Fourteen, Undercover
There was a medical report that said the most painful thing in the world is childbirth, followed by burns and so on. However, this cannot be used as an excuse to say that women are born with original sin, because men's nervous systems are naturally more sensitive, which means that under the same external stimuli, men actually feel more intense pain. In this sense, the latter indeed has some innate delicacy. The creator likes to play with similar dynamic balances, such as the birth ratio of male and female newborns is approximately 1.09:1, but the average lifespan of the latter is about 9% longer than that of the former. Therefore, theoretically speaking, there are no lonely men or widows. So, those who ask how many worries one has are all caused by humans themselves, and cannot be blamed on God.
It's not just the physical pain, but men and women have fundamentally different perceptions of the external world. Women, who are already physically weak, are burdened by cultural customs and become even more fragile, screaming at the sight of a cockroach and having to control their emotions to avoid being seen as fake; yet when disaster strikes, they show almost invincible resilience. On the other hand, men, who appear fearless on a daily basis, often turn out to be cowards in times of crisis, with many traitors among them. As Jia Baoyu, the greatest advocate for female superiority, said: "Those mustachioed fools only know how to die for literature or war, but what's the point of dying? Wouldn't it be better not to die at all? They only care about seeking fame and fortune, and in doing so, they abandon their lord and country."
Since childhood, Wu Yu has been accustomed to being alone and is not the kind of woman who pretends to be dependent on others. Although Xiang Shang often "stays out late", she doesn't show any signs of loneliness or regret for teaching her husband how to become a noble. Instead, she enjoys the freedom and ease, keeping everything in order at home and taking care of her family with ease. However, it's somewhat comical that such a capable woman needs to have her little son go to the school gate to pick her up before nightfall. It seems that the world can't do without anyone, and since Pangu created the heavens and earth, men and women have been complementing each other all along, just like a poem says: "I come from Lantian Yuanyu, you come from Beijing Zhoukou; I hold your fluffy hand, it's love that makes us walk upright."
Actually, classmate Zhen Liu was eager to go out and get some fresh air, but not because he had a lot of elegant gentlemanly demeanor. It's mainly because he didn't dare stay home alone until late at night. However, he no longer had the physical strength of his youth, and he wasn't sure if he could wear a big coat and ride a bike back and forth for twenty or thirty kilometers. Moreover, after getting used to taking taxis, he didn't even have a bicycle anymore. This little problem was not difficult for "Er Kongming", who had a lot of ghost ideas. He had already thought of a temporary place to stay overnight, which could avoid the embarrassment of exhaustion and create a warm and intimate "two-person world".
In fact, the little secret of "small nine" couldn't be hidden from Wu Yu, who had watched him grow up. When Xiao Pang first mentioned that there was a more suitable place to temporarily stay, she had already guessed eight or nine out of ten. The boy's words were indeed referring to the underground room of the Institute's newspaper editorial department - Yi Xin's idle "revolutionary site". Xu Zhenliu originally planned to quietly clean up the place and surprise everyone later, but forgot that he had repeatedly nostalgically recalled his youthful memories in front of Teacher Wu; she also knew that although he had moved to the research institute side to live, Zhenliu still often went back to revisit old haunts, such as going to nearby departments for classes.
Despite this, Xu Zhènliú still thought that Wu Yǔ would feel excited, at least a little comforted. However, unexpectedly, she expressed her principled support for the initiative, but subtly revealed a sense of heaviness, which didn't seem to be distrust towards Zhènliú, who had never treated her as an outsider, but rather a kind of avoidance. Upon reflection, it seemed that every time Wu Yǔ mentioned something related to the small building and the school newspaper, she would have this expression, both suppressed and wandering. According to Zhènliú's observation, Wu Yǔ was very familiar with the place, finding the water room and washroom with ease without needing introduction. What was even stranger was that Wu Yǔ seemed particularly interested in the small house opposite Yì Xīn's old residence, lingering in front of it several times, but when asked by Zhènliú, she would look around and change the subject, not explaining herself. Later on, whenever they passed by that place, Little Wu Teacher would no longer stop, but still often sneak a glance...
