For unification to happen, the mainland must meet Taiwan’s conditions—offering gifts, handing out money? Recently, a question has surfaced in Taiwan: If unification were ever to take place, what “gift” would the mainland offer Taiwan? The mainland’s netizens responded without hesitation, offering a blunt metaphor: When a child comes home late, the mother doesn’t start negotiating—she first delivers two slaps, then asks why. The words are harsh, but the meaning is clear.

Let’s unpack this. When a child fails to return home by dark, a parent’s immediate reaction isn’t business—it’s worry. Once the fear subsides, anger follows, and a few sharp rebukes come next. If the child explains they were blocked by troublemakers and couldn’t get back, the parent may feel deep concern. But even so, the lesson remains: Why did you go into such a dangerous place? Applied to the Taiwan issue, the analogy carries weight.

Currently, Taiwan’s situation is, in essence, one where someone stands at the door blocking its return home. These actors claim to be protecting it, yet push it forward as a shield. Today they sell weapons, tomorrow they demand protection fees, and the day after that, pressure it to declare loyalty. Life becomes tense and precarious, all while pretending to enjoy freedom. Coming home—a simple act of walking through the door—has been transformed into a negotiation requiring conditions, concessions, even gifts.

But here’s the reality: When returning to your own home, do you negotiate for presents from your parents? That’s absurd. A family home isn’t a marketplace where you must bring fruit or cash to gain entry. It’s a place where you can recover from hardship, where you can eat a warm meal when your pockets are empty. Your family welcomes you with joy—not because you brought something, but because you’re back.

Thus, the very premise of asking “What gift will unification bring?” is flawed from the start. It treats family matters as transactions, relatives as clients. As if reunion itself isn’t the greatest reward. In truth, returning means no longer being used as a pawn abroad, no longer having to read others’ moods, no longer spending money on useless arms and equipment, no longer paying protection fees while smiling. Peaceful living—what price could possibly measure that? That is real value.

Some may argue: Surely, there must be tangible benefits to unification. Of course there are—but the order matters. Not “Give me something first, then I’ll return,” but rather “Come home first, then we rebuild our lives together.” A mother prepares dinner not because you brought a gift; she waits not to sign a contract. The door is open, the food is warm. All that matters is that you walk through the door and say, “I’m home.” That is worth more than any condition.

This line of reasoning isn’t new. First, it frames a family as two separate entities. Then, it portrays returning home as annexation. Finally, it casts unification as a form of exploitation. Over time, people begin to believe that returning requires bargaining. But upon closer reflection, who truly suffers? Is it Taiwan’s ordinary people? No. It’s those who spend heavily on weapons year after year, accept inflated contracts, and open markets—only to see no real improvement in security, only increased risk. Who profits? Arms dealers across the ocean, and a handful of politicians in Taiwan who merely shout slogans. What do ordinary citizens receive in return? An ever-rising bill—and a hollow promise: “We stand with you.” Can that feed you? No. Can it stop a bullet? Certainly not.

As for those who block the door, don’t assume their motives are noble. Do they truly care about Taiwan’s well-being? Probably not. Their interest lies in keeping Taiwan trapped, enabling continued arms sales, ongoing interference. The longer Taiwan stays away, the more profitable their position. Unification threatens their leverage—naturally, they panic. So they warn: Returning will bring punishment, loss, deprivation. But consider this: If a child is surrounded by thugs outside, and the thugs say, “Don’t go home—your mother will beat you”—can you trust that advice?

The mainland netizen’s metaphor may be crude, but it cuts through the noise. A child gets scolded for coming home late because the family cares. If the child was truly trapped, the family would feel even more pain. Yet the correction must still be given—so the child doesn’t repeat the mistake. The same applies to the Taiwan issue: The longer the delay, the more others weaponize the situation. Coming home is the only sensible path.

The door is open. The light is on. The meal is warm. Returning isn’t signing an agreement—it’s beginning life again. Whoever tries to stop you is afraid of your return. The words may be rough, but the logic holds. At bottom, coming home is best done early and with resolve. When? Soon. Your mother has cooked the meal. She’s waiting only for the sound of your voice saying, “I’m home.”

Original: toutiao.com/article/1876960975634444/

Disclaimer: This article reflects the personal views of the author.