Chapter 5
The atmosphere at home became subtle and heavy because of the "devil's plan" chart held in the hand of the father, Li Jianhua.
Li Ming stood at the door, his heart pounding involuntarily. In his past life, his father had left him with mostly silence, irritability, and drunken, incoherent ramblings. He was used to his father's denial and neglect, and now, he even envisioned the worst possible outcome—a reprimand for "not doing his job properly" and "being overly ambitious."
Wang Xiuqin, the mother, paced anxiously between the kitchen and the dining room, her gaze shifting between her husband and son with obvious worry. She opened her mouth, wanting to smooth things over, but Li Jianhua stopped her with a raised hand.
Li Jianhua kept his head down, the dim light outlining his slightly hunched back and graying temples. His fingers were rough, his knuckles deformed from years of labor, and he was pressing them firmly on the thin paper, as if trying to see through the paper to understand what his son was thinking when he wrote those words.
Time ticked by, each second feeling like a pounding on Li Ming's heartstrings. Finally, he couldn't hold back any longer and spoke softly, a hint of defensiveness in his voice: "Dad..."
Li Jianhua suddenly raised his head.
In that instant, the anger Li Ming had expected did not appear. Instead, his eyes held an extremely complex expression—shock, confusion, indescribable weariness, and even… a trace of something Li Ming had never seen in his eyes before, something akin to…heartache.
"Five o'clock... to get up?" Li Jianhua's voice was unusually hoarse, as if it had been sanded. He shook the paper in his hand, his gaze fixed on Li Ming's face. "Studying until eleven o'clock at night? Even counting the time spent going to the toilet and walking?" His tone was full of disbelief. "Are you... courting death?"
His voice wasn't loud, but it struck Li Mingxin like a heavy hammer.
“I…” Li Ming’s throat tightened, and the words he had prepared seemed pale and powerless under his father’s gaze. He could not tell the truth, so he could only straighten his back and answer in an almost stubborn tone: “I want to get into the provincial top high school. I have to do it.”
"Must?" Li Jianhua abruptly stood up, the movement so forceful that the stool behind him scraped against the floor with a screeching sound. His chest heaved, the anger that had been suppressed by life for so long finally finding an outlet. "What do you mean 'must'? Is getting into the Provincial No. 1 High School so easy? Only one person from the whole town gets in every few years! You? You think you can get in by cramming at the last minute, pushing yourself to the brink?!"
He waved the schedule around, the papers rustling loudly: "Look at what's written here! Is this something a human being would do? Huh? Are you out of your mind?! You think you can become a top student by just grinding through the motions like this?!"
Spit almost landed on Li Ming's face. In both his past and present lives, his father's attitude of denial and questioning was like thorns, piercing the most sensitive part of his heart. A surge of emotion, a mixture of grievance and resentment, rushed to his head.
"What can I do if I don't push through?!" Li Ming's voice rose, his eyes instantly reddening. "My foundation is weak! I started late! If I don't work hard, what am I supposed to use to compete with others?! Shall I just bang my head against a wall?!"
He pointed out the window, his voice sharp and desperate, typical of a young man: "Do you want to be like me, spending every day guarding that run-down factory, waiting for it to go bankrupt, and then going home to drink?!"
As soon as the words left his mouth, Li Ming regretted them.
Time seemed to freeze at that moment.
Wang Xiuqin gasped, looking at her son in horror, then at her husband.
The color drained from Li Jianhua's face at a visible speed, turning ashen. His hand, holding the plan, froze in mid-air, trembling slightly. In his eyes, which were staring at Li Ming, the anger had been extinguished as if doused with cold water, leaving only a naked desolation and woundedness after being stung.
His lips trembled; he wanted to say something, but couldn't utter a single word.
"Li Ming! How dare you talk to your father like that!" Wang Xiuqin rushed over, her voice trembling with tears, and slapped Li Ming hard on the back. Then she looked anxiously at her husband, "Jianhua, the child didn't mean it that way. He's just under too much pressure. He's talking nonsense..."
