作者：小乔
编辑：钟然 责任编辑：罗志飞 校对：冯仍 翻译：刘芳
我和邹巍兄弟相识于十年前，而在此之前，我们于网络上的交流则更早，早在2008年我出国之前，邹巍兄弟就曾邀约我去杭城一见。那时我所在的城市上海距离杭州不过一两小时的车程，且杭州是我“故地”，90年代我曾在杭打工两年，对这座风光旖旎、人文荟萃的城市颇多好感。
无奈彼时我已被有司“重点关照”，非但有过被从旅游地“押解”回沪的经历，还往往连累到当地接待的朋友被盘问等诸多不便，因此我对邹兄弟的邀约犹疑未决。后来，我出国五载，又经历一番“曲折”回国，兜兜转转，在与网络“神交”多年之后，我才在2015年第一次见到了邹巍兄弟。
邹巍兄弟衣着简朴，语言平和，对待朋友非常热心、真诚。那之后，我们就成了无话不谈的朋友，多数时候是通过网络。邹兄弟曾是浙大毕业的高材生，但由于“众所周知”的原因，他却多年来无法正常工作，生活陷于困顿。而在此困厄中，他依旧有着达观的生活态度和对人的真诚、善意与乐于助人。
对于时局，他比我乐观，认为“世界潮流浩浩荡荡，顺之者昌，逆之者亡”，“道路是曲折的，前途是光明的”，文明的潮流势不可挡，我等“但问耕耘莫问收获”。而我则在异国飘零五年后，回来再度面临故园的种种凋敝。尤其经历过 2017 年的重大打击后，又眼见着疫情、“封控”等种种的末世疯狂，愈发地心灰意冷，深陷个人的渺小与无力感，只能在命运的潮流中随波逐流，以“躺平”面对无常。
邹兄弟每年主持着杭城朋友为各地难友的“送饭”，并时不时为公义挺身而出身体力行。之后我又去过杭城三四回，每一次邹兄弟总是热情地为我和朋友张罗安顿住处，并尽力抽空陪我们在秀丽的西子湖畔和运河两岸观光游览。
未曾想去岁夏，邹兄弟只不过与其他几位朋友，就在孙中山先生发出上一段中的感慨“名言”之地散散步，献上几束花，竟让他与另一位兄弟身陷囹圄，至今已有半载。
一月前的岁末之交，我于公历2024年的最后一日再度来到杭城，暂居于之前邹兄弟介绍认识的另一位好友家中，我们回忆起往昔与邹兄弟在一起的快乐时光，担忧着他目下的处境，尤其他还是一位几年前曾做过癌症手术的病患者，虽说他手术后的定期复查显示预后不错，一直没有复发迹象，但他如今所处的恶劣环境……想起邹兄弟前几年每一年的岁末张罗着为杭城和其他地方的难友“送饭”，如今为他人抱薪者遭逢风刀霜剑严相摧，我们却不知能为他做点什么？不禁扼腕长叹。
第二天，朋友开车带我去一家养老院，探望了邹兄弟八旬高龄的老母，老人家神气清朗，对我和朋友的探望一再表示谢意。我们只能尽量安慰老人：邹巍有很多的朋友都很敬重、关注他，他没什么大事，很快就会回来。而我这样对老人说时，是“心虚”的，因为天知道邹兄弟这一次的劫难会是多久？
我从朋友那里了解到，邹兄弟的父亲身体状况更不好，需要长期住医院，且神志已不太清醒，无法交流，因此去探望与否可能意义不大。之前邹兄弟长期在家照顾年迈父母，他唯一的妹妹则长期在国外工作，担负着家里主要的经济重担。邹巍“出事”以后，妹妹回国将原本在家由邹巍照顾的母亲安顿进了一家条件不错的养老院，而父亲的身体状况，已经只适合长期住在医院里。
由于要负担两位老人每月不菲的生活和医疗费用，妹妹不能放弃国外的工作，因此只得将两位老人安顿下来后，委托在杭城的朋友照顾、处理日常一些事宜。我暂时放弃了去医院探望邹父的打算，请那位朋友帮忙约了几位与邹巍的“案情”相关的朋友，一起吃饭、交流，想了解更多的信息，判断下一步的案情走向。
当我们吃完午饭，回到附近一位朋友的办公室茶叙时，不幸有司突然找上门来，进门就问：“你们这里哪位是上海来的？”我站起身答道：“我是。”这种突如其来的“不可描述”的“意外”状况，令我颇感觉诧异，毕竟在此之前我的三四次来杭未曾经历过如此待遇，包括最近一次与邹巍见面的2023年夏，那次我还与刚出“炼狱”不久的艳丽妹子同行，在杭城邹兄弟与其他几位朋友轮番陪同，足足逛了五天……感谢有司那次的不“逐客”之恩。
（此处省略1000字）
总之，在我抵达杭城的翌日，新年元旦，我被有司下达了“逐客令”，便衣同志客气地开车“礼送”我至火车站，确认我订好了回程票后，说道：我们就不跟车站这边的同志打招呼了，免得对你造成不便……这次大概有些特殊情况不巧，下次适当的时候你可以再来。
我不想与具体工作人员起什么冲突，但还是怀着郁闷的心情，在新年的第一天“被迫”离开了杭城。而我原本的计划也只不过在此停留两三天，只是想探望一下邹兄弟的父母，见几位朋友了解一下相关信息，原本也打算3号就离开。
今天是除夕夜，面对着美酒佳肴和亲朋的欢声笑语，我不禁又想到了蒙难的邹巍兄弟，不知道他在那边过得好不好？过年了，可吃得上一口可口的饭菜？可有汤圆或水饺？
就在去年春节，邹巍兄弟还在微信聊天时邀我带上年迈的父亲去杭城一游，说吃住他来安排，我因为父亲年迈，不欲在寒冷冬日里远行而错过了与邹兄弟见面的一次机会。总以为来日方长，天涯未远，江湖再见有时。
而今故人零落已无声，重来不见昔时容，空忆起“桃李春风一杯酒”，但愿不会是“江湖夜雨十年灯”。“此后如竟没有炬火，我便是唯一的光”，邹巍兄弟，我知道，你是怀着乡贤这般的信念与使命感，自我选择了自己的路。
我虽满心牵挂，也只能目送你的征程，并在心里默默为你祝福。
兄弟，新年好！多保重！我们期待着你的归来。
My Brother ZOU Wei
Author: Xiaoqiao
Editor: ZHONG Ran Executive Editor: LUO Zhifei Proofreader: FENG Reng Translator: LIU Fang
