthen walls on both sides of the road looked pale and mottled, with many of the surface mud bricks falling off.

The old witch's house was a thatched cottage, short and dark. Even in broad daylight, it was difficult to see inside, with only a small area near the door visible. At that time, the old witch was sitting at the door with her gray hair and wrinkled face, holding a winnowing basket, apparently drying soybeans or something.

My mother approached her and explained my situation, then placed the basket of eggs at her feet and asked for her help in diagnosing my symptoms. The old witch took me over and checked my eyes and forehead, and then said that my "Tian Men" was open, which made me susceptible to negative energies. However, it was easy to cure, but there might be a relapse after seven or eight years because human bones keep growing, especially during the growth spurt around the age of ten, which could cause the opening in my forehead to recur.

My mother, hearing that my illness was easily curable, didn't think too much about it and allowed the old witch to seal my "Tian Men."

I have to say, the experience of being initiated into the Heavenly Gate was one of the most memorable scenes in my memory. To this day, I still remember how my mother held me down.

Following the orders of our great-grandmother, she stripped me naked and pressed me onto a long bench. Then, our great-grandmother took a large steel needle used for sewing quilts, dipped it in a mixture of oil and potash, and began poking me from the base of my spine.

The pain was unbearable at the time. I cried so much that I became hoarse, and I struggled with all my strength to escape. But my mother's strength was too great, and I couldn't break free. In the end, I could only submit to our great-grandmother's poking, which left me with over a hundred needles all over my back and forehead, making me look like a beehive.

After this incident, I even doubted whether I was my parents' biological child. Otherwise, who would be so cruel as to let their child be poked with needles like this?

However, to be honest, our great-grandmother's method was effective. Ever since that needle poking, I haven't seen any strange things.

After our great-grandmother finished poking me with needles, she told my mother that if I were to fall ill again in seven or eight years, we should come to her again.

But she forgot one thing when she spoke: whether she would still be alive in seven or eight years.

Now, what should I do? My illness has recurred, but our great-grandmother passed away last year. Am I doomed to lie at home and wait for death?