Chapter 42 You know, the countryside is more prosperous for me.
The meal took a rather long time.
While Su Mu and the others were eating, Xiao He was also sucking on her milk bottle, her mouth bulging as she sucked hard, her eyes wide open, her gaze shifting between the adults.
Su Mu originally wanted to coax him to sleep, as babies of this age should have a regular nap period, but Xiao He was unusually energetic today, grabbing Su Mu's collar with his little hands and making indistinct babbling sounds.
Perhaps because a stranger had come to the house, Chi Luoxi looked at him with her chin resting on her hand, her eyes curving into crescents, and occasionally reaching out to gently touch Xiao He's feet.
Chi Luoxi really likes children, and Xiao He likes him too.
He Angxiao sat next to Chi Luoxi, his tone ambiguous, whether serious or teasing: "If you like it so much, have one."
Chi Luoxi's fist came flying through the fabric. She glared at He Angxiao, her lips moved but no sound came out, though her mouth shape was very clear: "I've already said I can't have children."
It was already dark when the two left.
At the dinner table, Jiang Ran urged He Angxiao to support Su Mu's work.
He Angxiao: "...Hehe."
Su Mu's life moved forward in an orderly manner. His inbox was always full of new emails, with attachments consisting of densely packed resumes and personal statements.
There are actually no real standards for the selection criteria; education, experience, family background—Su Mu looked at them very carefully.
The final candidate had a very ordinary, even bland, resume. Ren Ran, 27 years old, came from a small town in the south that you had to zoom in several times to find on a map. She was a test-taker in the town since childhood, with no flaws. In the end, she was admitted to an ordinary second-tier university, majoring in business administration, which was unremarkable.
My records became intermittent after graduation. For the first six months, my resumes were sent out without a trace, and I was rejected in the final stage of several interviews. Then there was a gap of four months.
When her whereabouts became clearer, she went to teach at a primary school in the mountainous region of southwest China. Attached are several photos: she stands in front of a faded blackboard, with the children's blurry smiling faces behind her; sunlight streams in through a dilapidated window, gilding half of her body. The photos are low resolution, but you can clearly see the faint sunspots on her cheeks from the high-altitude sun.
After her teaching stint ended, she returned to the city, and her job search resumed, spanning a longer period. The positions she applied for gradually expanded from those directly related to her major to clerical, administrative, and even receptionist jobs.
The latest email was sent three days ago. Her tone was tired and restrained. She said that her family was urging her to go back. There was a clerical job in her hometown, a small town, with a monthly salary of 3,500 yuan. It was stable, easy, and enough to live on.
In the last paragraph of the email, she wrote a seemingly random sentence, like talking to herself or finally letting out a cathartic outburst: "Sometimes I feel like I've been left behind by something, not a person, but the era itself. It's moving too fast. In the time it takes me to bend down and tie my shoelaces, when I look up again, all that's left is the dust that's been kicked up."
Ren Ran has been working odd jobs.
She sometimes works several jobs a day.
I get up in the morning and ride a shared bike to the express delivery sorting station. I've worn out several pairs of gloves, and my knuckles are always covered in bandages.
She ate her boxed lunch at noon, squatting on the steps behind the warehouse. It cost six yuan a serving, with a thin layer of shredded potatoes on top of the rice. She ate quickly, and then rushed to the next place.
Someone asked her why she didn't do a full-time job as an administrative clerk in an office building, working nine to five, which sounded respectable and stable.
Ren Ran said that even if she were to work full-time, it would only bring in a few thousand yuan and would take up all of her time.
After deducting social insurance and housing fund contributions, and then rent and utilities, the remaining amount is pitifully small. Moreover, the workload is not easy, with endless forms, meeting minutes, serving tea and water, and dealing with the subtle relationships among colleagues that require careful consideration.
It's no easier than it is for her now.
Daily wages are real, earned through hard work, and never delayed or owed.
Ren Ran sometimes thinks of her university days, to the window seat in the library, where the afternoon sun would filter through the sycamore leaves and fall on her open textbooks, the dappled sunlight swaying gently in the breeze.
Those were the good old days. Time seemed endless, and the only worries were a high plagiarism rate on the final paper or having a class I didn't like that day.
It seems that all the problems are blocked outside the school by an invisible wall, while inside the wall are soft lawns, cheap milk tea, and boundless fantasies about the future.
Then, the wall collapsed the very second the shutter clicked to take the graduation photo.
It didn't tip over slowly; it crashed down with a deafening roar. Amidst the billowing dust, everything rushed towards it, naked and exposed.
In reality, bank account balances always disappear faster than you imagine.
