361: Chapter 361 Stand with me for a while

Over the next few days, the video of the open class was distributed by the provincial department to every high school in the province.

Lin Que's phone was bombarded with forwards and messages from all directions for three whole days.

He picked a few useful messages to reply to and muted the rest.

What needed to be gained had already been gained.

What truly made him pause was the final evening before his departure for the capital.

On a September evening in Jiangcheng, the summer heat had finally dissipated.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows on the 28th floor of Xisheng Mansion, the city skyline was scorched red by the setting sun.

In the center of the living room floor, a large, open suitcase took up half the floor tiles.

The zippers were pulled back on both sides, and its empty lining looked like a mouth waiting to be filled.

Wang Xiulian, wearing a floral apron washed to a faded hue, squatted beside the suitcase.

A circle of pre-packed transparent plastic bags was spread out on the floor in front of her, each labeled with a thick black marker.

The handwriting was crooked but the strokes were forceful, showing she had started preparing days in advance.

Lin Jianguo sat in the furthest corner of the living room sofa, holding a cup of tea in his hands.

From the moment Lin Que entered the door until now, he hadn't moved an inch or uttered a sound.

Wang Xiulian picked up the first plastic bag.

The bag was labeled 'Long Johns: 2'.

Inside were two pairs of dark gray long johns folded with sharp edges, every crease pressed perfectly flat, clearly ironed.

She tucked the bag into the flattest spot at the bottom of the suitcase.

She pressed down on the surrounding gaps with both hands, her words as dense as her movements.

“The capital starts getting cold at the end of September; you must take these.

That kind of dry cold in the north isn't like our damp cold in Jiangcheng; you won't even realize it until it's frozen into the marrow of your bones.”

Lin Que had just opened his mouth, but before he could organize his words, Wang Xiulian hurriedly interrupted him.

“Just wear them underneath, no one will see. The capital isn't like home; the temperature difference between morning and night is huge.”

Lin Que looked at the tightly packed bag, smiled, and said nothing more.

Wang Xiulian had already picked up the second bag.

The label read 'Stomach Medicine + Cold Medicine'.

A blister pack of Weikangling and a box of 999 Ganmaoling were stacked in the bag, fitting perfectly, with half a tissue separating them to prevent bumping.

“You have to take these too. Your stomach has been weak since you were a child; you get diarrhea whenever you change environments.

I heard the water in the capital is as hard as stone; you won't be used to it at first.”

She didn't even look up.

The speed at which her hands maneuvered inside the suitcase was both fast and precise, carrying a briskness etched into her bones.

They had lived in Xisheng Mansion for nearly a year, yet her manner of packing was exactly the same as it had been in their old house.

Lin Que finally couldn't hold back anymore.

He walked over, squatted down, and reached out to stop the third bag Wang Xiulian was about to stuff into the suitcase.

“Mom, I want to travel light. If there's anything I need, you can just mail it to me once I'm there.”

Wang Xiulian's hand paused for less than half a second.

Then she brushed aside Lin Que's restraining hand.

She continued stacking things into the box, her voice calm but her tone firm.

“Mailing takes time. Besides, express delivery from Jiangcheng to the capital takes at least two or three days, and if it's peak logistics season, it could take five or six.

Everything I'm packing can be used immediately once you arrive.

When you get to the capital, you'll be a stranger in a strange land. You can't spend your first day searching the streets for a pharmacy, can you?”

Lin Que's lips moved.

He wanted to say, 'I'm not a three-year-old child,' but as the words reached his throat, he saw the marker Wang Xiulian was using to write the labels.

A small strip of white tape was stuck to the barrel of the pen, with the words 'Packing List' written on it.

Lin Que swallowed his words.

Resigned to his fate, he retreated to the dining table, leaning his hands on the edge.

He watched his mother treat that suitcase like a complex problem requiring precise calculation.

The placement, orientation, and stacking order of every item had been repeatedly simulated, as if she were desperate to utilize every single inch of space to its limit.

The supplies that appeared next became increasingly ridiculous.

A pair of cotton slippers with thick, non-slip soles.

A small jar of her homemade chopped chili sauce, the glass bottle wrapped in three layers of plastic wrap.

Two jars of crystal-clear pickled sugar garlic, the lids screwed on tight.

A towel with the tag still attached.

A small bag of dried tangerine peel in a Ziploc bag, dark brown in color; it had no scent, but it was clear it had been dried for a long time.

Lin Que's gaze lingered on the jar of chili sauce for two seconds, and the corner of his mouth curved up unconsciously.

“Mom, I'm going to school, not fleeing a famine.”

Wang Xiulian didn't even look up, her hands never pausing.

“People fleeing famines don't bring chili sauce.”