Abstract: The author recalls a decade-long friendship with his friend ZOU Wei, recounting Wei’s arrest after laying flowers and the hardships faced by his family. When the author visits Wei’s elderly mother, he is asked to leave. On New Year’s Eve, he reflects with deep affection and concern, hoping for his friend’s safe and early return.
I first met my brother ZOU Wei ten years ago, though our exchanges online began much earlier. As far back as 2008, before I went abroad, ZOU had already invited me to visit him in Hangzhou. At that time, I was living in Shanghai, only an hour or two away by train, and Hangzhou was a place dear to me. I had worked there for two years in the 1990s and held a deep affection for that city of graceful scenery and rich culture.
I was, at that time, already under “special attention” from the authorities. I had once been escorted back to Shanghai from a trip and had often caused trouble for any friends who received me, as they would be questioned afterward. For that reason, I hesitated to accept Wei’s invitation. Later, after spending five years abroad and enduring a circuitous return home, I finally met my brother ZOU Wei in person in 2015—after years of friendship nurtured only through the internet.
He dressed plainly and spoke softly, yet his kindness and sincerity radiated. From then on, we became close, sharing everything, though most of our conversations still took place online. Wei was a top graduate of Zhejiang University, but for reasons that need no elaboration, he had long been unable to find steady employment and lived in financial hardship. Yet even amid those struggles, he remained optimistic, kindhearted, and ever ready to help others.
He was far more optimistic about the world than I. Wei believed that ‘the tide of history is irresistible; those who follow it will prosper, those who defy it will perish.’ He liked to quote, ‘The road is tortuous, but the future is bright.’ Civilization, he would say, always moves forward. As for us, ‘we should sow without asking when we will harvest.’ I, having returned from five drifting years abroad, found myself disillusioned by decay at home—especially after the blows of 2017 and the madness of the pandemic and lockdowns. I felt small, helpless, and could only choose to lie still and let the current carry me.