The sighs from family members on the other end of the phone grew heavier with each passing moment; the way blind dates looked at each other like merchandise; and the friends with whom I used to have late-night chats gradually disappeared to the other side of the city.
The word "career" is too broad; Ren Ran only dares to call it "job," something to make a living.
She knew she lacked emotional intelligence; she couldn't keep up with witty remarks at dinner parties, and she was always a beat slow to react when her boss gave hints. She tried to learn, reading books on interpersonal skills, taking notes, and practicing the curve of her smile in front of the mirror. But when she was in a real situation, those memorized lines would get stuck in her throat and turn into awkward silence.
Ren Ran was certain that she couldn't climb up; the ceiling was right above her head, very low, and she could touch it with her hand—cold and hard.
Now she works two jobs regularly. During the day, she sorts express packages for four hours, mechanically scanning codes, classifying them, and throwing them into the corresponding bins.
The conveyor belt spun ceaselessly, packages surging in like a tide, submerging her knees. She didn't need to think, only repeat the motions, wiping away sweat with her sleeve whenever she felt it.
In the evenings, she would play games with clients in a rented, poorly soundproofed room. Wearing a headset, she would follow the instructions on the screen to navigate the map and heal herself. In the background noise, there were always sounds of the couple next door slamming their door while arguing, and the muffled noise from the barbecue stall downstairs.
She did other things too.
He tutored elementary school students in math, worked the night shift at a convenience store, and even handed out flyers, stuffing thick stacks into passersby's bicycle baskets, most of which were thrown into the trash can the next second.
Strangely enough, what she disliked the least was the purely physical labor at the courier station.
When the body is exhausted to its limit, the mind goes blank. Those lingering anxieties, shame, and fears about the future are crushed by the heavy burden and ground into the muscle soreness.
She picked up one cardboard box after another, the weight pressing down on her arms, her breath filled with the smell of dust and tape. During those hours, she didn't have to think about anything.
The world is simplified into simple instructions: pick up, put down, sort, repeat.
Negative emotions are like sewage, gradually filtered out through physical exertion, though only temporarily, though they will slowly flow back after get off work, filling every part of your body.
But at least for those few hours, she was clean, like a machine that only executes basic programs, worn out, but no longer internally conflicted.
Ren Ran sat on the somewhat worn fabric sofa in Su Mu's living room. She sat very upright, her back not completely slumped, her hands resting flat on her knees.
"Actually, I don't know what I like. I tried for two years, and everyone said I wasn't down-to-earth enough. I tried things that others said were interesting, like baking, flower arranging, hiking, and even signed up for a very expensive oil painting class."
"The paint gets on my hands and I can't wash it off. What I paint looks like a spilled palette. My teacher said I lack talent. I think it might be more than just talent."
“So I could only do what I was slightly better at,” she said. “That was to continue studying and taking exams. At least I knew how to do that. I would open the book, highlight the key points, memorize them, and fill in the correct options on the answer sheet. It had standard answers, and the right and wrong answers were clear. So I kept saving money.”
Exams are not like life; there are no reference books, no grading standards, and even the questions are vague.
“I don’t know what’s worth recording about my life?” Ren Ran asked. “I grew up step by step, tried my best to get out of the small town, and then it was like I got stuck. It took a lot of courage for me to send that email.”
Too ordinary.
What does it resemble? It resembles a piece of paper carelessly discarded, dusty and covered in dirt, with the writing on it perhaps once clear, but blurred and illegible after being soaked by rain and trampled by footprints.
A gust of wind blew by, and the paper flipped over several times, making a rustling sound. Eventually, it might get stuck in a gap or be completely rolled up and disappeared.
The wind doesn't care about the fate of a piece of paper, just as the times rarely care about the struggles of an insignificant individual.
People don't necessarily have to like something, or be passionate about something, or be obsessed with it.
It's not necessary to be infatuated with anyone or experience that heart-wrenching sweetness or pain. When the whole world is clamoring to find passion and follow the fire in one's heart, being content with tranquility, or even content with being at a loss, may also be an honest way of living.
When everyone is praising grand things, grand ideals, grand narratives, and grand successes, insignificance is not scary.
Su Mu recalled the documentaries he had watched, those images about the deep sea, the universe, and ancient civilizations.
The camera zooms out, and Earth appears as a blue sphere suspended in darkness, with human civilization merely a fleeting layer of moss on the surface of a marble.
But if you zoom in, beneath the moss, each pixel represents a specific person, breathing, working, and striving for a meal, a roof over their head, and a meager dignity.
