"Mom, look." The child held the flowers up with both hands like offering a treasure to the woman, a certain expectation shining in his eyes.
Fat Tiger in the village said that as long as you casually picked a flower by the roadside and gave it to Mom, she would be happy for a long ti. The child wanted Mom to be happy.
Among the flowers, he broke off many stems, carefully selecting. But he didn't know what kind of flowers Mom liked, so he picked the best looking ones from various colors, making a bunch of colorful flowers, and happily ca to his mother.
Mom's palm bypassed the bouquet that carried his childish innocence, and landed on his face.
Slap!
Flower petals filled the sky. The child stared blankly; at this mont, he forgot to cry.
His mory flashed.
It was a bright afternoon. The father and son were in the courtyard, and the child was nervously pedaling his father's dilapidated Vintage Bicycle.
He wasn't even as tall as the bike. One leg couldn't even reach over the crossbar in the middle of the bicycle, so he could only pass his leg through the middle to pedal the pedal on the other side of the Vintage Bicycle. It looked very comical. His father steadily held the bike seat with both hands, while the child in front pedaled little by little. He could only pedal half a circle, and the bicycle wobbled forward.
"Dad, hold it steady!"
"Don't worry, I'm holding it very steady."
"Dad, hold it steady!"
"Don't worry, I'm holding it very steady."
"Dad, hold it steady!"
"Don't worry, I'm holding it very steady."
The child shouted over and over.
The father answered over and over.
He shouted.
He answered.
Gradually, the child was able to pedal the Vintage Bicycle in a comical manner and move forward steadily in the courtyard.
"Dad, I learned how..." He happily turned his head, and saw his father standing very, very far away from him.
Looking at him, smilingly looking at him.
Imdiately after, he rushed over regardless of everything. Right when he was about to crash into the utility pole, his father pulled him away from the bike with one hand.
The father fell to the ground.
He fell on top of his father.
He thought his father would scold him, but his father didn't. Instead, he anxiously checked his body to make sure he wasn't injured.
Only then did the father and son have ti to look at the Vintage Bicycle that had crashed into the utility pole and beco deford.
The father smiled: "Looks like I have an excuse to change bikes."
He also smiled. At that ti, he didn't know why he was smiling. It was only many years later that he realized this kind of smile was uncontrollable.
…
The child sat upright at his desk, the slap mark left by his mother still on his face.
Teary-eyed.
Flipping through those textbooks he had already morized backward, he felt very complicated inside.
Two ideologies were like two soldiers locked in a duel to the death.
He knew how difficult it was for his mother after his father died; but her almost psychotic longing for him to succeed made him feel very repressed.
He didn't dare to resist.
He couldn't resist either. He just simply thought... maybe, if I do a little better on the next exam, Mom will be satisfied.
First in the class.
Maybe, if I do a little better on the next exam, Mom will be satisfied.
First in the entire grade.
Maybe, if I do a little better next ti, Mom will...
Skipped two grades!
Maybe, if I do a little better next ti...
That year, he was fifteen years old, a senior in high school. When others were still nervously reviewing and doing practice questions day and night.
He received a recomndation quota for direct admission to university.
However, he didn't want this quota at all; he wanted to take the college entrance examination.
He still harbored an illusion, thinking that as long as he took the college entrance examination and did a little better, maybe...
That day, when Mom told the Teacher she was choosing the recomndation, he stood to the side, completely ignored, as if the woman in front of him wasn't deciding his life.
He felt his repression reach its peak.
He really wanted to have an argunt.
Returning ho, he mustered his courage.
"I want to major in computer science."
"What do you know? I applied for a chanical engineering major for you. No matter when, having a craft will ensure you don't starve to death."
The child of that year was already a green Youth. He clenched both fists, deciding that today, he must have an argunt.
"Just listen to . Mom raised you through so many years of hardships..."
It was that familiar tone again. He felt the person opposite him was the chanting Tang Monk, and he himself was Sun Wukong, bound by the tightening headband, rolling all over the floor.
He unclenched his fists, but quickly clenched them again, raising his head, his gaze dodging.
"This is my life..."
"Your life?" The 【Tang Monk】 opposite him seed to have heard so joke: "You are still a student, what do you know? A decision made without even a bit of social experience will ruin you for a lifeti. You are a piece of at that fell from my body, Mom won't harm you."
His mother continued to repeat the words he had heard enough to form calluses on his ears. At this mont, he realized that actually, adults aren't omnipotent either.
So people, affected by their cognition, lived in their own world and slowly turned into idiots. They couldn't predict the developnt trends of 2005, and still clung to the traditional thought of learning a craft.
But, he clearly knew that his mother used to be a shrewd and capable woman back then, yet now she had beco a village woman who only knew how to... throw tantrums and be unreasonable when encountering problems.
He had heard the Old Man in the village say that this was the sign of people growing old.
When young, they fought for a breath of pride.
When old, they fought for a breath of survival.
This different way of dealing with problems was the slickness left behind when ti smoothed out their edges, or rather, they had resigned themselves to fate and adapted to the lowest underlying logic of this society.
The Youth's clenched fists eventually unclenched. For so reason, he suddenly rembered the flower petals filling the sky that year.
He was still that him.
A him who was neither ruthless enough, nor content with the status quo, just like those flower petals dancing in the sky, picked by him and slapped away by his mother.
It was like this in the past.
It was like this now.
It would also be like this in the future.
He hesitated.
He struggled.
He was indecisive.
But, this kind of psychological pressure was just like a ti bomb.
There would always be a day it exploded.
Perhaps it was that he wanted to live at school.
Perhaps it was that he was secretly studying books related to computer science majors.
Perhaps it was that he didn't go ho on ti.
Perhaps it was...
In short, the explosion of the incident had to have a fuse. On the night before he was executed, he kept staring at his hands, those hands that had strangled soone to death with fishing line and left a bloodstain, staring blankly.
He felt that he should try hard to repent for his cris, but strangely, until the last mont of his life, all he could think of was the scene of learning to ride a bike that year, and the various reckless attempts he made while on the run.
Playing King of Fighters in the arcade.
Playing Legend of Mir all night in the internet cafe.
Learning to smoke Cigarettes like adults.
Learning to dye his hair like delinquents.
…
He died.
And ca to Hell.
Teaming up with people in the Novice Instance, his teammates felt his personality was flawed, too indecisive, and that he wouldn't live long in Hell.
But strangely, in the following months, his teammates died one by one before him.
While he, relying on his extre stress-resistant psychological quality, lived all the way to the end step by step.
God seed to have played a huge joke on him, as the trajectory of fate seed to complete a closed loop at a certain mont.
Resisting stress in life led to his death.
Resisting stress after death led to him living.
No wonder so people said: When you stretch out the tiline, you will clearly see the various causes and effects on this tiline.
The Youth's na was Shu Renjun, a person who had committed a Heinous Cri in his teens.
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