On the morning of April 16, 2024, I was still asleep when my mom called. She said our house had been blown away.
I didn't believe it, but I didn't say so; after a moment, I felt it must be true, after all, my mom wouldn't joke about such things.
I looked out the window, and dark clouds loomed.
In the mountainous area, having a house blown away is quite counterintuitive; how strong must the wind be?
Of course, I later learned from the news that it was a typhoon with a force of level 12.
It was also pouring rain in the city, so I asked my mom if she needed me to bring anything back.
She said no, just come back and see. I said, oh, okay.
It was obvious that my mom's voice was very sad.
I started making calls, going through my contacts to see who I could call, asking friends who were working at the unit about the situation.
Mainly to see what new policies were in place.
A town mayor from a nearby town asked if I had paid for agricultural housing insurance.
The disaster relief mainly relies on the civil affairs policies of the townships, which offer little compensation.
But as long as people are safe, that's what matters.
I said I would ask at home since my father is the head of the household, and I didn't know these details.
My mom told me that they had paid two years ago but hadn't paid in recent years.
Well, in any case, they hadn't paid. So I would have to pay for the house myself.
I thought I should go home first, so I bought a large roll of tarpaulin; I had to cover it from the rain somehow.
The mountain road that usually takes about 2 hours, I arrived in just over 40 minutes.
After crossing the highest mountain, the rain stopped, the fog cleared, and the sun slowly peeked out.
That mountain actually has a name, called - Mashan. It doesn't matter.
But the sky cleared, and my mood was no longer forced calm.
On the small road close to home, a few 20-centimeter tall pine trees had been snapped off cleanly.
One had fallen onto the road. It seemed my father had cleared it a bit; his tricycle could pass. There were tire tracks.
I carefully moved my vehicle past it.
I thought to myself, this wind is indeed strong.
Even trees that I could barely hold onto were blown down.
I don't remember what my feelings were when I entered the house, nor what I was thinking at the time, even though it was only 10 days ago.
At that moment, I might have thought nothing at all. Just a blank.
At that time, neighbors from the same village came to visit and tried to help.
A few groups had come before and left; the rain was too heavy.
Although everyone was a neighbor, they weren't living right next to each other, and it still took several minutes to walk.
In chatting, I learned that 8 households in our village were affected.
The wind was strange; it was gusty, and houses just a few meters away were unharmed.
In broad daylight, it was so dark that you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. Just like in 1998...
Fortunately, my parents were up in the mountains picking tea at the time. They weren't home.
Our house was considered one of the three severely affected.
However, it wasn't as serious as my mom said on the phone that the house was blown away.
"Only" the roof of the annex was blown off; the beams, purlins, rafters, and tiles were all gone.
Later, a few pieces were found in the forest on the back mountain.
This kind of wooden Tujia stilt house can't withstand such winds.
Someone suggested that I pay for the agricultural housing insurance today and report it in a few days.
I thought it was feasible, but then I felt it wasn't.
This would be insurance fraud; the risk is a bit high, mainly it's not worth it, and how much could I even claim?
My mom said they had paid two years ago; that year the roof was damaged by branches, and the insurance company said the loss was too small, so they didn't come. My mom was so angry that she hadn't paid again in the last two years.
I thought to myself, that was too reckless; thankfully, I wasn't aware of it at the time.
Having been affected, the most important thing is, of course, to rebuild.
The weather was unpredictable, and it was hard to tell when the sun would come out.
If the sun didn't come out, we couldn't uncover the tarpaulin, and we didn't dare to go up on the roof.
After waiting for 4 days, there was finally a bit of sun, and the roof dried.
I started making calls again; the next day, all the young people in the village who weren't out came.
I began to silently smoke; at this time, besides good wine and good cigarettes to entertain, it seemed there were no more words of gratitude to express.
My nearly 80-year-old uncle also came to help.
I said you can't lift or move anything; why don't you go kill some chickens?
Then my uncle killed a chicken and a duck.
I said, let's kill a goose too, but everyone said that's enough, no need to kill more.
As a result, that silly duck made three pots of dishes and still had leftovers.
It felt like a dream, like experiencing a major life event, yet it also felt like nothing had happened.
My mom said it was good; we had passed another hurdle.