She suddenly realized.
This strict teacher, who considers himself very good at judging people, seems to have never truly known that boy who was sleeping in class.
...
When Lin Que returned home, the house was empty.
My parents are still working at the factory at this time, and they usually don't get home until after 7 p.m.
He changed his shoes, threw himself onto the old, slightly peeling sofa in the living room, and let out a long sigh of relief.
Dealing with those judges who live in the old era is far more mentally taxing than writing a sensational story.
He still prefers the quiet of the moment and the feeling of being in complete control.
He took out his phone again, opened the bank message, and stared at the two million balance for a full minute.
Two million.
As Lin Que's fingertips traced the string of numbers, he felt a burning weight in them.
It is no longer a cold, insignificant fraction of the script fees from my previous life.
He remembered it clearly.
Even when he was 27 and earning a million a year,
My mother's hands were still as rough as sandpaper.
My father's back also aches on rainy days because of an injury he sustained on a construction site when he was young.
Because of years of staying up late, I developed a host of health problems at a young age.
That was a regret he could never make up for, no matter how much money he earned in his previous life.
And now.
This money means that Mother can say goodbye to those skin-corroding chemicals, and Father can straighten his back, which has been bent by the years.
This is a brand new future that he was ten years late in grasping, but which he was finally able to seize.
He took a deep breath and dialed his mother's number.
"Hey? Xiao Que, the competition's over? How did it go?"
My mother's concerned voice came from the other end of the phone, with the roar of machinery in the background.
"Mom, it's over. Was it alright?"
Lin Que smiled and changed the subject.
"Come home early tonight with Dad, don't work overtime."
"What nonsense are you talking about? If you don't work overtime a little longer, where will you get the money to go to college?"
Don't worry about us, just find something to eat at home. There are leftovers from yesterday in the fridge..."
"mom."
Lin Que interrupted her.
"Mom, listen to me. This is very important, and I have to tell you in person. I'll definitely come back early today."
The mother on the other end of the phone paused for a moment:
"What's wrong with you today? Okay, okay, I'll go tell your dad later that I'm leaving at six and I won't be working overtime."
After hanging up the phone, Lin Que sat quietly on the sofa.
He watched the sky gradually darken outside the window, waiting for the door to be pushed open.
He walked into his small bedroom, looked at the old computer buzzing around, and a smile appeared on his lips.
This small room is about to become history.
He needs a real creative space that belongs only to him.
A place where he can unleash the outrageous stories in his mind without any restraint.
At 6:30 pm, the door lock turned.
Lin Que's parents, Lin Jianguo and Wang Xiulian, walked in one after the other.
Their faces bore the weariness of a day's work in the factory.
"Xiao Que, why did you call us back so mysteriously? What's going on?"
Wang Xiulian asked as she changed her shoes.
Lin Jianguo walked silently to the sofa and habitually rubbed his lower back.
Lin Que poured a glass of water for each of them.
My gaze swept over my father's hand as he pounded his lower back.
Then my gaze fell upon the abnormal redness on my mother's wrist, caused by years of contact with chemicals.
He didn't say anything, but simply squatted down beside the coffee table, looking up at them.
The living room lights illuminated the silver strands at their temples.
He paused for a moment, then broke the silence with a voice that was both calm and firm.
"Dad, Mom."
"You should all quit your jobs tomorrow."
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