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墨書 Inktalez
The sound of the wind howling outside continued, but it would eventually fade away; the warmth of home was slowly enveloping me, especially with the college entrance examination approaching, as I carried the expectations of many.
For this academic year, my parents had put in tremendous effort. At the beginning of the school year, they repeatedly approached others for help, finally managing to get me into No. 1 High School and placing me in this year's class. The farm work at home was mostly set aside for my younger siblings, who were asked to bear the burden with their more tender shoulders. Although school had a day off each week, I was encouraged to spend less time at home to make use of that precious time; even reading an extra page could yield benefits.
In the two or three months leading up to the exam, my parents' indulgence and care for me reached a peak. Since the subjects I was studying exceeded their understanding, they could only do their best to support me in daily life.
I don't know when it happened, but my parents came across a letter from Peng Zequan addressed to me, which contained a passage: "While you are busy studying, remember to pay attention to your nutrition. If necessary, you can buy some supplements to help regulate your body. You may not know this, but someone in your class took Deer Antler Injection every day before last year's exam to improve his revision. However, due to his poor foundation, he still didn't get accepted into college. Think about it: is it better to end high school and step into a new life with a few boxes of supplements or to endure another painful year of classes just to save a little money on them?"
Perhaps due to limited means to buy those "supplements," the only thing my parents could think of and readily provide for my nutrition was eggs—common in rural areas. In the late 1980s, during a time of rapid rural economic development when family farming had yet to be tainted by feed pollution, my mother carefully raised dozens of hens, ready to supply my appetite. The dilemma for her was that I lived at school without the means to cook eggs, and she hoped I would spend all my limited time studying—even on Sundays—rather than frequently returning home for fresh eggs.
These issues did not deter my ambitious parents. To ensure I had fresh eggs every day, my father made weekly trips to the county town just to bring me around twenty. It didn't matter that there was no place to cook them; after all, I had a hearty appetite and could eat anything. Especially after hearing that raw eggs were more nutritious, my mother insisted that I eat them raw instead. Considering the crowded dormitory situation where it would be awkward for one person to eat eggs alone, my father approached Teacher Changlin, my homeroom teacher, allowing me to store the eggs at his house and eat one or two each morning and evening.
After half a month of this routine, as the weekend approached, I habitually looked toward the school gate and saw two familiar figures: my father carrying a small basket while my mother bent over with her hands on her stomach, pale-faced following behind him. I rushed over to support my mother who felt dizzy from motion sickness and asked my father, "Why did Mom come too?"
"Your mom learned how to eat raw eggs from someone else; she was afraid I wouldn't explain it well enough and came here specifically to teach you!"
Sitting on a cement bench by the playground, my mother let out a gentle sigh and reached for an egg from my father's basket. Holding it in her left hand, she pulled out a sewing needle from her pocket with her right hand and swiftly pierced the pointed end of the egg with it, creating a small hole. After wiping it clean with her sleeve, she handed it to me and said, "Biao Song, try sucking it from this little hole."
I took the warm egg and leaned in eagerly; as I sucked hard on it, the slightly fishy liquid flowed into my stomach while tears welled up in my eyes...
In addition to ensuring I ate two or three eggs daily, whenever my father brought eggs from the county town, my mother would prepare a delicious dish ahead of time and pack it in bottles for me to enjoy two or three meals at school.
By early June, as we entered the final stretch before exams, my mother heard from my father about recent student protests at universities and martial law in many cities. Fearing that I might join in demonstrations or sit-ins or collapse under study pressure, they decided together to increase my "protection level." They reached out to Fourth Uncle and Uncle who worked in the county town and ultimately decided that I should no longer stay at school overnight but go to Fourth Uncle's house after classes for an extra meal while reviewing for an additional hour.
In early July, my mother set aside her farm work and came with my father to the county town where they prepared special meals for me at Fourth Uncle's house. On the first night there, I invited Liu Zuzhong over for dinner. Despite feeling nauseous from motion sickness, my mother insisted on cooking several dishes; however, unfamiliar with Fourth Uncle's spice cabinet, she mistakenly used laundry detergent instead of salt in her homemade tofu dish. We found it tasted quite strange but seeing her warm and hopeful eyes made Zuzhong and me finish our bowls.
Although at that time I was somewhat oblivious and not deeply moved by my parents' silent sacrifices—taking advantage of this "privilege" by spending more time playing during spring outings at Xuefeng Mountain or drawing Go on paper—during this period I gradually grew from being a "little guy" at Third Middle School into a standard "five-foot-tall man."
Of course, I was never cold-hearted; during these days I often motivated myself in their name and lamented about how parents' hearts are full of compassion. On June 25th, 1989, I wrote in my diary:
"How pitiful are parents' hearts! The experiences I've had these past few days connect with those from previous years and make me increasingly aware of how true this statement is. To be honest, I feel compelled to spend some ink discussing this universally acknowledged truth."
The exams for transitioning from junior high school to vocational school had been graded and sent off to Shaoyang. At Fourth Uncle's home—a regular employee at the education committee—four or five sets of parents came one after another without exception wanting to arrange something for their children's futures or gain some advantage. Relatives who were not friends' friends flocked toward this clean government office during this time; many were genuine farmers who painted a vivid picture of society...
Having talked about others’ situations made me reflect on myself as well; taking this opportunity allowed me some introspection regarding past experiences.
I knew that anyone with clear sight could see how much effort my parents put into securing a future for their son. Just thinking about it made me feel uneasy; unfortunately, I couldn't control myself and disappointed them twice already—now they bore yet another heavy expectation.
To be honest, during that year at No. 1 High School I did make some progress; at least compared to Third Middle School there was significant improvement—not just academically but also in life experience which deepened my understanding. By all accounts passing this year's college entrance exam shouldn't be too difficult; however life often doesn't go as planned—sometimes fate plays tricks on those who work hard—and I still struggled with impatience.
I hope this year will fulfill my parents' wishes!
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