Chapter 46

Tong Yufei was thrown onto the mat. Mo Daoyan's tall and strong body fell over, blocking the light in front of her eyes. Shrouded in shadow, she suddenly felt like a mountain was pressing down on her. The air in her chest was squeezed out, her back hurt, and breathing became difficult. When his lips touched hers, she subconsciously turned her head to avoid him, but he pinched her chin and bit her tongue again. It hurt, but she didn't have much strength to begin with. The energy she had replenished from the cake she had eaten earlier had been used up while scrubbing her body. She felt like her soul had been sucked out, and she was so weak that she didn't even have the strength to struggle.

In the summer when she was seven years old, she had chickenpox. In order to be able to take care of her at any time, her adoptive mother carried her with her wherever she went, and she almost wore her baby on her belt. So when her adoptive mother was working overtime, she would lie on a straw mat in the open space in front of the finance office of the management station, reading picture books and nibbling on a three-cent sugar popsicle, with her little feet raised higher than her head. That bamboo mat was softer than the one she has now.

The poem ended, the last poem on the tape. The Walkman played idly, making a chaotic sound. Mo Daoyan's lips were still pressed against the raised joints of her neck, but his outstretched hand accurately pressed the rewind button, and "To the Oak Tree" sounded again:

"If I love you—

It is not like the climbing trumpet creeper,

Use your high branches to show off yourself..."

People can use poetry, prose or other literary media to motivate themselves, but if these motivations are placed in front of an insurmountable mountain, it will seem ridiculous, just like when she was in front of Mo Daoyan, listening to those poems praising independence and dignity, but in the most unbearable posture, she became the real footnote of this poem. She had just finished talking about the reason for marrying him.

She asked Mo Daoyan to turn off the Walkman: "It's too noisy."

"If there's no noise, then your voice is the only one left."

"Can't you just listen for once?"

"If you want to be a tree, just be one. Who are you pretending to be indifferent every day?"

"Why expose someone's scars? You may not really care about these things."

"I have a normal mind, so you don't need to speculate."

She half-closed her eyes and said, "I can return this sentence just as it is."

Eyes can never deceive. He'd seen many things in her eyes: tenderness, indifference, anger... but never obedient submission. Even when groveling before his family, a fire always flickered in her eyes. She was completely obedient to him, but he'd never felt her "admiration." On the contrary, he'd occasionally glimpsed a hint of contempt. When he'd critique her dance, casually setting aside the pictographic dictionary, even now peeling back that fig leaf, he could always see a hint of sardonic disdain in her eyes. If she had Ye Yimo's talent, she'd probably have drawn him in one of her grotesque illustrations long ago.

He suddenly got tired of the verbal exchange, propped himself up and turned off the Walkman, then grabbed her slender shoulders and turned her around, his warm palms clasping her lower abdomen and pulling her backwards. She was like a radish that had been pulled out by the roots, her limbs plowing a few shallow marks on the bamboo mat. The moment the back of her neck was pressed down, her knees hit the mat.

The night was dark, the insects outside the window chirped incessantly, and the noises inside the house did not cease either. She was like a cat that fell into a trap. Every time she struggled to leave, she would be pinched by the waist and pulled back to her original position. Amid the trembling sky, the indentations of the bamboo strips were imprinted on her knees, like a blurry bamboo map. Her ten fingers dug into the gaps between the bamboo strips, and the base of her palms made a fine sound as she rubbed with his rhythm. Bamboo is indeed a good material for making musical instruments from ancient times to the present. Even though the sounds are so uneven, they can still be tuned.

Beyond the horizon hangs a starry sky in ink and color, with the Milky Way pouring down and clusters of stars densely distributed.

What a pity, on such a beautiful summer night.

-----

In early July, the pomegranate flowers in front of the newspaper office blossomed into a sea of ​​fiery red flowers. The cicadas chirped one after another, as if they were also amazed by the beauty and had to sing a magnificent symphony to express their excitement. Brother Cao was annoyed by this and missed a few typos while proofreading, so he was deducted half a month's bonus. In a rage, he grabbed two unlucky colleagues and formed a cicada catching team, vowing to eliminate the pest for the entire unit.

As Tong Yufei walked out of the Human Resources Department, her laughter was louder than the city's cicadas. She had been hired as a full-time reporter, achieving first place in both the initial test and the interview. Her personnel status had been transferred from the editorial department to the reporter department, and because of her outstanding performance as a proofreader, her seniority had been retained. The editorial and reporter departments were at the ends of the same floor, only thirty meters apart. They would continue to see each other frequently, but Sister Xin still threw her a farewell party. Proofreading and reporting were different jobs, neither of which was considered high or low, but they meant something to her. Her hard work had paid off, and everyone was happy for her.

