On an October morning, the air in Huizhou had a dry, cold crispness to it.
Chen Zhuo had his jacket zipped up to the collar, hands stuffed in his pockets, as he walked slowly along the sidewalk toward the school gate.
His pace was neither fast nor slow. His breath formed little white clouds in the air before quickly dissipating.
After leaving the school gate, he turned right and followed Construction Road past two traffic lights to reach a downtown branch of the Industrial and Commercial Bank of China.
It was just past nine o’clock, and the morning rush hour on the streets had already ended.
A few breakfast stalls by the roadside selling egg-filled pancakes and fried dough sticks were packing up. The grinding of tricycle chains mingled with the hawkers’ cries.
Chen Zhuo pushed open the bank’s main doors. The lobby wasn’t crowded; only four or five middle-aged and elderly people were sitting on the connected chairs, waiting to be served.
Chen Zhuo didn’t go to the ticket machine to get a number.
He walked straight toward the VIP area for corporate services and large-sum wealth management on the left side of the lobby.
The space was partitioned off with semi-frosted glass, and it was quiet inside.
Chen Zhuo walked to an empty window, pulled out the chair, and sat down.
The female teller behind the glass counter looked up.
She was wearing a standard-issue dark blue uniform with a silk scarf tied around her neck. When she saw that the person sitting on the other side was a boy who looked thirteen or fourteen at most, a flicker of surprise crossed her eyes.
"Young man, this is the window for corporate and large-sum transactions. For regular deposits, withdrawals, or tuition payments, you need to get a number in the main lobby and wait in line."
The teller’s tone was gentle enough, but it carried a clear hint of admonishment.
Chen Zhuo didn’t explain.
He took his hand out of his school uniform pocket. Pinched between his index and middle fingers was a bank card, which he passed through the metal slot at the bottom of the counter, along with his ID card.
It was a black debit card with a special gold-stamped logo in the bottom-right corner.
This was a special account that the Alchemist had opened with the ICBC, using the standing of the School of Physics and the name of a national key project.
The moment the teller saw the card, she swallowed the words she had been about to say.
She picked up the card, typed a few things on her keyboard, then picked up the ID card and glanced at it.
Name: Chen Zhuo.
Age: Thirteen.
The account balance popped up on the screen.
The teller’s breath caught for half a second, and her fingers subconsciously tightened on the mouse.
But her excellent professionalism allowed her to quickly regain her composure. The only change was in her gaze toward Chen Zhuo; the initial casualness was gone, replaced by a business-like solemnity.
"Mr. Chen, what can I help you with today?"
The teller’s form of address had changed.
"An interbank transfer."
Chen Zhuo’s voice was steady, carrying through the glass with the unique clarity of a young man.
"Alright. And what is the transfer amount?"
"Five hundred thousand."
The teller asked no more questions. She pulled out a transfer slip from the side, and pushed it through the slot along with a black gel pen.
"Please fill out the recipient’s account information and the amount."
Chen Zhuo picked up the pen.
He didn’t hesitate, nor did he need to consult any notes.
He held the pen and neatly wrote Chen Jianguo’s name on the slip, along with the bank and account number he knew by heart.
Each stroke was firm, pressing deep into the paper.
In the amount field, he wrote 500,000.00, and in the space for the written-out amount, he wrote "Five Hundred Thousand Yuan Only."
This wasn’t just a string of numbers.
This was security for his parents’ later years. It was a large house with floor heating in the city center. It was the confidence for Liu Xiuying to buy meat at the market without having to haggle over twenty cents.
After he finished writing, Chen Zhuo double-checked the slip and pushed it back.
The teller took the slip and began to rapidly enter the information into the computer.
The sound of the keyboard tapping was especially clear in the quiet VIP area.
"Recipient Chen Jianguo, interbank transfer of five hundred thousand, fifty-yuan service fee to be deducted from the card balance. Mr. Chen, please confirm the information and enter your PIN."