While human technology has enabled us to peer into nebulae billions of light-years away and send probes to Mars, most people, throughout their lives, can only see a limited patch of sky above them and a small patch of solid ground beneath their feet.
They care more about tomorrow's weather than about black hole mergers, and they worry more about rising vegetable prices than about the entropy increase in the universe.
This is not numbness, but the weight of survival itself is enough to fill every 24 hours of the day.
Sometimes, recording something is simply about noting it down.
Su Mu also took notes with the team. They didn't have many people, only four or five in total, and they weren't working on any big, sensational projects. Although He Angxiao was generous enough, they had to be careful with the budget.
Jiaojiao is the only girl in the team and is responsible for coordinating more details with Ren Ran. She is meticulous and speaks softly, making it easier for girls to talk about certain things. They would discuss things like the brands of painkillers they take for menstrual cramps, or how girls living alone can best protect themselves.
These fragmented moments of real life, which the camera may not be able to capture, can make the recorded experiences more vivid and complete.
When Ren Ran learned that Su Mu had become a father at such a young age, she was indeed taken aback. That day, they were discussing the interview outline at the coffee shop downstairs from the studio when a photo of Xiao He swiped across Su Mu's phone screen. It was a close-up of her sleeping soundly, with long, thick eyelashes and a fair, plump face.
Ren Ran's gaze lingered on the photo for several seconds before she looked up, her eyes filled with undisguised surprise: "Teacher Su, you look so young, and you already have a baby?"
Su Mu sighed and said, "Yes, sometimes life is like that. It's very sudden, like being bumped into by something while walking on the street. But after you stumble a couple of steps and regain your balance, you find that you have something in your arms. After accepting it... it may not be a bad thing."
The process of documenting Ren Ran's life was interspersed with a Spring Festival.
After discussing it, the team decided to go back to her hometown to film for a few days.
Train tickets are hard to buy during the Spring Festival travel rush, but I managed to get a few hard seats. The train clattered and swayed on the tracks.
Ren Ran huddled by the window, her gaze fixed on the snow-covered fields rushing past outside.
Su Mu also bought a ticket and went for a few days amidst Jiang Ran's complaints.
Su Mu also felt a little guilty. He said he would come back as soon as possible and that he wanted to spend time with his family.
In fact, the days when Xiaohe was born coincided with Jiang Ran's birthday, and the fragile newborn life occupied the entire center of attention.
Jiang Ran's birthday was celebrated later in a hospital ward.
Jiang's mother was the least likely to forget her son's birthday, so she gave him a very large red envelope, saying that he should make do with something this year.
After all the visitors had left, Su Mu turned off the main light, leaving only a small nightlight on the bedside table. He took out a four-inch cake from the cabinet; the cream had melted a bit. There were no candles, as open flames were not allowed in the ward.
Jiang Ran was naturally very touched and said, "You've already given me the best gift."
Because Xiao He was too young to withstand a long journey, they decided to have Mr. and Mrs. Su come to Jiangzhou for the Spring Festival.
When the call was made back, Su's mother repeatedly said yes.
The day Su Mu left was the 26th day of the twelfth lunar month. The atmosphere of the approaching New Year was already everywhere, and red lanterns were hung at the entrance of the residential area.
Jiang Ran stood at the door holding Xiao He. The child was wrapped in a thick onesie, looking like a soft bread roll, with only his little face showing. His eyes, like black grapes, were staring at Su Mu.
Jiang Ran freed one hand to straighten Su Mu's scarf: "Go ahead, be careful on the road, I'll take good care of our son."
A very strong father.
Su Mu kissed his forehead and said thank you.
Almost simultaneously, Su Mu's train departed, and Su's parents' train pulled into Jiangzhou Station. The elderly couple had brought bulging bags of local specialties, and Jiang Ran came to pick them up.
Su Mu was currently on a bumpy journey to Ren Ran's hometown. First by plane, then by train, and finally by one of those minibuses belching black smoke, circling around and around the highway.
Ren Ran sat diagonally in front of him, leaning against the car window. She reached out and wiped the window, revealing the withered yellow mountain ridges and scattered tiled houses passing by outside: "Teacher Su, you probably haven't been to such a remote place before, have you?"
Jiang Ran said, "We are all from the countryside."
Phoenix Village is indeed a village, but the scene before me is quite different. Phoenix Village has smooth cement roads, solar streetlights, and tiled exterior walls for every household; this place is different. The dirt roads are muddy from the freezing winter rain, and wheels splash yellow mud as they drive over them. The houses in the distance are mostly black-tiled, earthen-walled structures.
Ren Ran's home was located further into the village, in three old houses.