Every year, Wei organized meals for those in need across Hangzhou and other places. Whenever I visited the city—three or four times in total—he would warmly arrange everything for my stay, taking time to accompany us along the West Lake and the Grand Canal.
But last summer, fate turned cruel. Wei and a few friends merely walked by a spot where Sun Yat-sen once uttered a famous line about the destiny of the nation. They laid a few flowers there—and for that simple act, Wei and another companion were imprisoned. It has been half a year since.
At the end of 2024, I returned to Hangzhou again. Staying with an old friend Wei had introduced, we reminisced about our times together and worried about him—especially since he had undergone cancer surgery a few years before. His follow-up tests had shown good recovery, but now, in such harsh conditions, how could his health endure? Every New Year’s Eve, he would once organize meals for others; now the one who carried the torch has been struck down, and we, left behind, can only sigh in helplessness.
The next day, a friend drove me to a nursing home to visit Wei’s elderly mother. She was in her eighties, yet her eyes still bright. She thanked us repeatedly for coming. We tried to reassure her, saying that Wei had many friends who cared about him and that he would surely return soon. But as I spoke, my heart faltered—who could truly say how long his ordeal would last?
I learned from a friend that Zou’s father was in even poorer health—he needed to stay in the hospital for long-term care. His mind was no longer clear, and he could hardly communicate, so visiting him would have meant little. For many years, Wei had been caring for his aging parents at home, while his only sister worked abroad, carrying most of the family’s financial burden. After Wei’s “incident,” his sister returned to China and placed their mother—whom Wei had been caring for—into a well-appointed nursing home. Their father, whose condition had worsened, could now only remain in the hospital permanently.
Because she must bear the considerable monthly expenses for both parents’ living and medical costs, Wei’s sister could not give up her job overseas. After arranging for their care, she entrusted some friends in Hangzhou to look after the elderly couple and handle their daily matters. I decided not to visit the hospital for the time being and instead asked one of those friends to invite several people familiar with Wei’s case to have a meal together, to exchange information and learn more about the situation, hoping to understand where things might go next.
After lunch, we were having tea when officials suddenly appeared, asking, ‘Who here is from Shanghai?’ I stood up and said, ‘I am.’ Such unexpected visits surprised me—none of my earlier trips to Hangzhou had drawn such attention, even my meeting with Wei in the summer of 2023, when we spent five carefree days exploring the city.
(About 1,000 words omitted here for brevity.)
The next morning, New Year’s Day, I was given a ‘departure notice.’ Plainclothes officers courteously drove me to the train station, confirming my ticket home. ‘We won’t inform the staff here,’ one said. ‘We don’t want to cause you trouble.’
I did not wish to argue with the staff or cause any conflict, but I still left Hangzhou with a heavy heart on the first day of the new year—forced to depart. My plan had been simple: to stay only two or three days, visit Wei’s parents, meet a few friends, and learn more about his situation. I had even intended to leave on the third.
Now it is New Year’s Eve. Surrounded by fine food, wine, and the cheerful voices of family and friends, my thoughts once again turn to my unfortunate brother Zou. I cannot help but wonder—how is he doing over there? It is the New Year; can he at least have a warm and satisfying meal? Perhaps a bowl of dumplings or sweet rice balls?
Just last Spring Festival, my brother Zou invited me over WeChat to bring my elderly father to Hangzhou for a visit. He said he would take care of everything—our meals and lodging alike. But because of my father’s age, I hesitated to travel far in the cold of winter, and thus missed what would become a chance to see him once more. I thought there would be plenty of time ahead, that distance was never too great, and that someday, somewhere, we would meet again in this wandering world.
Now, the years have fallen silent. I can no longer see his face, only remember the warmth of our friendship. I recall the ancient line of poetry, “A cup of wine beneath the blossoms in spring,” and pray it will not become “a decade of lamplight flickering through rain and exile”. He once said, ‘If no torch remains, I will be the light.’ My brother Wei, I know that you chose your path out of conviction and faith.
Though I am filled with worry, I can only watch your journey from afar and silently wish you well.
Brother, Happy New Year. Take care. We await your return.
