My youngest Brother Chaplin

On the first day of the Lunar New Year in 1955, the Liu family welcomed their little comedian—Liu Mingyao. 

Mingyao’s birthdate was quite peculiar—he chose the very day of the Lunar New Year. No one could forget a birthday like that, and with the feasting already in full swing, it was as if he didn’t even need a separate celebration. My mother gave birth to four of us, and aside from Mingyao, she never remembered any of our birthdays. When her own birthday came around, she’d start dropping hints well in advance, reminding us to prepare our congratulations. But if any of us mentioned our own birthdays, she’d say, “Your birthday is your mother’s ‘suffering day’! Look at Jiang Gefei (Mingbai’s good friend)—such a sensible child, so good to his mother! He knows how hard it was for her to give birth to him!” So, we stopped bringing up our birthdays altogether. Mingyao’s, however, was impossible to ignore. And so, my mother would say, “Liu Mingyao, today’s your birthday! Come here—Mom wishes you a happy birthday!” Before she could even finish, Mingyao would mimic her in an exaggerated tone, adding another of her favorite lines: “Do you kids even know when your mother’s birthday is? Bet you’ve forgotten! It’s December 24th—don’t you dare forget!” His imitation was spot-on, instantly turning the occasion into a three-layered comedy feast—New Year’s day, birthday, and "mother’s suffering day" all rolled into a special one. 

We called Mingyao “Fourth Brother.” As a child, he had a “flat head”—a result of sleeping too much. By the time he came along, our parents had already had three children. I was the eldest—“had to be born”; Mingbai was the son—“the family heir”; and Mingjian, the third, was “the surprise.” By Mingyao’s turn, our parents were exhausted, and the family’s fortunes had dwindled year by year. So, aside from the advantage of being born on New Year’s Day, Mingyao had little else going for him. My younger sister and I had wet nurses, and Mingbai was breastfed by our mother herself. But Mingyao had neither. Our parents, already worn out by the first three, paid him little attention, leaving him in his crib to sleep all day. As a result, one side of his head became flattened, as if shaved by a knife—what we Sichuanese call a “flat skull.”.(开山脑壳)

Since I was eight years older, I always felt a motherly affection for this little brother. I often went to his crib to watch and play with him—he was an adorable baby. 

One day, I caught a foul smell in the house—the unmistakable stench of feces. I rushed to the crib and found Mingyao sitting there, clutching a handful of his own waste and shoving it into his mouth. I screamed, “Dad! Mom! Fourth Brother is eating poop!” My parents came running in a panic. “Oh no, oh no! He’s eating poop!” “Quick, get a cotton swab and disinfect his mouth with alcohol!” my father barked at my mother. As Mom cleaned up the mess, she shot back, “He’s already eaten it—what’s the point of disinfecting now?”

Fourth Brother was an adorable child, but for some reason, he never quite captured our parents’ attention the way the rest of us did. There’s a saying: “The emperor favors his eldest son, common folk dote on their youngest.” But in our family, this didn’t hold true. Of course, our parents loved him—just not as obviously as they did Mingbai and Mingjian.

I, however, felt a special tenderness toward him. It seemed to me that we occupied the same rank in the family hierarchy. Back then, I loved raising chicks, and I often let this little brother watch my baby chickens. Sometimes, I’d also show him the colorful illustrations in my fairy tale books. But I could never shake off my “overactive imagination”—“Always daydreaming and coming up with nonsense!” Mom often scolded me. I enjoyed tasks like cutting hair and polishing shoes, so I practiced my skills on Fourth Brother’s head. Once, I turned his “half-shaven” hair into a patchy, mangled mess, infuriating Mom indeed.

Before Shanyi Village(山益村) was raided, my father owned an old British-style gramophone along with many classical music records and albums featuring famous Peking Opera performers. All four of us children were captivated by that gramophone and the beautiful music it played. One of our happiest memories was gathering around it to listen to those records, each adorned with the image of a small dog staring into a large horn. My youngest brother was the most enthralled—he adored that gramophone. Once, he even declared to all of us: "When I grow up, this gramophone will be mine!" I never doubted that it should go to him someday because his love for music and that machine was so deep. Sadly, the gramophone, along with the heavy albums containing the records, was confiscated by the Red Guards during the raid. But what they couldn’t take away was the profound love for music already etched into our hearts. That gramophone and those records had instilled in us a deep fascination with music—especially in my youngest brother, who was truly gifted. During the Cultural Revolution, he borrowed Uncle Zhong’s accordion and taught himself to play, practicing relentlessly in the air-raid shelters of Shanyi Village, often forgetting to eat or drink. Eventually, he mastered the instrument, playing not only popular tunes but also complex classical pieces. His music became a bright spot in Shanyi Village and later, a beautiful contrast to his work as a boiler operator. Several girls admired him, including his future wife—a graduate from a prestigious university—who fell for this self-taught, working-class musician. Later as an adult, my youngest brother bought a high-end sound system and an extensive collection of music discs, many of them classical. His appreciation and understanding of classical music surpassed all of ours. While I also love and deeply appreciate classical music, I could never match his level. Stepping into his home, you’d immediately sense an artistic atmosphere—elegant paintings on the walls, refined music playing in the background. In the living room stood a piano, originally bought for his daughter Liu Yi’ou’s lessons. Yet when Mingyao sat down to play,he still performaned impressively. Thanks to his accordion skills, he had a natural feel for keyboard instruments, even without formal training. Like my younger sister, Mingyao was incredibly dexterous—there was nothing he couldn’t learn. My mother used to say he was the best handyman: air conditioners, washing machines, refrigerators, sound systems… nothing was beyond his repair. Though he later became a government employee, he continued fixing appliances, patching pots, mending umbrellas, and even cooking well at home. Like Mingjian, Mingyao was a "universal robot"—both of them were exceptionally skilled with their hands.

