Seeing the villagers carry Grandpa Wang out of the ditch, I finally turned back to check on Little Fatty.
He was lying on the ground, unable to get up from the pain. The spot where the rooster had pecked was red, swollen, and downright pitiful. His whole body trembled.
I had to admit, the sight was... unique.
"Xiao Jie… help me up… I want to go home…" Little Fatty sobbed, tears streaming down his face. I quickly helped him to his feet.
But the pain in his rear end was so intense he couldn't even pull up his pants properly. I supported him as he hunched over like a sumo wrestler mid-match, grimacing with every step, inching his way toward the village.
As we reached the entrance to the village, we ran into a group of aunties returning from the fields, their hoes slung over their shoulders. Upon seeing Little Fatty's peculiar posture, they immediately surrounded us and asked what happened.
I told them he got pecked by a chicken.
They gasped in disbelief—as if I'd told them lightning struck twice in the same spot. None of them, in all their years, had ever heard of something like this.
They clustered around Little Fatty, examining him like a rare specimen. He stood there, butt stuck out, enduring their curious gazes in shame.
Eventually, the aunties decided I should take him to the village clinic.
I sighed and continued leading Little Fatty toward the clinic. Along the way, we ran into more villagers. Each person who saw him stopped to stare, laughed, and asked what happened. Once they heard the story, they burst out laughing.
It was, in modern terms, a full-blown social death.
One guy even said, "I feel really bad for the kid… but man, that's hilarious."
I could understand the sentiment. But Little Fatty couldn't.
"I'm dying here, and you people are laughing? Have you no heart?" he wanted to scream.
After much hobbling, we finally made it to the clinic.
The so-called clinic was just a repurposed farmhouse. The owner, Liu Er, was a village native who'd graduated from medical school two years ago and now ran the place.
As we reached the gate, Liu Er's big yellow dog came bounding out, circled us a couple times, and then stuck its nose near Little Fatty's rear end to sniff. I quickly kicked it away.
Liu Er was in the yard doing something when he saw us. He hurried over, surprised.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Little Fatty got pecked… on the butt," I said.
Hearing that, Liu Er burst out laughing. "So that blood-curdling scream earlier was yours? I almost sold out of heart pills because of it! Come in, let me take a look."
I helped Little Fatty onto a long bench in the yard, laying him down on his stomach.
Liu Er came out with a bottle of gentian violet, but as he got a closer look at the wound, he wrinkled his nose.
"Good grief, did you not wipe properly? What's all this yellow gunk? Hold on—I need to clean this first."
He had me fetch a basin of water. Using tweezers and cotton, he started cleaning the wound.
Little Fatty lay motionless like a dead dog, physically and emotionally shattered. Strangely, though, he didn't complain while being cleaned—he actually seemed to find it soothing.
Once Liu Er finished, he warned, "Alright, brace yourself—I'm going to disinfect it now."
As soon as the gentian violet touched the wound, Little Fatty howled like a banshee.
"Liu Er, it burns!" he cried, clutching his butt with both hands and refusing to let the medicine near.
"You brat! Let go, or it's going to get infected!" Liu Er scolded, trying to reason with him.
When reasoning didn't work, Liu Er got serious.
"Go grab a rope," he told me.
I came back with a rope, and Liu Er tied Little Fatty's arms and legs to the bench. Then he slapped duct tape over his mouth to stop the screaming. Still not satisfied, he wrapped another few loops of rope around his waist.
At last, Little Fatty was immobilized. Liu Er was finally able to disinfect the wound properly.
While that was happening, the yellow dog came back, wagging its tail.
"Grab the leftover buns from last night and feed the dog," Liu Er said, "I'm going to get the antibiotics."
I went inside as instructed.
What I didn't expect was that the real nightmare for Little Fatty was just beginning.
Though he couldn't move or speak, he could still hear.
Suddenly, a chicken crowed.
He turned his head—and saw a rooster standing on the wall of the courtyard.
It was the very same rooster that had scarred him earlier.
Had Little Fatty been free, he would've lunged at it for revenge. But now, he was bound, silent, helpless.
To his horror, the rooster hopped down from the wall and began waddling toward him.
It must have been the smell of the medicine—it attracted the beast.
Just as I walked back outside, I witnessed the whole gruesome event.
The rooster darted toward Little Fatty's exposed wound and—bam, bam, BAM!—three vicious pecks in rapid succession.
Even if I had wanted to stop it, I couldn't have moved fast enough.
Though I didn't feel the pain myself, I could imagine it—like a string of firecrackers going off on your backside.
Little Fatty's face turned a violent purple. His muscles clenched. Tears streamed down his face, and a guttural, muffled scream escaped his throat.
I stood there, stunned.
That poor boy… pecked by the same rooster, in the same spot, not once—but twice.
Just then, Liu Er came out with the antibiotics. He took one look and froze.
"Why is it even more swollen than before?" he asked.
I sighed and muttered, "I should've stayed in bed today… Granny Liu said bad luck comes every three years. Is this Little Fatty's turn to take my hit?"