This time, one of the main contents of the city's secondary education system backbone rotation training is to strengthen foreign language ability. As an organic part of the Olympic Games, it is said that there are special funds to guarantee it, but when it comes to each participant, there is only a free boxed meal with chicken legs left. Zhenliu really can't understand why the education front serving the next generation of workers, peasants and soldiers still needs to popularize foreign language qualification certification, and makes a big fuss about it. Can't the language class be taught in English? In fact, even if there are enemy agents who dare to sneak into the heavily guarded campus to "listen in", it doesn't matter. The young heroes in the Qing Dynasty have plenty of them, and the Associated Press reporters will take care of them without fail. Who dares to speak out of turn and disobey the four basic principles will end up like this.
Even someone like Wu Yu, a "finished product", has to be repeatedly refined, let alone Xu Chenliu and others who are cross-century talents. This semester's foreign language reading and writing course, the institute somehow managed to spend a lot of money to hire a "migrant worker from outside Beijing" who is always wandering around the borders of Canada and the United States (where there is free trade and mutual visa exemptions, you can come and go as you please, stay wherever it's cool, without any "temporary residence permit" checks).
"Everyone, please read the article I just sent carefully and write a summary before break," said Kristin, a foreign teacher from the University of Toronto's East Asian Studies program. She is known for her authentic Beijing accent, which she claims to have learned from a "Made in China" bride who moved overseas. Compared to the Jiangsu and Zhejiang gangs in the research institute, she is much more fluent. It's true that you get what you pay for - since she's teaching reading and writing, she doesn't even give us a chance to practice our listening skills along the way. Except for a few scattered words, everything is authentic Mandarin, and she even lets us help correct her pronunciation and learn together. It seems like she came here for paid training with us.
The article sent to you today is marked as coming from Milan Kundera, and its content is roughly a protest against the authoritarian system of former Eastern European socialist countries. Specifically, it reveals the universal phenomenon of freedom of speech not being guaranteed, with wording that is very consistent with the author's usual ironic style.
In fact, this is not the first time that such a "sensitive" topic has appeared in class. If it can be said that the foreign expert Kristin has some special background or ulterior motives, then her obvious ideological bias is an indisputable fact. In fact, not only she, but also those who are different from us, with their "rites and teachings", and the missionaries who came to China with great enthusiasm and selflessness, often voluntarily advocate for their values, and sometimes this is just a subtle expression, but it has a powerful influence that is imperceptible. In the late 1920s and early 1930s, there were 100,000 Americans who immigrated to the newly born Soviet Union; reports say that now, the number of foreign residents in Beijing alone exceeds this number, but they are no longer coming for the pursuit of light.
There was a time when Qian Liu inadvertently saw Kristin's lesson plan on the podium, with Dean Mi's familiar cursive signature flying across it. To be honest, this kind of auditing lesson plans is usually only assigned to secretaries. It is said that being able to invite doctoral-level foreign teachers is one of the merits of the old man before his retirement. Professor Mi specializes in Stalinist linguistics and studied in Moscow in his early years. He once personally listened to Chairman Mao's teachings: "The world belongs to you, but it also belongs to us, but ultimately it still belongs to you..."
"Everyone's summary is well-written," Kristin teacher seemed to be very satisfied with the speed at which her mother tongue culture conquered the last "heterodox fortress", and was a bit complacent: "Next, let's write another short article on our views on freedom of speech, we can discuss it together." She took action herself, apparently she couldn't even care about classroom discipline.
Actually, you only need to search a bit and you will find that this so-called manifesto is not written by Kundara at all. It's probably just the work of some unknown person. Only the opening paragraph with blurred italics comes from that literary genius who has narrowly missed the Nobel Prize several times: "When humans think, God laughs. Don't worry about God's laughter, his smile is full of understanding and trust. Only when human willfulness and selfishness are under his control, only when human thoughts are not destroying their own existence, only when humans constantly reflect on their weaknesses and strive to discover the beautiful light in human nature, will God make such a joyful laugh. Perhaps when humans stop thinking, God will be enraged."
Xu Chenliu, an amateur etymologist, knew that Kristin, the teacher who always sat on the first row of desks to teach, had a name originating from Greek, meaning "follower of Christ".
"Come on, I'm hungry too," After the "brainwashing class", Cheng Yifei insisted on pulling Xu Zhenliu to a hot pot restaurant near the dormitory. Since they met this morning, he had been nagging, no matter how Xu Zhenliu dodged and weaved, he was determined to have lunch together with him.