He Yanjun was there too, still without a smile on his face, but he said sincerely, "You're pretty awesome."

There are many useless people who rely on connections. She just has connections with her mother-in-law, and her grades are also achieved through her own efforts.

Last year, the State Administration of Press and Publication issued the "Notice on the Reissuance of Press Credentials," distributing the first batch of nationwide press credentials. Journalists now have standard ID cards. Besides full-time reporters, a certain percentage of part-time journalists also hold "special correspondent credentials." Tong Yufei's press card, still warm from the ink, is covered in indigo-colored rubber. On one side is a two-inch ID photo, followed by the name of the organization, full name, gender, date of birth, and uniform serial number. On the other side are the details of the card, along with the issuance date and the organization's stamp.

She took out her press card from her pocket and touched it again and again. It was similar to the feeling she had when she received the university acceptance letter. When she received the notice, the yellow soil on her adoptive father's grave had not yet dried up, and her grief had not yet subsided. Now this joy no longer needed to be mixed with tears, and she could finally smile purely.

She walked the short distance to the press office for five minutes, thinking about who she would share the good news with. Cheng Yuan, of course, was the first person she'd mentioned. Actually, Cheng Yuan didn't need her to share the news; she'd already known it, having been a member of the recruitment team. The first people she'd actually shared the news with were her adoptive parents. After completing the reporting process, she had three hours to spare, as her reporting duties wouldn't begin until tomorrow. So, she left the newspaper office, bought some gold foil at a nearby market, folded it into gold ingots, and took a bus directly to Niangniang Mountain.

Niangniang Mountain, nearly 800 meters above sea level, is the highest mountain in West City. Its twin peaks face each other: the northern peak, sheer cliffs like the fangs of a giant beast, and the southern peak, jagged and rocky, offers a boundless expanse below. Apart from young students who enjoy the thrill of climbing, it's usually deserted. A low, shared tomb stands quietly in the southeast corner of a cemetery on the mountainside. It's where Tong Yufei's adoptive parents are buried. His adoptive father was originally buried in his hometown in the countryside. After his mother's death, she was wrongfully accused and refused entry to the ancestral tomb by his cousins. It wasn't until the government cleared her name that she, armed with the verdict, moved his grave in her brother's name, finally allowing them to be buried together.

On a scorching afternoon, the lush green metasequoia trees cast a natural parasol, retaining a touch of coolness. In front of the grave, lush grass grew, with small, unknown white and yellow flowers, a trace of fresh burnt markings among them. The last time she'd come to burn paper was during the Qingming Festival, so who was coming to pay respects this time? Perhaps an old friend of her adoptive father, or perhaps one of her adoptive mother's family. As far as she knew, her adoptive mother also had two cousins, both married and living away from home, who would occasionally come to pay respects to her aunt when they returned for visits.

She is deeply grateful to anyone who still remembers them after all these years.

She sat down in front of the grave and placed the Butterfly Spring cigarettes her adoptive father had always smoked. Back then, they were only 30 cents a pack, but now they've gone up to 2 yuan. She also offered her adoptive mother a pack of sesame cakes, her favorite snack. Thinking of them when they were alive, the family would imagine life years later: she, her husband, and their children returning to her parents' home, cigarettes and alcohol for her adoptive father in her left hand, a box of snacks for her adoptive mother in her right, her granddaughter riding on her grandfather's shoulders, her grandson cradled in her grandmother's arms, the family going to the night market to watch shadow puppetry and eat fried rice cakes... She snuggled up to her lover, turning to look at the white-haired old man and the playful children, a picture of happiness and contentment.

The tinfoil ingots started to emit smoke, and she stirred the fire with a wooden stick and chatted with her parents.

"Dad, Mom, I passed the exam to become a journalist. I can dance and write, so I'm considered a complete jack of all trades, right? Laugh out loud! No need to act reserved. I know you're all very proud. And I have good news. My brother's brain disease is curable. He just had surgery last Wednesday. We'll have a follow-up check in three months. Doctor Zhu said that if my brother's condition allows, they'll do it again, and it will be the last time. After that, he'll be a healthy person."

