Jiang Wang rarely thought about the future.
Before adopting Peng Xingwang, his life was like a snow-covered cedar tree.
Lonely and cold, even the branches and leaves extended in the simplest of lines, unwilling to take on any more shapes.
Now, suddenly, there were many things he needed to care about, and he was more than willing to save money to deal with the unpredictable tides of the future.
He became truly busy, so much so that he spent nearly three months running around, from October until mid-January.
The main focus was on networking through various connections in Yuhan, as well as the formal preparation for the “Golden Twelve Volumes.”
Jiang Wang prioritized forming an editorial committee and produced a complete set of test papers for grades one through three in high school, distributing them for free to students in five different high schools as a trial.
He initially thought it would take at least a semester to receive feedback on this batch of papers, but the students in the provincial capital managed to finish a set of twelve papers in just three to seven days.
A set of twelve papers, averaging two to four per day.
Incredible. Absolutely incredible.
Duan Zhao and a few other teachers were having hotpot with him, discussing the situation while cooking beef tripe.
“Your questions — honestly, they’re not difficult enough. At this rate, there’s no market for them.”
Jiang Wang’s smile froze. “This ‘difficulty’ you speak of, is there a standard for it?”
“Are we supposed to base it on competition-level questions?”
“Ah, Little Jiang, you’re talking like an outsider now. Competition questions are more about broadening the scope of knowledge. Sometimes, the questions on the college entrance exam are even harder than those.”
An elderly teacher with graying hair swallowed a piece of pig brain, adjusting his fogged-up glasses. “College entrance exam questions require endless creativity within a limited scope. Your current team of question writers isn’t refined enough yet.”
“Old Chen knows how to give feedback,” Duan Zhao said, his nose red from the spice. He blew his nose loudly and continued seriously, “We’re from an education powerhouse, after all. The difficulty level should be on par with Qidong!”
“Exactly, exactly. Last year, their chemistry questions weren’t as hard as ours!”
“…I haven’t been rigorous enough in my work,” Jiang Wang apologized sincerely. “Next time, I’ll make sure the questions are both challenging and high-quality.”
The old man patted his shoulder forcefully. “Hurry up, my students are waiting to do them. They’re in the second year now, and they can finish your questions in a week. You need to reflect on that.”
Jiang Wang found himself getting along well with the teachers over dinner, and as the meal was wrapping up, something came to his mind.
“By the way, what was it like getting into Beijing Normal University around 1998?”
Duan Zhao quickly caught on. “You’re asking about Teacher Ji, aren’t you?”
Jiang Wang served him a piece of beef tongue and refilled his glass.
“Back in 1998, the college entrance exam was even tougher than it is now,” the elderly teacher recalled. “Which province is your friend from?”
Jiang Wang answered, and the old man let out a long “Oh.” “That province is known for being ruthless with its math problems. Every time I encountered them, they felt brand new.”
“About seven or eight years earlier, the first-tier admission score was around 500 points,” a female teacher chimed in, “but the score to get into Beijing Normal University was really high. Even this year, the lowest score required was 620. With a few more points, you could have gotten into Tsinghua.”
Duan Zhao laughed. “Maybe he could have gotten into Tsinghua but chose to become a teacher instead.”
Jiang Wang, who had joined the army after middle school, always thought Ji Linqiu had just attended an ordinary teachers’ college. He didn’t realize the school’s reputation was so impressive.
Six hundred and twenty points. He recalled his own subject scores from back then and, knowing his limits, downed most of his beer.
“Don’t feel pressured, man. Teacher Ji is exceptional, after all. People like us would already be celebrating if we got into East China Normal University.” Duan Zhao laughed heartily, “I’m envious just hearing about it. After eating with him, I went home and dreamt about taking the college entrance exam again. If only—”
“Don’t bring up the past,” the female teacher waved her hand. “I was just one multiple-choice question away. It still breaks my heart.”
After the hotpot, everyone laughed and chatted as they parted ways. Jiang Wang said goodbye to the last of his friends and stood alone by his car, letting the wind blow for a long time.
He wanted to smoke but decided against it, thinking about Ji Linqiu and trying to quit. So, he just stood there.
The winter wind was like a wild cat, sneaking into his collar and sleeves, suddenly sending a chill through him and making him shiver.
Jiang Wang started to regret not bringing the down jacket his father had given him.
He got back in the car, turned on the radio, and zoned out to the sound of old love songs.
In his past life, Ji Linqiu had such a bright and promising future ahead of him.
With his outstanding knowledge and abilities, he could have easily gone abroad to live.
But in the end, he was trapped in an old city, like someone giving up the struggle while drowning, his limbs slowly sinking as he faded away, quietly ending his life.
The more Jiang Wang thought about it, the more his throat tightened.
It was like a mix of bitterness and spiciness surged up, forcing tears into his eyes.
‘Why?’
‘You had so many choices, such a brilliant future ahead of you.’
‘You could have gone to Tsinghua, even.’
Jiang Wang calmed his breathing, made a quick call to his secretary, and gave simple instructions about work.
“I’m heading back to Hongcheng.”
“Going back early?” The secretary sounded a bit surprised. “Alright, I’ll make sure the next round of question preparation is well-organized. Please be careful on the road.”
Jiang Wang hung up and started driving back.
Fortunately, he hadn’t had much to drink.
The transition between autumn and winter was quick, and work made it easy to lose track of time.