Actually, Xiaopang understood very well that Cheng Yi was acting out of character because he wanted to return the favor for sending food to Lu Yuanhang and squeezing away the person who had been bothering him. Since then, he had expressed similar intentions many times. This young man from Yueyang had always been like this, never letting others take advantage of him easily, even if there were minor frictions, he would definitely repay them doubly. Of course, this was not wrong, if everyone could give out a little love, the world would become a beautiful place; but the problem was that when friends were always so calculating with each other, it made people feel like there was something missing, just like couples who never quarreled often found it hard to truly communicate. Occasionally colliding with each other, they could spark the fire of trust between them.
Zhen Liu thinks that this is probably a kind of moral cleanliness, and any slight clue might swell into Cheng Yi's heart disease; if you don't go with the flow, he'll have to keep struggling like this, making everyone feel uneasy: "Alright, I haven't eaten mutton for days either," no big deal, at worst just wait for another chance to push the dominoes back.
"Cheng Yi," just out of the building, a handsome guy with a charming smile ran over: "You'd better hurry up, Teacher Qi is in a rush for it." No need to mention, he was probably that doctoral fellow Cheng Yi often mentioned, who was helping their supervisor translate papers together. Nowadays, being able to publish articles in foreign journals is considered an achievement, and at the end of the year when evaluating academic achievements, one can be counted as ten. However, the generation delayed by the Gang of Four really wasn't good at bourgeois languages, so they had to "use Liao as a vanguard". No wonder now that many traditional subjects that have never been in contact with non-Chinese environments during recruitment place great emphasis on foreign language proficiency.
Psychological research has shown that more than 90% of human memory is latent, or not effectively utilized. Those so-called "intelligence development" methods that claim to enable children to easily recite the first 2,000 digits of pi (and get into Tsinghua and Peking University with ease) are based on this theory and are just scams. In fact, this mysterious hidden ability can emerge unexpectedly in certain special situations without needing any " sesame oil" to open the door. For example, when Xu Zhenliu met his senior fellow apprentice for the first time, he suddenly recognized him as the "little split head" who had waved at Wei Dan from the third-floor window half a month ago, even though he hadn't seen his face clearly at the time. Unfortunately, this ability is not always present, or else the little fatty would have figured out the scheme of the "old husband and young wife". However, perhaps it's precisely because people maintain this sense of mystery that unknown tomorrows will continue to attract our curiosity, allowing us to survive in a world full of thorns. As Kristin teacher's captive, Qundra once lamented: "If everyone had the ability to assassinate from a distance, humanity would probably be extinct within minutes."
"Where did Yuanhang go today? He didn't even come to class," said Cheng Yi, wiping the water vapor off his glasses with a soft cloth as he walked into the steaming hot pot city.
"I knew you'd ask her," Xu Zhongliu pretended to be nonchalant as he flipped through the menu: "You asked me out just for this, right?" In fact, Xu Zhongliu also felt very strange. Although Yuan Hang often played truant due to various bizarre reasons, he usually wouldn't make trouble in foreign language class. But today, for some unknown reason, he had unusually marked an attendance record.
"No, no," Cheng Yi hastily called the waiter to light the stove: "Just ask casually." He must have contacted the girl before, and it was only after there was no news that he had this episode.
Actually, Zhěn Liú didn't know what kind of trouble had arisen again. Since Yuǎn Háng hadn't actively contacted him, he knew that even if he blew up the phone on the other end, it would probably be more harm than good. Things are often like this: when others don't intend to give in, talking more is useless. On the streets, you can often see some poor devils chasing after their girlfriends' butts with a flattering smile, but the result is that not only does it strengthen the other person's determination, but also makes one's own pleading seem even cheaper. With the arrival of the democratic era, imposing oneself on others has become increasingly difficult, whether it's through verbal attacks or physical fights, and regardless of whose banner you're waving.
In the eyes of girls, male friends can be roughly divided into two categories: as buddies or as men; unfortunately, Xu Zhongliu belongs to the former in most cases. Boys like him, even if they are surrounded by beauties, no matter how close they are to you, only hold the key but don't take care of the house, and are not as good as those busy ducks who work hard every day and still have their own hard-earned money after a long time. As for Xu Zhongliu, he can only stare blankly. This is still an optimistic view, don't forget that thieves also get beaten sometimes, and being scolded is the lightest punishment. If they encounter someone with a bad temper, they might even get beaten up. Poor guys who are always under pressure, but actually, they are all making clothes for others. However, it's not bad to just have fun, at least they can make some noise and learn from Lei Feng's good example. The 17th National Congress report clearly pointed out that we should focus on cultivating "various market intermediary organizations", Xu Zhongliu has made a contribution to the four modernizations; just like modern financial institutions, the proportion of "self-owned assets" is sometimes less than 10%, which is called "borrowing power to strike". However, there is also a drawback to this approach, and that is the fear of accidents. When an economic crisis comes, stock managers will be the first to lose sleep.
