The courtroom was full of people. The two silver-haired old men sat nestled together, their eyes red. In front of them were 11 biological children, divided into factions, red faces arguing, shouting echoed throughout the hall. All because of the 1,200m2 land left by my parents.

The old man trembled and pulled out 5 red books from his shirt and put them on the table, choking his voice:
– “My parents have only had this little bit in their whole lives… I didn’t expect that when I was old, I would have to sit in court and watch my children sue each other.”

Immediately, the 6 sons screamed, everyone competed for more share. Some people even pretended to cry, demanding custody of their mother to be able to hold the land and enjoy more of the red book. The girls choked up and frustrated because they were marginalized.

The air was suffocatingly tense. At that moment, the father wiped away his tears, suddenly stood up, his voice as cold as ice:

“Do you still consider us parents? If you have forgotten all the meaning of flesh and blood for the sake of the land, then listen: All 5 of these red books, I have changed my name to… nursing home.”

The whole auditorium was stunned, 11 brothers opened their mouths. The quarrels suddenly stopped. The mother hugged her face and sobbed, and the father continued, word by word:

– “Parents don’t need their children to raise with a piece of land. What parents need is a heartfelt embrace… but it seems, none of you can keep it.”

The air in the courtroom was as heavy as lead. That statement was like a thunderbolt, making the 11 children stunned, their faces pale – when they all realized that the land could be fought, but their friendship was forever lost.