novelraw Chapter 3: The Underachiever in Mom's Eyes
Chapter 3: The Underachiever in Mom's Eyes
December 14, 2001, evening, Changsha Railway Station.
The green train, panting heavily, slowly glided into the platform.
Through the glass window, Liu Yu saw the dim yellow lights on the platform, with the two large characters "Changsha" shining in the twilight.
Two days and two nights.
From XJ to Changsha, 3,800 kilometers, hard sleeper.
It wasn't because he couldn't afford plane tickets; he had his demobilization pay and various subsidies in the inside pocket of his camouflage backpack, totaling more than 16,000 yuan, enough to buy five plane tickets.
He just wanted to ride a green train once; he hadn't ridden one in almost fifteen years before his rebirth in his previous life.
Later, I would travel by plane or high-speed rail, or at the very least, by car.
The slow, clattering experience of the green train, filled with the smells of instant noodles and sunflower seeds, has long since faded like a black and white photograph.
This time, he wanted to experience it all over again.
It wasn't because of nostalgia; it was because he needed a transition period.
From the sandstorms of the Gobi Desert to the dampness of the Xiangjiang River, from the sergeant's shouts to his mother's nagging, from "soldier" to "student," the transformation was immense.
He needed two days and two nights, amidst the rhythmic swaying of the train, to gradually lock the memories of his military life into the drawer of his mind, and then reopen everything about Changsha.
On the third night on the train, as the train crossed the Wuhan Yangtze River Bridge, he stood for a long time at the junction of the carriages, watching the fishing lights on the river and the train lights on the bridge.
Now, he is Liu Yu, a 20-year-old veteran, about to become a senior high school student again.
He carries dreams in his body, books in his pocket, and the whole world in his mind.
……
The train has come to a complete stop.
Liu Yu slung his camouflage backpack over his shoulder and squeezed off the hard sleeper carriage.
The carriage was mostly filled with migrant workers and students returning home, carrying large and small bags as they poured out, creating a noisy atmosphere filled with various dialects.
The moment he stepped onto the platform, his feet felt a little unsteady.
It wasn't motion sickness, but a real, grounded dizziness.
He felt the same way when he first returned home from the army decades ago; he felt relieved, "Finally, I've escaped that hellhole."
Now it is a return.
A person who has lived through two lifetimes, stepping on the land of his hometown, feels the dampness of the wind and the indescribable sense of longing in the air.
He took a deep breath and strode towards the exit.
"Xiaoyu!"
He heard the sound.
The familiar voice, neither too loud nor too soft, carried a hint of Hunan accent; it wasn't the kind of enthusiastic shouting, but a definite call.
Zhang Yan stood outside the exit, wearing a dark blue coat and a gray scarf, still looking capable and efficient.
Her gaze pierced through the crowd and accurately found her son.
Liu Yu walked over with a smile, and the mother and son looked at each other for a second.
Zhang Yan's lips twitched slightly, as if she wanted to laugh but held it back. In the end, she only said, "You've lost weight."
"I didn't lose weight, I gained ten kilograms."
Liu Yu put his backpack on the ground, tugged at the collar of his military green jacket, and said, "Mom, you haven't changed at all."
Zhang Yan looked him over; her son had changed so much in the two years since she last saw him.
He seemed to have grown a few centimeters taller, his skin had darkened, he stood there with his back straight, and his eyes were clean and calm, unlike before when he looked around and was prickly.
The long-haired boy with an arrogant expression disappeared, and standing in front of her was a man who looked like a man.
"Let's go, the car is parked outside."
Zhang Yan turned and walked forward, but after a couple of steps, she looked back at the camouflage backpack. "Is this the only bag?"
"Yeah, soldiers don't have much stuff."
……
The Passat B5 was parked in the temporary parking area of the train station square.
This car is a company vehicle provided by Zhang Yan's workplace; it's black and very clean.
Liu Yu opened the passenger door, got in, and casually tossed his backpack into the back seat.
The car was well heated, and he leaned back in his seat with his legs slightly apart.
The car is too small; at 1.8 meters tall, he felt cramped inside.
Having grown accustomed to the color TVs, refrigerators, and large sofas of my past life, I haven't quite adjusted yet.
Zhang Yan started the car and drove out of the parking lot.
Outside the window is Changsha in December, the air is biting cold, and it is already completely dark. People on the street are wrapped in thick winter clothes and hurry along, while the night snack stalls on the roadside are already steaming.
After passing two traffic lights, Zhang Yan spoke.
"Your uncle's comrades in the army told me that you did well there and the regiment even awarded you a third-class merit."
Liu Yu glanced at his mother.
The words "your uncle" were spoken casually; Liu Yu knew that this meant his mother had been keeping track of his movements through her family's channels.
My uncle works in the logistics system of the Lanzhou Military Region. Although he doesn't directly manage their regiment, it's still very easy for him to find out about a soldier.
"Yes, I wrote a skit for the arts performance, and the troupe thought it was alright."
He didn't elaborate, nor did he ask his mother, "Were you watching me the whole time?" Asking such a question would have been pointless.
Red light ahead.
Zhang Yan stopped the car and turned to look at her son.