As expected, Lu Yuanhang suddenly called at the stroke of midnight, still in a hurry, and had to meet immediately. Fortunately, the girl was already downstairs, so he didn't have to rush around frantically.
"What's going on?" Little Fatty didn't even have time to put on his coat, and it wasn't until he got to the courtyard that he felt how biting the night wind was.
Yuanhang was pacing back and forth like an ant on a hot pot, wearing only a thin short windbreaker despite her usual fear of the cold. Her cheeks were not as pale as they normally were: "My parents suddenly came to Beijing this morning," she said. In fact, Lu's mother had already sensed some clues and planned to accompany her daughter last October, but didn't return to Xi'an until the end of the month. If it weren't for a sudden major task at work that required the "reserve forces" to take up arms together, the old lady might still be fighting on; after all, when it came to her daughter's mental state, a mother's intuition was the most authoritative. At that time, things had already gone beyond just sprouting: "Someone called them... said..."
"Don't be in a hurry," Xu Zhongliu saw Yuan Hang was somewhat incoherent, and quickly gestured for her to take a walk outside the courtyard. Medical experts suggest that walking can make blood flow downward, thereby reducing anxiety; of course, this is only theoretically speaking: "Speak slowly."
"Anyway, they all know about me and Wei Yicheng," the girl said, kicking something hard, only to find it was a broken brick, half-buried in the frozen ground. Not only couldn't she kick it away, but she also stumbled: "Who did this?"
"Don't panic," Zi Liu seemed not to be surprised at all, he knew that this day would come sooner or later: "Maybe, maybe your parents are just suspicious..."
"It's impossible, oh dear, I won't go into details with you, anyway they already know everything, in great detail," Yuen Hong furrowed his brow: "Damn it!" For a girl from a book-loving family, this was the most extreme curse she could think of, not to express anger, but just an instinct when desperate.
Xu Zhongliu was trying his best to adjust his emotions, hoping to maintain the same psychological frequency as Lu Niang, but he couldn't help feeling tense, as if he had been worn out by the daily ups and downs: "That..."
"It must be Wei Dan," when Yuan Hang finally uttered the name that had been brewing for a long time, the anger from earlier seemed to have dissipated into thin air, replaced by a sense of calmness and helplessness. She understood that even if this speculation were true, she would have no say in the matter, as they were simply exercising their rights that had taken effect long ago. At this moment, social status equaled reason. Jing Liu thought back to a sentence she read in her father's notebook that night: "Time's verdict on the fate of those who come later is final and cannot be appealed."
"It's not necessarily her," Xu Zhēnliú muttered a few words, and suddenly, the image of his senior fellow apprentice, Chéng Yì, appeared clearly in his mind - a pair of calm eyes, dark cheeks, and a nose with a strong sense of line... Realizing he was distracted, Zhēnliú shook his head: "This is no longer important, what do you plan to do now?" He knew that Yuǎn Háng had come to ask for his opinion, but he also understood that ultimately, everything still had to be borne by the person involved, just like when they chose to start this relationship.
"They made an appointment with Wei Yicheng to meet tomorrow at noon," the girl turned to Xu Zhongliu, who had been following her: "Can you go with me?" In his silver-gray eyes, he seemed like the foolish old man who could move mountains.
"Have you contacted Teacher Wei?" Zhentao deliberately used this title, and many times the truly natural and proper things are easily forgotten by people. When everything finally returns to its original state, it will feel somewhat inexplicably strange.
"I'm so fed up with him, I've been calling all day," Lu Yuanhang suddenly burst out. In fact, under her parents' tight surveillance, the so-called "all day" was just a few limited opportunities to sneak in calls. Otherwise, she wouldn't have waited until now to think of Zhuo Liu: "The phone is always off, no one answers at home, what does he want to do?" Lu Yuanhang's long-held resentment finally had a chance to be vented, and she stared fiercely at some unknown place in front of her, with tears welling up in her eyes. After all, at this critical moment when she needed "shared honor and shame" the most, Zhuo Liu's comfort was far from enough. But even if Wei Yicheng could really come out to accompany her, what could he do? Unify their words or hold each other and cry?