Chen Zhuo pressed six digits on the PIN pad.
BEEP.
"Transaction in progress. Please wait."
After a moment of silence, the dot-matrix printer behind the counter whirred to life, printing out a receipt that smelled of ink.
The teller stamped it with a red official seal and handed it back to Chen Zhuo along with his bank card and ID.
"Mr. Chen, the transfer has been sent. It’s expected to arrive in the recipient’s account before two o’clock this afternoon. Please keep your receipt and documents safe. There are significant funds in this account, so please be mindful of card security."
"Thank you."
Chen Zhuo put the card and ID back in his pocket, picked up the thin receipt, folded it twice, and stuffed it into his pocket.
He stood up, pushed the chair back to its original position, and turned to walk out of the bank.
There was no long sigh of relief, no ecstasy of becoming rich overnight.
His pace was the same as when he had arrived—neither fast nor slow.
The task was done. That was all.
Stepping out of the bank’s main doors, the cold wind once again blew against his face.
Chen Zhuo walked a short distance down the street.
At the street corner, there was a China Mobile service center next to a digital electronics store. The store’s glass window was filled with colorful posters of various phone models.
Chen Zhuo pushed open the glass door of the electronics store.
Pop music was playing inside, and a few customers were at the counter picking out MP3 players and portable cassette players.
Chen Zhuo walked to the counter where they sold mobile phones.
The glass counter was dazzling, filled with flip phones, slider phones, and entertainment models with various colorful shells.
A male clerk with a buzz cut came over and glanced at Chen Zhuo’s school uniform.
"Hey, student, looking for a phone? We just got a few new models with polyphonic ringtones. They can also play the radio. The price isn’t bad, either. Perfect for students."
The clerk enthusiastically pointed to a few small, compact models.
Chen Zhuo shook his head.
His gaze passed over the flashy devices and landed on a row of candy bar phones in the corner of the counter.
"I want a Nokia."
Chen Zhuo pointed at the glass.
"No colorful shells. I want the model with the most stable signal, the longest battery life, and the most responsive keyboard. Preferably a business model with a metal casing."
The clerk was taken aback for a moment.
’A middle schooler comes in and asks for a business phone right off the bat, with no interest in entertainment features.’
But he was a salesman, and he quickly recovered, pulling a square, gray-black box from under the counter.
"Then take a look at this one."
The clerk skillfully opened the packaging and took out a device.
"The Nokia 6230. Classic candy bar design. It has a small camera, but the main selling point is its signal receiver, which is the strongest on the market right now. The keypad is made of hard engineering plastic, giving it excellent tactile feedback, and the battery capacity is large. It can last a whole week on pure standby."
Chen Zhuo took the phone.
The body felt heavy in his hand, and the casing had a matte texture.
He pressed a few of the keys on the nine-key numeric keypad with his thumb.
The keys made a crisp sound, and the spring-back was just right.
"This is the one."
Chen Zhuo placed the phone on the glass counter.
"How much?"
"The phone is two thousand eight hundred. If you need a SIM card, we have China Mobile’s M-Zone and GoTone plans."
"I’ll get a GoTone card. And a number without the digit 4, if possible."
A few minutes later, Chen Zhuo paid in cash and walked out of the electronics store with the new phone, its SIM card already installed.
He didn’t put the phone in his pocket.
He just kept it in his hand as he walked to a bus stop by the side of the road.
Behind the bus shelter was a long bench for people to rest on.
Chen Zhuo walked over and sat down.
Sunlight filtered through the bare branches, dappling his shoulders.
He looked down at the gray-black Nokia in his hand. The screen lit up, the familiar "Connecting People" handshake animation flashed by, accompanied by the classic Nokia startup chime.
The signal bar in the top-left corner was instantly full.
Chen Zhuo went into the menu, found the contacts option, and selected "New Contact."