"Come back and finish your senior year of high school, then go to an art school for a few years, and after graduation work at a broadcasting station. Forget about comprehensive universities; your academic performance won't be up to par."
Exactly the same words.
In my past life, standing at the same crossroads in 2001, my mother said the same thing.
In his past life, Liu Yu thought this plan was shameful—going back to high school at the age of twenty?
He refused and stayed home for half a year; then he started to work his way up in the automotive industry and eventually made it big.
But that was another path, a very, very long and circuitous one.
In this lifetime, he had already paved this path in his heart long ago.
"Okay, sure," Liu Yu said softly. "Which school should I apply to?"
Upon hearing this, Zhang Yan turned her head and glanced at her son with some surprise.
There was surprise, relief, and a barely perceptible "I knew it" in that look.
"Both Beijing Film Academy and Communication University of China are fine." Zhang Yan's voice was a little lighter than before. "I'll have your Uncle Zhang put in a good word with them. You can choose the producer, director, and actor yourself. The first two have higher cultural requirements."
"Okay, I'll go back and think about it."
Zhang Yan didn't say anything more, but the faint smile on her lips didn't disappear.
……
As the car drove onto Bayi Road, Liu Yu looked at the familiar street scene outside the window, his mind already racing.
Beijing Film Academy or Communication University of China?
Producer or director?
He decided in his heart that he should major in film production.
It's not that the director is bad, but his strength lies in his business acumen and resource integration ability.
That's what producers do: raise money, find people, and bring the project to fruition.
What a director needs is creative ability. Although he can write, producing seems to be more suitable for him.
As for performances, there's no need to even consider them.
He has no intention of becoming an actor; the glamour in front of the camera is not for him.
His job is to stand behind the camera, sit in front of the monitor, and be the one who brings the whole situation to life.
"Mom, could Uncle Zhang help me get a set of exam questions from the past three years for the film production major at the Beijing Film Academy?"
Zhang Yan glanced at him again, this time with a more pronounced smile.
"I'll call you when I get back."
The car turned into an alley, next to Furong Road, and stopped in front of a group of old-fashioned residential buildings.
This wasn't the big house they bought later; it was their old house, where they had lived for over ten years. It had three bedrooms, a living room, and was over 100 square meters. It was allocated to them by the hospital, and Zhang Yan's flowers and plants were still growing on the balcony.
"Your dad has surgery tonight and won't be home for dinner."
Zhang Yan turned off the engine and took out the key. "I cooked you some noodles. Eat first, then go to bed early. Rest for two days before going to school to register. I took half a day off to take you."
"Mom, I can go to register by myself." Liu Yu slung his backpack over his shoulder and got off the bus. "I'm not a child anymore."
Zhang Yan glanced at him but didn't insist.
When they went upstairs, Liu Yu walked in front, and Zhang Yan followed behind.
"You're in the military..."
Zhang Yan suddenly spoke, then stopped.
Liu Yu turned around: "Hmm?"
"It's nothing," Zhang Yan waved her hand. "Let's go up."
What she meant to say was, "I know everything about your time in the military."
How could a mother not know?
Sending their child to join the army was a decision she and her husband made together.
Only she knows how difficult that decision was.
On the day she left, Liu Yu cursed at them at the train station. Liu Jianhui remained silent with a livid face. She turned around, got on the train, and cried.
She had so much to say, but the words stuck in her throat.
Her son is no longer the child who needs to be disciplined with lectures.
After entering the house, Liu Yu placed the camouflage backpack on his bed, unzipped it, and took out the contents one by one.
Military uniform. Toiletries. Discharge certificate. 12,000 yuan in cash.
……
The sounds of pots and pans clattering came from the kitchen; Zhang Yan was cooking noodles.
The aroma of noodles wafted in through the crack in the door; it was the smell of old Changsha alkaline noodles, warm and comforting.
Liu Yu sat down at his desk, took a pen from the pen holder, and opened a blank page in his notebook.
Outside the window, the night in Changsha is nothing special.
I could hear the sound of my neighbor's TV downstairs; it sounded like a rerun of "My Fair Princess," with the theme song of the show drifting up intermittently.
In 2001, the entertainment industry was still a blue ocean.
"My Fair Princess" is a TV series that aired three years ago, but it's still being rebroadcast.
The production capacity of the TV drama market is far from keeping up with the demand. Domestically produced dramas are only a few hundred episodes a year, and there are very few high-quality ones.
Online literature is still in its infancy, and Qidian.com will not be officially established for several more months.
Smartphones are six years away, and short videos are fifteen years away.
Everything has not yet begun.
He has a window of nearly twenty years to become the one who stands at the forefront of the trend... not a pig, but the one who opens up the opportunity.
Zhang Yan's voice came from the living room: "Xiaoyu, the noodles are ready, come out and eat."
"They're here."
He closed his notebook, stood up, and pushed open the door to the living room, which was lit by warm yellow lights.
The meal was simple: a bowl of shredded pork noodles, a poached egg, and a few pieces of green vegetables.
Liu Yu ate very slowly.
It wasn't because it tasted bad, but because he wanted to remember the flavor.
In his past life, he grew up surrounded by this flavor, then left, then occasionally returned for a meal, then his mother grew old and made fewer noodles, and then...