"Then, then you plan..." Xu Zhongliu knew that now Far Voyage had obviously lost all sense of direction.
"Tomorrow, her 'lover' will go too," the girl used this term for the first time, perhaps she was just repeating her mother's tone from daytime.
Two people walked with their heads down on the sparsely populated pedestrian path, this small road near the airport highway was nearing the end of its renovation. To match the green Olympic concept, the newly built streetlights that were less than two years old had all been replaced with the latest solar-powered ones, reportedly a domestic brand. Although the cost was not cheap, they could save an average of 5% on electricity and would pay for themselves in just three hundred years, making it a worthwhile investment as a monumental achievement. Unfortunately, this new technology seemed to be still immature, the dazzling light did not last as long as before, and just a few meters away it was pitch black. As they walked through the alternating light and darkness, people's emotions also fluctuated wildly.
Since he stopped riding a bike to and from school, Zhou Fan had abandoned the habit of wearing gloves in winter. He never liked the suffocating feeling that came with them, preferring to be lightly dressed instead. In fact, Xiao Pang's large hands, which fully embodied the superiority of the socialist system, were thick and red like bear paws in the cold weather, especially when using body language; but when the heat of conversation dissipated, a sense of emptiness began to creep in as his hands hung in the cold wind. So he put his hands into the large pockets of his coat.
Suddenly, Xu Zhentao felt a warm package and took it out to see that it was a pack of freshly roasted amber walnuts, probably put there by Wu Yu before they left. She knew that with the boy's restless mouth, if she didn't prepare something in advance, once he got tired, he would probably go buy those unclean street foods again. So, to make people "not pick wildflowers by the roadside", it's best to proactively feed the greedy cat first, as fortresses are most easily breached from within. Marxism holds that external factors can only accelerate or delay change, but do not play a decisive role: "Try some, it smells great," although Zhentao knew that Lu would definitely struggle to "convert sorrow into appetite" now, she still advised her in a clichéd way to "abandon the past and focus on eating".
Lu Far-hang shook his head, glanced at the rapidly dwindling snacks in Xu Zhongliu's hand: "Made by Wu Yu, I suppose." The girl turned to the nearly dry ditch on the side of the road, a dark "ribbon" twisted and slid away, the gradually rising mist heralding the approaching thaw. "She's quite capable, actually." For some reason, whenever Lu Far-hang mentioned Little Wu, his tone was always tinged with disdain, even mockery.
Xu Zhongliu guessed that she would probably need to accompany Yuan Hang to let her parents take a look, to verify that she hadn't run away with malicious intent after being "double-regulated". Sure enough, when they arrived at the newly renovated reception hall, the girl's father was waiting there. Lu Mama, who usually took the lead, didn't appear, probably because she had already gotten tired of getting entangled in these trivial matters, or was conserving her energy for tomorrow's "peak showdown", or maybe both. In fact, this mother had always regretted not taking advantage of the opportunity to nip the problem in the bud last year, and now that they were trying to make up for lost time, they couldn't afford to make any more mistakes. Many times, it was the mentality of hiding one's illness and fearing treatment that was the culprit behind the collapse of a dike due to an ant hole.
At first glance, Luoye's father, a senior engineer at the national core technology research unit, bears some resemblance to a certain political bureau standing committee member who also comes from a technical background. Although he didn't become a powerful figure with the rigor of a science and engineering expert, Luoye's father's humble and gentle attitude and serious demeanor still reveal the introverted personality typical of Chinese intellectuals.
Xu Zhenliu originally thought that since he could attend tomorrow's summit as an observer, Luoye must have already confessed to his role in this matter. Even if Luoye's parents didn't know about Xu's behind-the-scenes manipulation and encouragement, they should at least be guilty of knowing but not reporting it. However, from Luoye's father's warm and friendly inquiries, he couldn't detect even a hint of suspicion.
No wonder people who work in natural sciences can also succeed in officialdom - those whose emotions are written on their faces aren't suited for politics. One's fate is indeed written on one's face, and physiognomy isn't entirely nonsense after all.
