Chapter 3 — Fake Perfect Family

Iron bed, folding table, half a leftover lunch box from the day before yesterday was spread on the table. The curtains were left by the homeowner. They were yellowed and not tightly closed. Light leaked through the cracks, causing the dust in the room to scatter. The reporter looked around, didn't say much, sat down and turned on the recorder. “Are you sure you want to go public?” She looked at me. “After posting, there will be a huge public reaction, have you thought about it carefully?” I nodded. “I only have one kidney left.” My voice was very calm, like I was reading someone else's medical record. "The doctor said that kidney function has reached the limit of compensation. If we do organ removal surgery again, the survival rate is less than fifty percent." The reporter's pen stopped. "But next week they still want me to come home. This time for a liver assessment." She raised her head, something more in her eyes. The interview lasted forty minutes. Finally she asked me if I wanted to show her the surgical scars. I thought for two seconds, lifted the edge of my T-shirt. The scar on the side had turned white, but the outline was still there, from below the curved ribs to the back of the waist, like a centipede that had not yet fully healed. Left at the age of fifteen. Filming pushes the lens closer. I heard him take a small breath. Then I took the medical examination report out of my bag, opened it, and held it towards the lens. After the creatinine index, there is a red arrow pointing up. The last line is the doctor's diagnostic opinion: "The patient only has one kidney left, the compensation function is near the limit. It is strongly recommended not to perform any further organ removal surgery." I looked into the lens. “Next week they still want me to come back.” The red light on the recorder flashes. The room was so quiet that you could hear people in the hallway pulling the trash can. The video was posted on Thursday afternoon. Much faster than I thought. At five o'clock in the afternoon, I scrolled through the hot search board. Third place: "Genetics PhD couple talks about scientific parenting." First place: "The young daughter of a genetics doctor narrates: I am my sister's spare organ source." The two titles are next to each other. In one video, they laughed and said "never forced their children". In the remaining video, I lifted my shirt, revealing that scar. I clicked to watch their livestream again. Three hours ago, the comment section was still: "Give me a pair of parents like that", "The destination of education is genetics". Now all that has changed. "??? I just came over from a hot search over there. Are these two people the same parents?" "Laugh to death, first you said you never forced yourself, then your little girl's kidneys are gone." “You're fifteen years old, can you sign a consent form for surgery at fifteen years old? Is this legal?” “Let me say something harsh, how is this different from raising pigs?” “Never force you, that's right, they don't force you, they take it out directly.” I turned off the comments section. Place the phone on the table. Hands are shaking. Not afraid. But something that had been tense for too long suddenly broke, and the body trembled on its own. Six past three minutes, the phone rang. Dad. Unheard. Five minutes past six, Mom. Unheard. Eleven minutes past six, it's my dad's voicemail. I click open. His voice has never been so hard to hear. I was so angry that I was shaking, my throat felt like something was squeezing me. “Please delete the video. Immediately. Immediately.” Stop for a moment. “Do you know what you are destroying?” I stared at the screen and suddenly burst out laughing. Destroy what? Your reputation? Your research topic? Or the “perfect family” that you have carefully maintained for over twenty years? The third day after the video was posted, views exceeded ten million. I don't scroll on my phone much. But each hot search term keeps climbing up one by one, it's hard not to look at it. “The young daughter of a genetics doctor couple tells the story of being a spare organ source.” “The person whose kidney was removed at the age of fifteen speaks up.” “The other side of the perfect family.” The comment area seemed to explode. Some people scolded my parents for being evil, some said I was fishing for views, some dug up my parents' academic page, my position as a genetic company consultant, and my sister's study abroad social network account. I don't have a car

m too long. Turn off your phone and go to work. But they cannot sit still. The next afternoon, a lawyer's statement was posted on Dad's academic page. The use of words is very beautiful, at a glance you can tell that it was a waste of money to write: "The video content that has recently been circulating online is seriously untrue. It is an internal family conflict that was maliciously cut and interpreted. The person involved has a long-term psychological problem, the story is not reliable. We have entrusted a team of lawyers to collect evidence, and will pursue legal responsibilities for those who spread the word." Long-term psychological problems. Huh. I took a screenshot of this statement and saved it to my phone. Don't reshare, don't respond. At eleven o'clock that evening, the phone rang. Older sister. I hesitated for three seconds then listened. Her voice is not right. Not the calm, leisurely look down from above like before. Carrying anger, panic, there was something I had never heard of her.