April 12, 2002.
9:30 PM.
Chen Zhuo’s family’s 21-inch Changhong color TV was still on. The show *Legal Report* was playing, and a young, serious Sa Beining was analyzing a bizarre case on screen.
But no one was watching.
The TV’s volume was turned way down.
The air in the room was stuffy. It was that time of year again—the humid season.
Chen Zhuo was sitting in his small room.
He was packing his school bag.
There wasn’t really much to pack.
A few changes of underwear, a couple of books to read on the road, and a water bottle.
But he was packing very slowly.
The commotion in the living room made him feel that if he finished too quickly and went out, he would be met with an even more suffocating display of affection.
"Jianguo, do you think sewing the money here is okay?"
Liu Xiuying’s hushed voice came from the living room.
Chen Zhuo peeked out through the crack in the door.
He saw Liu Xiuying sitting on the sofa, holding a new pair of his underwear. A pair of reading glasses, one arm broken and taped together, rested on the bridge of her nose as she threaded a needle.
Her movements were meticulous and determined.
She was sewing a fifty-yuan bill into the small, hidden pocket on the inside of the underwear.
This was standard procedure for long journeys in those days.
It was chaotic outside. The train and bus stations were full of pickpockets; the only truly safe place was right against your skin.
"Yeah, that’s fine. Sew it tight."
Chen Jianguo sat on a stool nearby, an unlit half-smoked Hongtashan cigarette pinched between his fingers.
He wasn’t smoking it. He had to help his son pack today and was afraid the smoke would cling to the new clothes.
At his feet was a mesh bag.
It was filled to the brim with tea eggs.
He had started boiling them after dinner, using a full half-pound of tea leaves and a large handful of star anise and cinnamon. They were now giving off a rich, almost bitter, braised aroma.
"You think thirty tea eggs is enough?"
Chen Jianguo looked anxiously at the mesh bag.
"It’s a long way to the Provincial City. What if there’s traffic? What if the kid can’t get used to the food there?"
"It’s more than enough! Do you think he’s fleeing a famine?"
Liu Xiuying bit off the thread, folded the underwear, and picked up a new pair of socks to inspect.
"The school chartered a bus, a King Long, with air conditioning. He’ll be staying in a guest house when he gets there. You think he won’t have food to eat?"
"It’s not the same."
Chen Jianguo shook his head, his brow knitted into a deep frown.
"I hear the food in the Provincial City is bland, no flavor. Besides, these eggs aren’t just for our son."
He pointed at the mesh bag.
"They’re also for his teachers, Old Zhou and Old Zhao. Those two are going with him, it’s hard work. We don’t have anything impressive to give, but these tea eggs are homemade. They’re clean, a heartfelt gesture."
As he spoke, he seemed to remember something, abruptly stood up, and turned toward the storage room.
"No, that won’t do. I’ve got a bottle of Erguotou that’s been sitting there for three years. I’ll pack that too. What if the teachers want a couple of drinks in the evening? Better to bring it, just in case."
Liu Xiuying grabbed him.
"Are you crazy? He’s going to a competition, not on vacation! What kind of message does bringing liquor send? People will think we’re trying to bribe them!"
"This is just how the world works! You don’t understand a..."
"Chen Jianguo, you sit right back down!"
A hushed argument erupted in the living room.
Chen Zhuo sat at his desk, listening to the trivial, anxious, and even tedious conversation.
He didn’t find it annoying.
This was a clumsy, cautious love, terrified that the slightest oversight would cause their child to suffer while he was away.
A love that smelled of braised eggs and the sharp bite of Erguotou.
Chen Zhuo sighed softly.
From the very bottom of his bag, he pulled out a black velvet pouch.
The pouch wasn’t his.
It belonged to Old Zhou.
「Five hours earlier.」
After school, in the physics lab.
The sun was setting. Old Zhou had shooed everyone else away, keeping only Chen Zhuo behind.
Then, he walked over to his desk—a mess that resembled a pigsty—and pulled open the bottom drawer, the one that was usually locked year-round and that no one was ever allowed to touch.
A soft clink of metal against metal.
Old Zhou took out the black velvet pouch.
"Catch."
Old Zhou tossed the pouch over. His movement was as casual as if he were tossing a pack of cigarettes, but his eyes followed it the whole way, filled with the reluctance of a father marrying off his daughter.
Chen Zhuo caught it.
It was a little heavy in his hand. The feel of metal came through the velvet into his palm.
He opened the pouch.
Inside lay a black machine, a rectangular solid with slightly rounded edges.
The body was very thin, a stunning feat of engineering for that era.
Its surface was made of carbon-fiber-reinforced plastic, which gave off a low-key, deep black sheen.
On the top of the lid was a long, thin LCD screen. Next to it were several gold-stamped letters. Though somewhat worn, they were still clearly legible:
Sony Discman D-777.
Below this line of text was another, smaller line: 10sec ESP.
