It was not without reason that the Lins believed they had solved the problem of their son’s education. For, after a little more than four years under the care of the Fuxing Institute in Shilong County, Lin Xinxian had developed, in comparison to his peers, normal or not, an unparalleled aptitude for Chinese, mathematics, and English. Last month, when a delegation from the United States paid a visit to the hospital, the Lins watched their son, through a thick smudged pane of glass, chatting and laughing with exotic faces, white and black, in a tongue not his mother’s.

“Praise the Lord.” Mrs. Lin knew Mr. Lin must be saying the same thing in his heart. “Praise the Lord for gifting him with prudence and intelligence. Now I beg you to return him to normality.”

Mr. Lin, the former owner of a credit card company and now a security guard at a seafood restaurant, was in his early fifties and sported a beer belly that no treadmill could shrink. Mrs. Lin, on the other hand, seemed hardly different from photographs of herself at thirty—the same almond eyes and plump pink cheeks. One might, at first glance, be dying to know how Mr. Lin had ever won Mrs. Lin when they were young. “I was quite the man back in my younger days,” would be Mr. Lin’s response should one venture to ask him directly. “This son, in many respects, takes after me.” Then he would lower his bald head and sigh, “Except for that.” But then he would cheer up and brightly announce to you, “I trust the hospital. The hospital will get my boy on track again. My proud boy.”

The hospital to which the Lins had sent their son permitted no direct contact between guardians and patients; the Lins followed this rule dutifully. So, twice a week, they trudged twenty minutes from their drab gray Khrushchevka to the county bus stop, took the bumpy bus along the bumpy country road for twenty minutes, and walked another twenty minutes until they reached the rusty black gate of the Fuxing Institute. There they handed the guards whatever they had brought for Xinxian. Mrs. Lin normally carried two dozen eggs in a plastic bag in one hand and two cartons of full-fat milk in the other. “Now is the time children grow their bodies,” Mrs. Lin repeatedly told her husband. “He will grow up skinny and short if he doesn’t absorb enough protein.” To this, Mr. Lin would let out a soft grunt. Mr. Lin, for his part, brought things that would make Xinxian happy and wise. A Rubik’s Cube. Puzzles. Books. This time it would be a German book, specifically Die Bibel, which his wife had brought back from the church for free on the previous Sunday, after a German pastor had come to give a talk. They had been giving out Chinese Bibles, but ran out, so the pastor brought out some old German versions.

Neither Mr. Lin nor Mrs. Lin knew any German.

“Give it to Xinxian,” Mr. Lin suggested, on their way home from the church. “Children pick up things fast, especially a kid like Xinxian.”

“I don’t think he’ll learn to speak a language just by looking at a foreign book,” said Mrs. Lin.

“Hai! You don’t know what people with rare diseases are capable of!” Mr. Lin spoke with an air of mingled triumph and wonder. “The Old Zhangs’ daughter—she has autism, do you know that? She can remember every word of a book just by flipping through it once.”

Seeing his words land on Mrs. Lin like a punch on cotton, Mr. Lin added, “When God closes a door, He opens a window. You know?”

He awaited a response from Mrs. Lin but, receiving none, added once more, “It’s from the Bible.”

“It’s not from the Bible,” Mrs. Lin finally spoke. “I don’t know where it is from, but it’s not from the Bible. Same with ‘God helps those who help themselves.’ That was Benjamin Franklin.” She raised her voice. “You should read the Bible more diligently. You don’t read the Bible enough.”

Mr. Lin parted his dry lips but soon closed them.

Mrs. Lin continued, “I know what you’re thinking. You think it’s a waste of time. You would rather spend time watching those videos. But, my dear Old Lin, the question is not earthly pleasure but eternal salvation. Above all, the salvation of our dear little Xinxian. Only the Lord Almighty can save Xinxian. Are you aware of that?”

“Yes, yes, I am quite aware of that.” Mr. Lin nodded his head in a way that still struck Mrs. Lin as reluctant.