As he drove back, the trees lining the road seemed to have shed all their leaves in the wind, leaving only bare, sketch-like branches.
The moving car became a tiny dot, traveling through a maze of crisscrossing lines.
Outside the car, the winter wind howled, and the headlights illuminated dust swirling like snowflakes.
Jiang Wang wondered:
‘What truly traps a person?’
‘Is it family? It doesn’t seem like it.’
‘He had escaped his father’s abuse, and Ji Linqiu had fled that mountain village.’
‘Is it his sexual orientation?’
‘No, in his past life, Ji Linqiu had no lover, living alone, so how could he have given up on life because of his orientation?’
‘What is it that truly traps him?’
Jiang Wang turned the steering wheel, and the fields on either side of the road were like a barren desert, wrapped in deep silence, surrounded by nothing but thick darkness.
The whole world was reduced to the sound of the wind and the two beams of light from his car.
As he drove along, he suddenly realized the answer.
‘…It’s a sense of meaninglessness.’
When there are no connections, no warmth, and no guiding force, people sink into the quicksand of meaninglessness, losing their breath one step at a time.
The world becomes an empty and monotonous concept, and all the noisy crowds seem irrelevant.
Ji Linqiu’s solitary journey back then mirrored his own at this moment.
On either side was endless darkness, with no end in sight.
For the first time, Jiang Wang wanted to hold onto someone’s hand, regardless of the type of emotion driving him.
He wanted to grasp him tightly, to pull him out of that endless winter.
‘Teacher Ji, this time, I have the chance to hold you.’
The road was long, and the wind was fierce. By the time Jiang Wang got home, it was already 2 AM., and everyone in the house was asleep.
He quickly washed up and fell into a deep sleep.
When he woke up, the windows were filled with bright sunlight. Outside, the leaves were falling, and large roses were still blooming in vibrant reds and yellows, full of life.
The world had become lively and prosperous again, as if the silence had never existed.
After waking up, Jiang Wang sat by the window for a long time, then turned to stretch his arms and legs before heading out to manage his business in the city.
He made sure to pick up Ji Linqiu and Xingwang from school on time, cooked dinner with them, and watched TV before bed.
No one knew that he had made up his mind the night before, deciding for the first time to walk a long, long way with someone.
Strangely, before bed, Peng Xingwang was acting out of character, hesitating and clinging to Jiang Wang, asking if he could sleep with him.
Jiang Wang found it odd but brought a quilt over to accompany him.
After the lights went out, the child tossed and turned, flipping back and forth like a pancake, unable to fall asleep.
Jiang Wang, who had been feeling drowsy, woke up as he heard him fidgeting.
“What’s wrong? Want to hear a story?”
After a moment, the child quietly responded with a “mm.”
Jiang Wang yawned, turned on the nightlight, and read him three or four books. As Peng Xingwang gradually calmed down, Jiang Wang turned off the light and prepared to sleep.
Then, he noticed something strange in the child’s breathing, as if he was suddenly gasping at times.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“…Nothing.”
Jiang Wang turned the light back on and looked at Peng Xingwang’s face.
“What’s really going on?”
It’s strange. Even though I was him and he is me, why is it sometimes so hard to know what he’s thinking?
Peng Xingwang hesitated for a while, then softly said, “I’m scared, so scared I can’t sleep.”
Jiang Wang had a bad feeling, but out of a sense of adult responsibility, he asked the question anyway.
“…What are you scared of?”
The child’s answer struck a nerve.
“Scared of dying.”
Peng Xingwang seemed embarrassed as he said this, as if he had confessed something childish. He buried his face in the blanket, and his voice became even smaller.
“…I’m just really scared.”
Jiang Wang put his hand over his face.
How could he have forgotten about this?
In this aspect, they were exactly the same.
It was like one day, the thought just suddenly crashed into his mind, taking root deeply, and even at over twenty years old, the occasional reminder of it would send a chilling, electrifying fear through his body.
“One day, I will disappear.”
“One day, all my consciousness and memories will be gone.”
The more he thought about it, the more terrifying it became, and there was no way to resolve it. It was overwhelming.
Jiang Wang had faced life and death countless times in the military, narrowly escaping death during exercises. Even after retiring, the fear remained.
Now, he cleared his throat and pulled Peng Xingwang’s head out from under the blanket.
“How long have you been afraid of this?”
“More than a month,” the child said timidly. “Big Brother, don’t think I’m useless. This is the only thing I’m scared of now. I’m not even afraid of cockroaches anymore.”
“You’re not useless,” Jiang Wang said, patting him gently to soothe him. He started pulling out various excuses with the patience of a seasoned conman, trying to calm him down.
He talked about how growing up would bring a gradual understanding of the meaning of life, and how after death, the soul might continue to exist alongside one’s beliefs. From philosophy to science, he spun a web of explanations so intricate that he almost convinced himself.
The child, either lulled to sleep by the long talk or genuinely reassured, eventually breathed steadily and began to snore softly.
Jiang Wang let out a sigh of relief and carefully got out of bed.
He grabbed his quilt and headed over to knock on Ji Linqiu’s door.
After two knocks, Ji Linqiu opened the door. The bedside lamp was still on, and it looked like he was grading papers.
“Teacher Ji,” Jiang Wang said, with a straight face, “Peng Xingwang told me some ghost stories, and now I’m pretty scared.”
“How about we squeeze in together for the night?”
Ji Linqiu looked at him with a smile.
“Can you say that again?”