This was the legendary device Sony launched in 1995, the D-777, revered by audiophiles as the "King of Discmen." In an age when most people couldn’t even afford a cassette player, the price of this thing was astronomical.
Chen Zhuo was stunned for a moment.
"Teacher Zhou, this is..."
"It’s for you to borrow."
Old Zhou sat in his wicker chair, pulled a crumpled pack of Hongtashans from his pocket, and lit one.
"This thing’s been with me for almost seven years."
Old Zhou squinted, his gaze distant, as if he were looking through the smoke at some bygone, unresigned past.
"It was ’95. I’d just been named a Provincial Outstanding Teacher and got a bonus.
I was only in my early thirties back then, full of ambition. I thought I could still do some research, climb the ladder, move to the Provincial City, maybe even to the Capital City."
Old Zhou gave a self-deprecating laugh and flicked his ash.
"Back then, I just wanted to buy something nice, something to listen to high-brow classical music on, to make myself feel like an intellectual.
This machine cost me several months’ salary. My wife argued with me about it for half a month."
"And what happened?"
Old Zhou sighed, his voice growing a little hoarse.
"I barely even listened to it after I bought it. After getting that award, I just put down roots in this lab.
Every day, I’m here teaching a bunch of middle schoolers about friction and Ohm’s Law.
Research? That dream was ground away long ago by the daily grind of life."
"This machine, sitting here with me, is just a dust-collecting piece of metal. Just like my brain—it’s about to rust solid."
Old Zhou pointed at the machine in Chen Zhuo’s hand.
"This trip to the Provincial City... it’s a long way, and it’ll be crowded."
"I asked about the bus the school chartered. They claim it’s a ’deluxe air-conditioned coach,’ but that just means it’s sealed too tight. With dozens of people cooped up inside, the smell..."
Old Zhou wrinkled his nose.
"And those kids like Wang Yang, they’re bound to be nervously chattering away."
"Take it."
"When it gets annoying, put this on. Physics requires quiet. So does your brain."
Chen Zhuo caressed the machine’s cool casing.
He could feel that the device had been extremely well-maintained. Even the headphone cord was neatly wound without a single crease.
’This isn’t a forgotten piece of metal.’
’It’s a treasured dream.’
’A dream of what might have been—if he hadn’t just ended up a middle school teacher, if he had been able to go to bigger places.’
Seven years ago, an ambitious, high-spirited Old Zhou bought it.
Seven years later, a stubble-faced Old Zhou handed it to Chen Zhuo.
"Thank you, Teacher."
Chen Zhuo didn’t refuse, nor did he say anything sentimental.
He put the machine in his pocket. It felt heavy.
Old Zhou fished another CD out of the drawer and tossed it over, complete with its scratched transparent jewel case.
"And this."
"Don’t listen to any of that pop music. That stuff will only mess with your head. It’s all just the smell of teenage hormones and puppy love."
Chen Zhuo caught the CD.
On the cover was a black-and-white photograph.
Glenn Gould.
*Goldberg Variations*.
The 1981 version.
"This piece..."
Old Zhou blew a smoke ring.
"Gould said it’s full of symmetry, recursion, all sorts of convoluted structures. All I know is that it makes me sleepy, like a lullaby."
"You take it and listen."
Old Zhou waved his hand, as if shooing something away.
"Maybe you can get something out of it."
「Back in the present.」
Chen Zhuo took the CD from its case and carefully snapped it onto the D-777’s spindle.
CLICK.
The sound of the lid closing was crisp and pleasant, carrying the sense of precision unique to Japanese electronics of the 90s.
He picked up the original pair of slightly yellowed Sony E741 earbuds and put them in his ears.
He pressed the small, circular play button on the side of the device.
The music didn’t start immediately.
First came a faint hiss, like the sound of an electrical current.
And then.
A piano melody—cool, solitary, and with a sharp, granular texture—flowed out like quicksilver.
It was the Aria.
Followed by the variations.
There was no superfluous emotional outburst, no Romantic sentimentality.
Only the counterpoint of the left and right hands, only the seamless fit of melody and harmony.
It was like two sets of precision gears meshing and turning in a vacuum.
Chen Zhuo closed his eyes.
The sounds of Liu Xiuying and Chen Jianguo arguing outside the door, the barking of the stray dog downstairs, the honking of cars on the distant road...
Everything was shut out by this invisible wall of sound.
The world became pure.
Both cold and deeply affectionate.
Chen Zhuo took a deep breath, then slowly let it out.
He placed the CD player in the outermost side pocket of his bag, the easiest place to reach it.
’This isn’t just a portable player.’
’This is a portable field of silence, on loan from Old Zhou.’
"Son! Are you done packing? Come out and have a glass of milk! Drink it and get to bed early! You have to wake up early tomorrow!"
Liu Xiuying’s loud voice from outside the door shattered the piano’s lingering resonance.
Chen Zhuo took off the earbuds and hung them around his neck.
"Coming,"
he called out, and pushed open the door.

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