She tucked the chili sauce into the elastic mesh pocket on the side of the suitcase, her voice dropping half a notch.

“This is so you have something to hold onto when you're homesick. One bite and it'll feel like you're home.”

Her tone was flat, but when the word 'homesick' squeezed out of her throat,

the ending note trembled slightly, like a string being gently plucked.

Lin Que's smile faded.

He looked down at his mother busy on the floor and saw the small section of hair roots exposed at the back of her neck.

The grayish-white new growth formed a sharp contrast with the dyed black hair above it.

From this angle, he had never noticed this detail before.

Lin Que's fingers tightened on the edge of the table, then slowly relaxed.

He didn't speak, shifting his gaze back to the suitcase.

The suitcase was being filled layer by layer.

Long johns at the bottom, medicine in the middle, and daily necessities filling every gap—the efficiency was admirable.

Finally, Wang Xiulian pulled a kraft paper envelope from under the coffee table.

She unzipped it and pulled out the admission notice for Qingbei University.

She didn't put it in immediately.

She held the notice in her hands, raising it level with her eyes, and looked at it for several seconds.

Her fingertips traced the gold-stamped school emblem on the cover extremely gently and slowly.

The touch was so light it was as if she were touching a museum exhibit, afraid that pressing too hard would leave a fingerprint.

That movement lasted for nearly five seconds.

Then she bent down and carefully laid the admission notice flat on the top layer of the suitcase.

Two pairs of long johns, a box of stomach medicine, a jar of chili sauce, two jars of sugar garlic, a pair of cotton slippers, and a Qingbei University admission notice.

They were out of place, yet they looked strangely harmonious.

It was as if this piece of paper was naturally meant to lie atop this pile of most mundane items.

Wang Xiulian clapped her hands, preparing to stand up.

Having squatted for too long, her right knee let out a click, and she quickly supported herself on the corner of the coffee table.

Lin Que immediately stepped over and reached out to help her.

A hand swatted the back of his hand away.

“Go on, your mother hasn't reached the point where she needs your help to stand up.”

Lin Que smiled and didn't reach out again.

He knew that what his mother feared most in life wasn't growing old, but having her son feel that she had grown old.

Wang Xiulian straightened her back on her own and flexed her knees a couple of times.

She then gave Lin Que's arm a light punch, neither too hard nor too soft.

“As for you, once you're there, don't just focus on writing and forget to eat.”

She put her hands on her hips, assuming the posture of an interrogator.

“I saw it when I went to the studio to bring you fruit last time. Over a dozen instant noodle cups!”

Lin Que:

“...”

Lin Que guiltily looked away.

This past year, he had spent far more nights rushing deadlines in the studio than anyone knew.

Instant noodles were the choice that required the least thought.

But looking at his mother's interrogating stance,

he felt that the crime of seventeen instant noodle cups was probably more serious than failing an exam.

He nodded obediently.

“I'll definitely eat well once I'm in the capital.”

Wang Xiulian clearly didn't believe him, giving him a sidelong glance, but the corner of her mouth couldn't help but twitch upward.

After the laughter between mother and son subsided, the living room suddenly fell silent.

The setting sun outside had already sunk below the buildings. The last smear of orange light fell on the surface of the cold tea on the coffee table, flickered twice, and went dark.

The lights in the living room weren't on.

Only then did Lin Que notice something.

From beginning to end, Lin Jianguo hadn't said a single word.

He turned his head to look.

Lin Jianguo was still sitting in the furthest corner of the sofa.

The teacup in his hand had been placed on the coffee table in front of him; the tea had gone cold, and he hadn't taken a single sip.

He wasn't looking at the suitcase, he wasn't looking at Wang Xiulian, and he wasn't even looking at Lin Que.

His gaze was fixed outside the living room's floor-to-ceiling window.

The distant city skyline, outlined by streetlights and neon, reflected blurred spots of light on the glass,

which mirrored on his face, flickering in and out of shadow.

The focus of his gaze didn't land on any specific building.

Instead, it passed through the glass, toward something invisible.

Lin Que watched his father's profile for four whole seconds.

On that face, polished by the sun and the years, there was no expression at all.

But it was precisely this 'nothing' that felt heavier than anything else.

“Dad.”

Lin Que's voice softened, without any intent of probing.

“What's wrong?”

Lin Jianguo slowly withdrew his gaze from outside the window.

He glanced at Lin Que.

That glance held many things, but only two words came out of his mouth.

“It's nothing.”

His voice was flat, so flat that no emotion could be heard.

But Lin Que noticed his father had changed his grip on the teacup, his five fingers clutching it very tightly.

He picked up the teacup, took a sip of the cold tea, set it down,

and then tilted his chin toward the balcony.

“Come out for a moment.”

He paused for a beat.

“Stand with me for a while.”

...