4:30 PM.
The large metal gates of the Sunshine Family Courtyard stood open.
A white Santana was parked in the shade of a tree by the roadside. The doors opened, and four people stepped out.
The July asphalt had been baking under the sun all day, and you could still feel the heat rising from it through the soles of your shoes.
Chen Zhuo, a backpack slung over his shoulders, walked in the lead.
Behind him were Old Zhao and Old Zhou, with Fang Yuanming bringing up the rear.
The family courtyard looked just as it had when Chen Zhuo left.
On the wires strung between the buildings, families’ freshly washed clothes and patterned quilts hung out to dry.
In the first-floor courtyards, loofah vines crawled all over bamboo poles.
A worker who had gotten off his shift early walked in, pushing a heavy-duty roadster. A bunch of freshly bought scallions and half a watermelon were strapped to the spring-loaded rack on the back.
A few children were chasing each other and roughhousing at the entrance to a building, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Old Zhao and Old Zhou walked in the middle. The two hadn’t said much the whole way, but as they reached the base of Chen Zhuo’s apartment building, their pace slowed slightly.
The hallway was somewhat dim, filled with the unique smell of old apartment buildings—a mixture of cool concrete and dampness. The walls were plastered with small ads for clearing clogged drains and repairing home appliances.
The four of them headed up the stairs, their footsteps echoing in the corridor.
Before they even reached the third floor, a rich, meaty aroma drifted down from under a door.
It was the smell of braised pork belly, the fat rendered out and mingling with star anise, cinnamon, and dark soy sauce.
The roar of the range hood in the kitchen was accompanied by the sound of stir-frying in an iron wok.
They reached the fourth floor.
The security door of the apartment on the left was propped open, while the inner wooden door was ajar, leaving a narrow gap.
Chen Jianguo’s booming voice came through the door, carrying the brisk efficiency of a man used to hard work.
"Xiuying, give me the washed garlic. Old Zhao called this morning and said they’d be dropping him off around four-something. They should be here any minute. Turn up the heat; let’s get this dish out of the wok."
Liu Xiuying’s voice followed immediately.
"Stir it slower, you’re splattering oil all over the stovetop! And turn down the heat on that braised pork. The meat is already falling apart; you’re going to boil off all the sauce."
Chen Zhuo stood outside the door.
He glanced back at the three people behind him, then knocked on the door.
The sound of stir-frying from the kitchen paused for a moment.
"Coming, coming!" Chen Jianguo called from inside, his voice followed by the sound of slippers shuffling quickly across the floor.
The wooden door was pulled open from the inside.
Chen Jianguo was wearing a clean white tank top and a pair of loose-fitting trousers.
He was still holding a metal spatula speckled with oil, and an old towel for wiping sweat was draped around his neck.
As soon as the door opened, a huge smile spread across Chen Jianguo’s face.
He was about to invite the two teachers in when his gaze swept past them, and the words caught in his throat.
He saw Chen Zhuo.
He saw Old Zhao, and he saw Old Zhou.
But next to Old Zhao and Old Zhou stood a completely unfamiliar older man.
He had salt-and-pepper hair, wore half-frame glasses, and was looking at him with a gentle expression.
Liu Xiuying, wearing a floral apron and holding a rag, hurried out from the kitchen.
"Who is it? Is that Xiaozhuo back..."
She stopped short when she saw the group at the door, switching the rag to her other hand, her expression a little dazed.
The range hood was still humming away in the kitchen.
Old Zhao cleared his throat.
He took a step forward and looked at the sweat-drenched Chen Jianguo.
"Jianguo. Xiuying," Old Zhao began, his voice steady.
"For this exam, Chen Zhuo got a perfect score in math—first in the country. And in physics... he was also first."
The hand Chen Jianguo was using to hold the spatula trembled violently.
Old Zhao didn’t give him much time to react. He turned sideways, extended a hand, and gestured toward Fang Yuanming.
"Let me introduce you."
"This is Teacher Fang, an admissions officer from the Hua Country Science and Technology University."
Old Zhao’s voice echoed in the hallway.
"Teacher Fang made a special trip from Shanghai to come back with us today. When the new semester starts in the fall, he’ll take Chen Zhuo directly to Huake University to start college."
The sound of the range hood suddenly seemed distant, as if from another world, but a buzzing filled Chen Jianguo’s ears.
His eyes darted back and forth between Old Zhao, Fang Yuanming, and Chen Zhuo.
Perfect scores.
Huake University.
Starting college.
The words exploded in his mind like a string of thunderclaps.
He had thought his son getting first in the province was the absolute limit. He’d made this big meal today to reward his son and thank his teachers.
But now, a teacher from the university had shown up at their door himself.
Chen Jianguo’s lips trembled a few times, and a muffled syllable escaped his throat.
He lost his grip on the metal spatula.
CLANG.
The spatula fell to the floor.
The sharp sound jolted him back to his senses.
His face flushed red with sudden excitement and bewilderment. He snatched the towel from his neck and frantically wiped his hands and face.
"Th-this..."
Chen Jianguo stammered, quickly bending down to pick up the spatula and set it aside. His voice was trembling.
"Teacher Fang, Teacher Zhao, Teacher Zhou, quick! Please, come in! Oh, my, look at this mess. The house is a total disaster."
He stepped aside, eagerly clearing the way.
"Xiuying, don’t just stand there! Quick, pour some water! Get out that box of good tea!"
Liu Xiuying, as if waking from a dream, finally snapped out of it. She answered in agreement and fumbled to turn and head inside, completely forgetting to put down the rag in her hand.
Chen Zhuo led the three men into the living room.
The living room wasn’t large, but it was neat and tidy.
There was an old sofa set draped with crocheted doilies, a bulky color television, and a floor fan in the corner, oscillating as it blew a cool breeze.

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