Chen Zhuo walked back to his dorm, his right hand clearly feeling the hard, unyielding bank card in his inner pocket through the thin fabric.
Inside lay two million.
A short while ago, he was in the School of Mathematics office, standing with Professor Li Jianming before a blackboard covered in a frenzied scrawl, touching the bottomless abyss of the Millennium Prize Problem—the Hodge Conjecture.
And now, he was walking along a lively asphalt road where two freshmen were endlessly debating whether the cafeteria’s steamed buns had a meat filling.
The sudden sense of disconnect felt rather strange to Chen Zhuo.
He went upstairs, but instead of returning to 215, he pushed open the door to dorm 216.
As soon as he opened it, a gust of hot air—a mixture of instant noodles and the exhaust from a computer case fan—hit him in the face.
The main light in the dorm was off; only the monitor on Chu Ge’s desk cast a blinding glare.
Chu Ge was wearing headphones, his brow furrowed in concentration. His hands flew across the keyboard with a CLACK-CLACK-CLACK, lines of code scrolling rapidly down the screen. Next to him sat a half-finished bottle of iced black tea.
Lu Jia wasn’t around; he had probably gone off to some study room to wrestle with his mathematical models again.
Chen Zhuo walked over, his steps light.
He stood behind Chu Ge, watching the underlying architecture on the screen for a moment without a word, not wanting to disturb him.
Only when Chu Ge finished a block of code, hit Enter, and picked up his iced tea for a drink did Chen Zhuo raise a hand and gently tap the back of his chair.
Chu Ge pulled off one side of his headphones and turned to look.
"What’s up, Brother Zhuo? Why aren’t you in your own room this late? You here for a surprise inspection?"
"Came to borrow something."
Chen Zhuo smiled warmly.
"Borrow what? Money? If you need a grand or two, I can spot you right now."
Chu Ge turned to face him.
"I need to borrow a phone to make a long-distance call."
Chu Ge paused for a second, then casually grabbed something from his cluttered desk and, without looking, tossed it to Chen Zhuo.
Chen Zhuo caught it.
It was a Nokia candy bar phone.
It had a dark blue case and felt heavy in his hand, possessing a solid, industrial feel that was characteristic of its time.
"Go ahead. I just added a hundred yuan to it. Just don’t use it all up and get the line suspended."
Chu Ge waved a hand, put his headphones back on, and his eyes returned to his code.
Chen Zhuo nodded.
"Thanks."
He left room 216 with the phone, pulling the door shut behind him.
Chen Zhuo didn’t make the call in the dormitory hallway.
He carried the phone downstairs and followed the glow of the streetlights all the way to the athletic field.
The field wasn’t crowded.
In the distance, a few boys were playing a half-court game under the faint light of a basketball hoop. The dull thud of the ball on the court, punctuated by occasional shouts, drifted over on the autumn wind.
Chen Zhuo walked to the top of the bleachers.
It was quiet up here, and the wind was a little stronger.
He found a relatively clean spot on the steps, dusted it off with his hand, and sat down.
A chill seeped up from the late-autumn concrete.
Chen Zhuo looked down and pressed the Nokia’s unlock button.
The screen lit up with that iconic, era-defining yellowish-green backlight, which seemed a bit harsh in the dark.
Relying on memory, he keyed in a number he knew by heart and pressed the call button.
He pressed the phone to his ear.
The rhythmic RING... RING... came from the earpiece.
In that moment, a lot of things flashed through Chen Zhuo’s mind.
Thoughts about the top-secret agreement, about the Alchemist’s concession, about the forty million grids—it all came down to the bank card in his inner pocket.
After five rings, the call was answered.
"Hello?"
His mother, Liu Xiuying’s, voice came through the earpiece. In the background, he could hear a historical drama playing on TV, the faint sound of clashing swords just barely audible.
"Mom, it’s me."
Chen Zhuo’s voice was soft, with its usual gentleness.
"Xiaozhuo?"
Liu Xiuying’s voice immediately rose a few pitches, and the sound of the TV in the background instantly faded. She must have hit the mute button.
"Why are you calling so late at night? Whose phone is this? I don’t recognize the number."
"It’s my roommate’s. I came downstairs to borrow it for a long-distance call."
Chen Zhuo said with a laugh.
"Oh my, borrowing a classmate’s phone for a long-distance call? That must cost a fortune per minute! Couldn’t this wait? You could have written a letter or used a payphone tomorrow. You silly boy, make it quick, don’t run up your friend’s phone bill."
Liu Xiuying’s money-saving instincts kicked in immediately.
Sitting on the cold bleachers listening to his mom’s nagging, Chen Zhuo didn’t feel the least bit annoyed. In fact, the smile on his face only deepened.
He didn’t get straight to the point, but instead followed her lead.
"It’s nothing urgent. I just wanted to ask how you and Dad are doing. Is everything all right at home?"
The moment she heard her son ask about home, Liu Xiuying’s attention was immediately diverted.
"We’re doing fine. It’s just your dad’s beat-up old bicycle—the chain broke again on his way home from work today. He pushed it all the way to Old Li’s repair stall at the corner, and can you believe it? Old Li wanted five yuan just to replace the chain! Your dad argued with him for ages but ended up paying. Five yuan! That’s enough for a good chunk of meat."
Liu Xiuying sighed on the other end of the line and launched into her usual litany of complaints.
"And the pork ribs at the market went up another two mao today. And that Butcher Wang, his knife work is getting more and more crooked. The cuts he gives are all bone..."
Chen Zhuo listened in silence.
The autumn wind blew through his hair.
He didn’t interrupt.
’This was the logic of the older generation’s life: penny-pinching over price hikes of a few cents, finding balance amidst the minor bumps and scrapes of daily existence.’

Comments

Loading...