The next day, Faraway didn't send a text message until after lunch to inform Zhen Liu of the final negotiation location and time: "Three o'clock, Bamboo Forest Teahouse." When asked if he had already contacted Wei Yicheng, the other party replied, "Don't know."
Legend has it that Shennong, the Flame Emperor with a "doctor's heart", accidentally ingested a poisonous plant while collecting herbs, but fortunately discovered that the young leaves of the tea tree could also detoxify. From then on, this herb originating from the Yunnan-Guizhou Plateau became inextricably linked to this nation, evolving from medicine to beverage and eventually developing into a unique retail industry.
In the past, teahouses were divided into two types: "mixed water" which offered performances of music, dance, and acrobatics, and "clear water" where people sat and discussed philosophy. Both types belonged to urban culture that was popular among the common people, without any worries about being too refined or exclusive.
However, in today's era of rapid reform, even teahouses have undergone a transformation, changing from humble to luxurious, with prices skyrocketing into the tens of thousands after just a few cups. Fortunately, the "Bamboo Forest Teahouse" chosen for this gathering is relatively more reasonably priced, charging according to Japanese cuisine standards.
"Little Xu——" Just after crossing the road, I heard a slightly hoarse but still loud call from Faraway Mom.
"Auntie, Uncle..." Zhen Liang had just thought of breaking the ice to ease the slightly tense atmosphere, but before he could even open his mouth, his impatient mother pulled him aside.
"They've arrived," said Mrs. Lu, looking at the boy with trust: "Xiao Xu, you must, must help me, must make them give up, Xiao Xu..." She was so sincere that it was almost a plea.
Xu Zhènliú had expected this to happen today, but he was still a bit flustered: "Yes, yes," he thought that if he didn't make a promise that he wasn't at all sure about, his mother, who was on the verge of despair, would immediately burst into tears. "Don't worry, it's okay, it's okay," in fact, during this gathering, Zhènliú was at most just a dispensable buffer zone, unable to influence the development of the situation, but he understood that, just like the promise he made last night, the straw that saves one's life is not so much about its actual value as it is about psychological need.
Xu Zhongliu followed behind the three members of the Lu family, step by step moving towards the entrance of the teahouse. He was trying his best to adjust his state of mind, but just as he saw that enigmatic "lover" beside Wei Yicheng, his calm and collected heart suddenly vanished into thin air.
Zhao Rang
In my youth, I used to be puzzled as to why famous people often waited until their twilight years to write memoirs, and rashly thought that only those who had passed away would care about and reminisce about their "past glories". As I grew older, I gradually came to understand that when the hustle and bustle of life comes at you in waves, there's no time to savor the moments, just like how rodents stuff food into their cheek pouches and only take them out to enjoy slowly after they return to their nests. Only when the dust has settled can one carefully reflect and discern.
Xu Zhongliu glanced at Yuánháng beside him, and the girl seemed to have not shown excessive surprise; perhaps, with her feet in a mess, she had no mind to pay attention to these sudden changes.
Zhao Rang appeared very calm, seeing the four people who came together, she stood up and pulled out a chair that had already been in place: "It's not too cold today, is it?" She probably originally planned to warm everyone up first, but the waiter who had been waiting for a long time immediately came over. In European and American countries, from seven-star hotels to street cafes, there would never be a phenomenon where customers are forced to order with a sense of oppression in front of the dinner table. The so-called "waiter" (directly translated as "the person who waits") requires patience and cannot create an impression of being eager to take people's money. "What do you think we should order?" Dr. Zhao had obviously become accustomed to local customs, she picked up the tea menu on the table and handed it to Lu Dad.
"Come on, come on," said the father, who always had a thin-lipped mouth, pushing with both hands, but his eyes were looking at the mother who was far away.
Mr. Zhao smiled at the two old men, opened that exquisite leather-bound book and pointed to it, then turned to several guests: "They have 'Dian Hong' here, which might not be bad."