I deeply miss the days when Mingyao and his family lived in their new home in Shanyi Village, where my mother also stayed with them—she spent the longest time living with Mingyao. It was there that his comedic talent shone brightest. We often paid visits, hosting relatives and friends, with our cousins frequently joining in the fun. The most frequent visitor was our fifth uncle’s daughter, Zheng Luxi, who adored "Fourth Brother" because he always made everyone laugh with his antics—like his hilarious imitation of a limping man.

The Family’s "Chaplin"With one foot lifted and the other dragging behind, he walked with a bouncy, exaggerated gait, pulling faces all the while. His comical antics never failed to make everyone laugh. He would mimic my father, Uncle Chen, our cousin Liu Bozong, and Liu Mingyuan, imitating their speech and mannerisms with perfect comedic timing. Uncle Chen had a stutter, so Mingyao would ham it up even more: "Ch... Ch... Cheng-Hui, h... how have you b... been? You d... doing alright?"Then he’d imitate Second Brother Liu Mingyuan, clasping his hands together and spinning them around on the cane: "Cheng-Hui, you’re looking well these days—still doing good, huh?"And then, switching to my father’s voice: "Hey, Bozong, the weather’s been nice lately—how about we go fishing?"Uncle Chen would chime in, still stuttering: "S... sure, s... sure thing!"Liu Mingyao was a natural performer, slipping effortlessly from one role to another, putting on one hilarious act after another—a true "Chaplin" before us. Even my mother, no matter how annoyed or exasperated she was, couldn’t resist his humor. No matter how much she scolded him, a few more of his antics would wear her down, and she’d eventually give in. The truth was, Mingyao had a deep understanding of human nature. He was perceptive, insightful, and saw people clearly—but in the past, he always expressed his observations through humor. Later, when health issues and other hardships weighed on him, his "cat-fur temper" (as we called it) began to show. In that regard, the two of us siblings were very much alike. As my younger sister put it: "When that cat-fur temper flares up, they don’t care who’s before them."No one knew Mingyao’s temper better than his wife, Yang Que. My own temper was usually mild, but when it did erupt, it could be quite a spectacle. Younger sister once begged me, "Auntie,(her daughter's call) don’t lose your temper—when you do, we’re all scared!"But no matter how Mingyao acted, I always understood him. We were kindred spirits. Yang Que once told me, "Everyone says Liu Mingyao hasn't properly behaved, but you’re the only one who defends him! You’ve always indulged him!"I don’t know if I was particularly lenient with Mingyao, but the two of us were like two peas in a pod—we just got each other. During the years I was ill, Mingjian was teaching in Guangzhou, and Mingbai was still working, so Mingyao took on the role of caring for me. He and my son, Haizhi, would drive me to doctor’s appointments, take me out to have relaxation, buy me a small speaker so I could listen to music while walking, and even brought me cassia seeds to help lower my cholesterol. Seeing me so sick pained him deeply. After I recovered, Yang Que told me, "Liu Mingyao cried so many times over you back then!"I knew how much he cared. In those moments, he wasn’t just my younger brother—he was like an older brother, my emotional anchor. "The writer behind the clown " this family "Chaplin" was also a talented writer. Once, my mother was tricked into buying a basket of worthless roots, believing them to be rare medicinal herbs. She handed over her hard-earned savings of 4,000 yuan to the swindling old farmer. We children were both surprised and amused—Mingbai and I each chipped in 1,000 yuan, and my younger sister contributed 400 to help cover her loss. But when Mom turned to "Chaplin" for his share, he just grinned and said, "I wrote an essay called 'Teacher Zheng Buys Medicine'—once it gets published, you can have the royalties as compensation!"I had to admire my brother’s cleverness. That article had us rolling with laughter—Mingyao turned a common yet tragic scam targeting the elderly into a darkly comedic masterpiece. Mingyao’s daughter, Yi’ou, inherited her mother’s sharp intellectual. After high school, she was admitted to the Hong Kong University of Science and Technology, later studying in Canada, where she and her husband eventually settled down. After retiring, Mingyao and Yang Que visited them abroad. Even in his later years, Mingyao never stopped playing the accordion or pursuing his love of photography.His passion for it has flourished. With his refined skills and the breathtaking landscapes of North America, his works shine with artistic brilliance.

I wish them happy.

Mingqiong

On her birthday, 2021