"After this surgery, my brother has recovered remarkably well. He eats well and sleeps well, but he has trouble bathing. It's not because of the surgery. You know, he's been like this since he was a kid. In the winter, he can't get the water temperature right, and in the summer, he loves to drink the bath water. He can even swallow soapy water. I don't know what the structure of his stomach is. If he can't bathe, then he can't bathe. He's doing everything else very well. Doctor Zhu said he's performed a medical miracle. Who doesn't have one or two shortcomings in life? Besides, he has strengths that many people don't have. His carving skills have improved. A few days ago, he carved a fire dragon and sold it for five yuan. The foreigner who bought it used the word 'ingenuity' to describe his work. Look, your son is so outstanding."

"I haven't told you all this, but I've actually been married for a long time. My husband's name is Mo Daoyan. He just returned to China this year, and we're living together now. He's handsome, talented, and generous. Many people around me envy me, but... there's nothing to say 'just' about. I'm so lucky."

"Can you talk to me? Why haven't you appeared in my dreams for so many days? Are you partial and only go to my brother's place?"

The surroundings were so quiet, the cicadas were chirping and the insects were hibernating, there was not even a breath of wind. It seemed as if all living things had gone somewhere else to escape the summer heat. The only sound was the crackling of burning tinfoil and weeds. The curling green smoke filled her eyes, and when she looked up again, the whole world was covered with a layer of mist. She kowtowed three times respectfully to the tombstone in the smoke and slowly stood up.

"I'm leaving now. I'll come to see you next time. If you want anything, please send it to me in your dreams. Dad, smoke less. If you don't put down your cigarettes, you'll run out of supplies. When you have time, spend more time with my mom. She's suffered a lot since you left. Mom, I'll definitely do what I promised you. You gave me a home, and I'll give my brother a home too. Our home will definitely be back."

She raised her foot to crush the still burning sparks, turned around and walked down the mountain. At this time, a breeze suddenly blew, carrying a unique heat across her cheeks and swirling around her temples. When she reached a fork in the road, she suddenly stopped. Tong Zhaoyang was standing not far away. The soil under his feet was shiny, and it was obvious that he had been waiting for a long time.

"Brother Zhaoyang, why are you here?"

She frowned slightly and glanced at the empty candle packaging bag in his hand.

"You are the one who worshipped my parents?"

"My mother is buried here. Today is her 100th day memorial. I stopped by to pay my respects to my uncle and aunt on the way."

Tong Zhaoyang was about to leave after paying his respects, but suddenly he saw smoke rising from the Ye family's tomb. He followed the trail of smoke and saw her murmuring in front of her adoptive parents' grave. This secluded forest was seldom visited by people, and he was still worried about her, so he waited quietly by the side. He vaguely heard her say that she had passed the exam to become a reporter, and he was sincerely happy for her. She has always been tenacious and never backs down from things she has set her mind to.

"Congratulations! You'll be a big reporter in the future."

"About my brother's medical treatment, and last time at your company...thank you."

"Why do we have to say this between you and me?"

Tong Zhaoyang slowly rolled up the incense bag and pointed down the mountain.

"Yufei, where are you going? My car is parked at the foot of the mountain. I'll give you a ride."

She hooked her pinky finger, tucked the scattered hair behind her ear, and said softly, "No, it's not on the way."

This was a strange response. She hadn't even said where she was going, so how could she say it wasn't on her way? Besides, she had a car, so what if she took a longer detour? Tong Zhaoyang heard the aloofness in her words and stepped aside: "At least come down the mountain with me. I'm afraid of snakes."

Tong Zhaoyang's words may be a joke, but he was indeed afraid when he was a child. When he first entered elementary school, he bought a new schoolbag and showed it off to his friends in the courtyard. Ye Yimo caught a snake from somewhere and stuffed it into his schoolbag. He wet his pants on the spot and was nicknamed "Dragon King of West City". Every time Tong Yufei argued with him, as long as he seriously wanted to tell his brother and ask his brother to bring a magical snake to judge the matter, he would beg for mercy. He was such a person who would be weak at the sight of snakes. Later, when he went to Tongjia Village to find her, he was dragged by Tong Wan to help plant rice in the rice fields. He was bitten by a water snake that suddenly appeared, but he didn't show any fear. When Tong Wan applied medicine on him, he said he was a fool, with such long legs, but he didn't know how to run.

His face flushed slightly as he said, "If I run away, what will happen to Yufei?"

She remembered clearly that when the snake swam towards him, he was shaking all over, but he protected her behind him.