It was clear that Mrs. Lu had no interest in this tea product, which was successfully developed during the anti-Japanese war amidst continuous cannon fire; she fell silent for a moment, nodded to herself, and said, "You... you two scholars are very busy, we won't take up too much of your time." In fact, as a family member, she naturally understood that there were probably not many professions more leisurely than intellectuals. The saying from the Yuan Dynasty, "nine Confucians out of ten beggars," was probably ranked according to the degree of hard work; otherwise, it wouldn't have produced so many clever ideas: "Professor Wei has always been very helpful to Xiaohang, and we are all grateful for your help." Mrs. Lu's words did not seem like pure courtesy or a deliberate attempt to deceive: "As for what happened later..." From Xi'an to Beijing, Mrs. Lu seemed still unclear about how to face the fact that she couldn't believe everything: "Now that things have happened, we just hope it will stop here and won't happen again in the future." She finally looked up: "Actually, we are not those kind of unenlightened parents..." Probably considering Zhao Ran's presence, Mrs. Lu did not continue her "classic argument" that she didn't mind if her future son-in-law had a previous marriage, but would never allow him to "be a concubine": "But you see, you also have a family, we..."
Wei Yicheng's hands kept flipping the blue and white cigarette pack, nowadays Chinese men have even degenerated in their ability to consume nicotine. The "Zhongnanhai" brand of cigarettes, with its extremely low tar content, would probably only be used as incense a hundred years ago; as civilization advances, it can only use dazzling forms to make up for the increasingly scarce content.
This seemingly rustic tea house is no exception, having long lost its original charm and now resembling a paper-mache relic, squeezing out a few crocodile tears for the fragmented Chinese culture. The tableware presented is even more laughable; it seems that regardless of what tea variety the customer orders, they insist on using the same set of Gongfu tea utensils to serve; in fact, this fully fermented Yunnan red tea usually only requires boiling water and a glass cup, unable to withstand the repeated brewing and rinsing in a Yixing teapot.
Seeing this, Zhao Rang hurriedly gestured to the so-called tea artist who was about to come over and show off his skills, indicating that she could continue playing cards and joking with the young man beside her who had a spring-like complexion. After all, these guests really didn't have the elegance to appreciate that set of ritualized pouring, warming, serving, and smelling...
"I," Wei Yicheng finally spoke up, he who came from a lower background was always accustomed to listening respectfully to others' opinions first, so as to know himself and others, and then counterattack: "I feel very ashamed," the cigarette box in his hand had disappeared unknowingly, like a child's trick: "...You," he paused for a moment, probably searching for how to address Farhao's parents, they were obviously not at the level of "Uncle, Auntie", calling them "Big Brother, Big Sister" would be self-deprecating; research shows that when people are in an awkward relationship where they don't know whether to advance or retreat, speakers tend to avoid using titles and directly use pronouns, this is the famous "avoidance principle" in sociolinguistics; Wei Yicheng was obviously not a bookworm who only read dead books, he knew how to apply what he learned: "Don't blame Farhao for this, it's entirely my responsibility," in various literary works, one can often see those revolutionary martyrs facing the enemy's knife on the execution ground, how they were so calm and composed; actually, even if it was a villain or a scoundrel, when it came to that point, there was probably nothing to be afraid of, after all, it was just a matter of dying, might as well shout some slogans or famous quotes to boost one's courage.
After a long time, Mr. Wei glanced at Xu Zhongliu with an expressionless face. It's strange to say that this "harmony is precious" who always smiles when meeting people seems to be particularly cold to him. Every time Xu Zhongliu takes the initiative to chat, Wei Yicheng always responds reluctantly after a delay of three-quarters of a beat, which is annoying. What's more, there have been several times when Xu Zhongliu inadvertently met eyes with Old Wei not far away, and found that he was staring at himself coldly, making the little fat man at a loss. Xu Zhongliu really didn't understand why he still had to speak for this ambiguous guy in front of Yuan Hang.
Despite this, Xu Zhongliu did not forget his current "double agent" identity. He had been wanting to find an opportunity to interject, but was afraid of being too abrupt. He had planned to use the opportunity of pouring water for everyone to make a dramatic entrance, but every time he finished drinking his own cup and was about to casually reach for the small teapot, he would be beaten to it by Teacher Zhao. After several attempts, he could only give up. In fact, Zhongliu knew very well that whether he spoke or not, and what he said, were not important at all. This kind of gathering was just like those annual "important meetings", which were merely a ritual to legitimize the tacit understanding beneath the surface, and would not stir up any big waves.
After adding hot water twice, when pouring the tea continuously, Zhao Ruan said the only sentence that seemed to be somewhat related to the topic: "Red tea and green tea are just the opposite, very fragrant at first, but not resistant to brewing, and soon there is no flavor."