She was raised by her grandparents, and her parents passed away early. Ren Ran had told them about her background, but nothing was as real as seeing it with her own eyes. After Ren Ran started working, she bought a lot of things for the family, but the elderly were reluctant to use them. In winter, the house was a bit cold, and the damp chill seeped up from the cracks in the floor, penetrating to the bone. Su Mu and the others went to town and bought an electric heater. When the bright red quartz tube lit up, the plug had only been in for a short time when there was a soft "snap" sound, and the whole house was plunged into darkness.
The power tripped.
Su Mu looked up for a moment, then rummaged through his toolbox and pulled out a screwdriver and some tape. He had all sorts of certifications, after all. He climbed up on a stool to inspect the parts, while Jiao Jiao, holding a camera below, whispered to Ren Ran, "Teacher Su has all sorts of certifications..."
Su Mu thought to himself, "No, he even has a birth certificate now."
As the Lunar New Year approached, the village came alive again. On the 28th day of the twelfth lunar month, Ren Ran's family slaughtered a pig for the New Year. The camera showed boiling water, a gleaming knife, and gushing, steaming blood. They ate a pig-slaughter soup, with fresh pork, pig's blood, and cabbage simmering in a large iron pot. Oil droplets floated on the surface of the soup, and the aroma mixed with the smoke from the firewood wafted far and wide.
On the other side of the yard, a small excavator was parked. The driver, a young man, had a cigarette in his mouth. He was paving a road, and the work would be finished soon before the New Year. Su Mu found it interesting, so after finishing his meal, he went over, offered him a cigarette, and asked him a few questions. The man became interested, pulled him into the cab, and began demonstrating. Su Mu tried pushing the control lever; the robotic arm clumsily rose and then fell back down.
Jiaojiao was recording an empty shot not far away and casually filmed this scene as well. In the short video of just over a minute, Su Mu's profile appeared clear in the thin winter sunlight, with a high nose bridge and his eyelashes casting a faint shadow under his eyes.
He was wearing a black down jacket, his fingers resting on the cold metal control lever, and the excavator quickly started moving.
The video was casually posted online with a simple caption: "Learn a couple of moves from Master Su."
Nobody took it seriously.
A few days later, Jiaojiao was scrolling through her phone when she suddenly exclaimed "Huh?" She opened the video platform and saw that the notification dot had turned into "99+".
The video that was posted casually is seeing its view count climb at an astonishing rate.
The comments section exploded like a pot.
—No, are all excavator drivers this handsome these days?
—Hilarious! Isn't this the forklift driver who went viral a while ago? How did he end up driving from the factory into the mountains? Hahaha!
—That profile is amazing! The jawline is clearer than my life plan!
—No wonder the forklift driver said he wasn't driving forklifts anymore; he'd gone to drive an excavator.
—The forklift driver didn't marry into a wealthy family, so the person driving the Maybach and the person operating the excavator might really be the same person?
So there really are men in the world who drive Maybachs and are good-looking, and the worst part is, they can even operate excavators?!
Jiaojiao stared blankly at the screen, then looked up at the other end of the yard. Su Mu was helping Ren Ran's grandfather chop firewood. He swung the axe and brought it down, splitting the firewood in two. He had taken off his coat, leaving him in only a gray sweater with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his forearms taut from the effort.
When Su Mu saw the video, the number of comments in the comment section was still jumping wildly.
His feelings were very complicated. He just wanted to try it out, like everyone who sees large machinery and has that urge to have a go. Who would have thought that this would become so popular?
Jiang Ran: Mu Mu, did you go into the mountains?
Jiang Ran: Why are you taking so long to reply to my messages?
Jiang Ran: [Image]
Jiang Ran: [Image]
Jiang Ran: [Video]
Su Mu clicked on the last video; it was taken by Jiang Ran with her phone. Xiao He was lying in the crib they had chosen together, wearing a blue onesie, his arms and legs flailing in the air. His little mouth was open, revealing his pink gums. Jiang Ran's finger entered the frame, lightly touching the child's cheek. Xiao He immediately turned his head, his dark eyes following the finger.
The background noise includes the indistinct voice of Su's mother.
Su Mu: We were working just now.
Almost immediately after the message was sent, the other side displayed "typing is in progress," and then a new message popped up.
Jiang Ran: Baby.
Su Mu's eyelids twitched at Jiang Ran's address; he usually only called her that when he was particularly resentful or particularly happy.
Jiang Ran: I saw your video again. How did you become popular again?
Su Mu: ...You know, the countryside is where I'm more fortunate.
-
A note from the author:
Little Wood: It's time to get an excavator license too.
The little wooden doll did something very idealistic. [Sprinkling flowers]
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