Ji Xianlin, a famous scholar, was once Professor Peking University, an academician of China Academy of Sciences, a famous writer, linguist, educator and social activist, and the former vice president of Peking University. He once kissed a ghost-possessed incident, and now the complete text he wrote is reproduced here.

I have written a lot about my mother, and I don't want to repeat it here. I just want to write a little thing that I never believe is true, and I sincerely hope it is true.

While studying in Tsinghua, my mother died suddenly. I rushed back to Jinan from Beiping, returned to Qingping, and sent my mother to the grave.

When I got home, all I saw was a black coffin, and my mother's face never appeared again.

One night, I slept on the heatable adobe sleeping platform in the back room, and my uncle accompanied me. Uncle Ning, in a jujube forest across the hall, went straight into the house, bypassed his mother's coffin, went to the back room and woke me up, saying that his wife, Aunt Ning, "bumped into a guest"-we called it "bumped into a guest" there, and the guest that bumped into was my mother.

I was surprised, got up and stumbled, followed uncle Ning through the jujube forest and came to his house.

Aunt Ning sat on the kang, her eyes closed, but her mouth kept talking, not her, but my mother.

As soon as she saw me (or rather, she "heard me" because she didn't open her eyes), she grabbed my hand and said, "Son! You make your mother think too much! He hasn't come back to see me since he left home for eight years. You know how your mother feels! " I can't stop poking and talking.

I seem to be hit on the head, confused and at a loss.

By rights, I should cry when I hear my mother's voice. However, I didn't. I seem to be awake again. Subconsciously, I have been asking myself: Is this possible? Is it true?/You don't say. My heart was full of ups and downs, and I was stirred into a pot of sauce.

I said to "Mom": "Mom! You shouldn't have come to aunt ning! Don't disturb Aunt Ning! "

My own voice reached my own ears, empty and indifferent. However, I can't help it. My little "science" played a leading role.

"Mom" repeatedly said yes! Yes! I'm leaving. "

So Aunt Ning opened her eyes and sat on the heatable adobe sleeping platform.

When I got home, I found my mother's coffin lying on the heatable adobe sleeping platform, crying till dawn.

I can't believe this is true, but I hope so. After looking at her beloved only son for eight years, the mother finally "saw" him, which is a comfort. But how slim it is, what a magical comfort!

My mother will live in my memory forever.