Li Jianhua slowly, very slowly, lowered his arm. He didn't look at Li Ming again, but instead looked down at his hands, which were covered in calluses and cracks. After a long while, he let out a very soft, extremely weary sigh, a sigh that seemed to have exhausted all his strength.
He didn't argue anymore, nor did he slam the door and leave. He simply sat back down on the stool, picked up the chopsticks on the table, and said softly, "Let's eat."
This meal was like chewing wax.
Only the faint clatter of bowls and chopsticks remained on the table, creating a suffocating atmosphere. Li Ming couldn't eat, his heart filled with immense regret. He knew how much those words had hurt his father; they were tantamount to negating his father's lifelong struggles and sacrifices.
After dinner, Li Jianhua didn't turn on the TV or pick up a bottle of wine as usual. He silently walked to the balcony, lit a cheap cigarette, and the scarlet flame flickered in the darkness. That silent figure made Li Ming feel more uncomfortable than any scolding.
Late at night, when Li Ming once again opened his books and Teacher Chen's notes under the desk lamp, his heart remained heavy. He knew that some damage had already been done, and words, like spilled water, could not be taken back.
Just as he was forcing himself to concentrate, the door was gently pushed open again.
It was Li Jianhua who came in.
He held a steaming cup of milk in his hand, his steps light, as if afraid of disturbing him. He didn't look at Li Ming, but silently placed the milk on the corner of the desk, his gaze sweeping over the open textbooks and notes filled with dense handwriting.
His gaze lingered for a moment on Teacher Chen's notebook, with its neat handwriting and clear red and blue pen markings, and his eyes flickered slightly.
"Drink it while it's hot." Li Jianhua's voice was still a little stiff, but the anger from dinner was gone, replaced by a deep weariness. "Don't stay up too late tonight."
After saying that, he turned and left without offering any further comfort or a reconciliation hug.
But as he reached the door, he paused, his back to Li Ming, and mumbled something almost inaudibly:
"...The road ahead is long, take it slow."
Then, he gently closed the door.
Li Ming stared blankly at the glass of warm milk, its milky white surface steaming and blurring his vision. He picked it up, took a sip, and the warm liquid slid down his esophagus, warming not only his stomach but also seemingly melting the ice in his heart.
His father didn't approve of his methods, and might even still not believe in his goals. But in his own way, he handed him a glass of milk and said, "Take it slow."
This silent, clumsy concern resonated more deeply with Li Ming than any grand pronouncements.
That night, Li Ming studied very late, but his state of mind was different from usual. The anxiety of giving it his all seemed to have been diluted by that glass of milk. He still worked hard, but no longer blindly pushed himself to the limit as before. He began to try to understand the "methods" and "efficiency" emphasized in Teacher Chen's notes.
The next morning, when he got up at five o'clock sharp, he was surprised to find a scallion pancake, still warm, covered with gauze, on the living room table. His father, Li Jianhua's, usual work jacket was gone.
With tears in her eyes, the mother said softly, "Your father... he had some things to do at the factory today and left early."
Looking at the golden, glistening pancakes, Li Ming felt a lump in his throat. He knew there was nothing "from the factory." This was his father's way of silently preparing the first fuel for his "unconventional" early rising.
Fatherly love is like a mountain, silent, yet never absent.
However, the small amount of support from his family could not completely shield him from the storms of the outside world. Just as Li Ming was gradually adjusting his pace and preparing for the upcoming mock exam, rumors about him began to quietly rise in the class like an undercurrent.
"What are you pretending for? You're always hunched over writing; who knows if you're just drawing little figures?"
"I heard he cheated in math class last time, he stole the questions beforehand..."
"Someone like him thinks he can get into the top provincial high school? Dream on! He might not even get into a regular high school, what a disgrace..."
These sounds occasionally drifted into Li Ming's ears. He gripped his pen tightly, without turning around.
He knew that explanations were futile. The only response was his results.
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