He had many numbers stored in his head. Now, he needed to save them in this phone, a phone that was his own.
The first entry.
In the name field, he typed the pinyin: J-I-A. Home.
In the number field, he entered the landline number for his home in Zeyang City.
Save.
’He recalled Liu Xiuying’s voice on the phone last night, shifting from panic to determination. This afternoon, Dad—Chen Jianguo—would probably be taking the passbook to go look at houses in the city center.’
The second entry.
New Contact.
Name: Z-H-A-N-G-Q-I-A-N-G. Zhang Qiang.
In the number field, he entered the landline number for Zhang Qiang’s home.
Save.
’I wonder how Zhang Qiang is doing with his quadratic functions now. I hope he hasn’t forgotten that red-and-blue coloring method. When I go back for the holidays, if that kid still can’t solve the problems, he’s going to pull a long face and start whining about wanting to play arcade games again.’
The third entry.
New Contact.
Name: L-A-O-Z-H-A-O. Old Zhao.
Save.
The fourth entry.
New Contact.
Name: L-A-O-Z-H-O-U. Old Zhou.
Save.
They were his start at City No.1 Middle School, two teachers with vastly different personalities who had both poured their hearts into teaching him.
Chen Zhuo typed at a measured pace. With every name he saved, he would picture the person’s face in his mind.
It was a very grounding feeling.
Then, he continued saving more contacts.
Name: C-H-U-G-E. Chu Ge.
Name: W-A-N-G-D-A-Y-O-N-G. Wang Dayong.
Name: L-U-J-I-A. Lu Jia.
Name: S-U-W-E-I. Su Wei.
...
He finished saving all the contacts.
From this moment on, this small, gray-black candy bar phone pulled Chen Zhuo into the age of communication.
Chen Zhuo exited the contacts, went into the messaging menu, and selected "New Message."
His thumb pressed rapidly on the keys.
"I bought a phone. This is my new number. Chen Zhuo."
He selected all the contacts he had just saved and hit "Send to all."
The screen showed "Sending..." The progress bar filled up quickly, then changed to "Message Sent."
Chen Zhuo placed the phone on his lap and sat quietly.
The sunlight was a bit dazzling.
Less than half a minute later, BUZZ—
The phone vibrated.
Chen Zhuo picked up the phone and opened the unread message.
Sender: Chu Ge.
Message: "Got it. You out? On your way back to the dorm, swing by Dining Hall No. 2 and grab me some fried rice. No scallions. I’m starving."
A slight smile touched the corner of Chen Zhuo’s mouth. He replied with a single word.
"Okay."
Just as he sent it, BUZZ—
Sender: Alchemist.
Message: "Saved. Come to my office at nine tomorrow morning. There are a few engineering data files that need your signature for final archiving."
Reply: "Understood."
The final reply came in. It was a call from the landline back home, likely from Zhang Qiang.
There was no message, however. Just a single ring before the call was dropped.
It was a tacit understanding unique to that era.
One ring meant "message received," and it saved the cost of a text.
Chen Zhuo smiled.
He locked the keypad and slipped the heavy phone into his pocket.
He stood up and started walking along Construction Road in the direction of Keda.
As he passed an intersection, he saw a tricycle cart parked on the corner selling roasted sweet potatoes. The aroma of sweet potatoes drifted from its metal drum.
Chen Zhuo walked over.
"Sir, I’ll have a roasted sweet potato. A slightly burnt one, please."
"You got it."
The old man, wearing thick gloves, fished a steaming hot sweet potato from deep inside the metal drum, wrapped it in a piece of old newspaper, and handed it to Chen Zhuo.
"Two yuan."
Chen Zhuo paid and cradled the roasted sweet potato in his hands.
Its searing heat seeped through the old newspaper to his palms, feeling exceptionally comforting in the late autumn’s cold wind.
He took a bite of the sweet potato as he walked, its sweet and fragrant flavor filling his mouth.

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