They reached the doorway and realized they had forgotten the keys. Luckily, they had buried a spare beneath the doormat. Mr. Lin crouched down—his bones cracking—lifted the greasy mat, and tried to pinch the key between his fingers, failed, tried again, failed again, and finally succeeded on the third try. Mrs. Lin stood beside him with one hand on her hip, the book clutched in the other. When Mr. Lin slipped the key into the lock and turned it, he murmured, under the cover of the scraping lock and the creak of the opening door, “I still think it’s a good idea to give Xinxian the Bible.”

Mrs. Lin heard this and said, “OK.”

*

They had left Die Bibel at the guardhouse and not at the glass pane, because it was a Tuesday; only on Saturdays were they allowed near Xinxian’s residence, and even then no interaction was permitted. The guard, a local man in his forties, was nothing like Mr. Lin despite their sharing the same occupation. He was short and shriveled, his face puckered by the sun. Yet the face was full of energy. He asked the Lins, “Trying to teach Xinxian a foreign language?”

“Yes, yes. German,” Mr. Lin replied. “Xinxian is so smart now and can speak to foreigners in fluent English. He will master this new language in no time.”

“You idiot!” Mrs. Lin slapped Mr. Lin on his shoulder. “Did we bring him the Bible just so he could learn German?”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Mr. Lin hurriedly added, “Also for him to feel closer to the Lord.”

The guard glanced at them skeptically. “I didn’t know you two had this belief.”

Before Mr. Lin had a chance to respond, Mrs. Lin interjected, “The Lord called us to Him. Since Xinxian fell ill, He has made it abundantly clear to us that He is the only source of salvation. Christ has already come among us a second time, in the name of Ahn Sahng-hong, just as Scripture foretold. If we keep His commandments faithfully, He will not abandon our Xinxian. Amen.”

Perhaps feeling that Mrs. Lin had not answered the guard’s question, Mr. Lin added, “We converted after Xinxian fell ill, so that he would get better. We did this all for Xinxian.”

Mrs. Lin glared at Mr. Lin as if to say, I have already made matters perfectly clear. Why are you adding feet to the snake?

She slipped a crumpled flyer out of her pocket with her slender fingers, their nails painted a glossy red, and held it out to the guard. “Here you are, if you are interested in our Lord and savior Ahn Sahng-hong.”

The guard waved both hands. “No need, no need.”

*

Empty-handed, they boarded the bus. With a rumbling roar, it lurched into motion, its wheels laboring through the wet mud. Then it picked up speed, and before long, the view beyond the windows dissolved into a succession of scenes flashing past like frames from a film.

“Do you think Xinxian has eaten well and slept well in the hospital?” Mr. Lin asked after a long silence.

“Why ask me? You picked the hospital.” snapped Mrs. Lin.

“Last time we saw him through the glass pane—do you remember?—there were bruises on his ankle.”

“They’ve already said that it was an accident from playing.”

“How could Xinxian be so careless!” Mr. Lin cried.

The bus kept speeding up but the air inside was still.

“Have you paid Pastor Kim this month yet?” Mrs. Lin asked.

“This month?” replied Mr. Lin, lowering his head. “No, not yet.”

“We should pay him now,” Mrs. Lin reasoned. “Next week will be the National People’s Congress. They will keep an eye on international transactions, especially a transfer to South Korea…”

“You know what we should do? We should bring Xinxian home!” Mr. Lin burst out growling, like a wild bear, “We can’t afford the hospital and the church. Otherwise, we’ll be fucked… FUCKED!” He curled himself into a fetal position, both feet propped up on the chair in front of him, bouncing them.

“What do you mean? Xinxian is doing well at the hospital. Besides, don’t forget, you’ve chosen the hospital. You have—”

*

The bus was crossing a narrow countryside bridge when a motorcycle swerved into its path. The driver jerked the wheel to avoid it, sending the bus plunging nose-first into the muddy river below. The driver and two passengers—Mr. and Mrs. Lin—were killed instantly. From the Lins’ bank accounts, the People’s Police discovered a South Korean cult, operating under the guise of a Christian organization, and swiftly dismantled it. They also found the Lins’ only son, Lin Xinxian, detained in an unregistered medical facility called the Fuxing Institute, which claimed to treat a range of “diseases,” from internet addiction and “unruliness” to homosexuality and gender dysphoria. The Police rescued Xinxian, then thirteen years old. Xinxian grew up in an orphanage and eventually emigrated to Germany, where he is now a pastor.