8: Chapter 8: A Phone Call with Mother

When Li Xuehua saw Wang Yang, her face immediately broke into a kind smile, her eyes filled with concern.

"Xiaoyang, what made you think of calling Mom? Have you eaten yet? Are you busy right now?"

"Just finished eating, Mom. I'm not busy."

Looking at his mother's aged appearance, Wang Yang felt his nose sting and his throat tighten.

"That's good, that's good."

Li Xuehua nodded repeatedly, her tone cautious.

"Oh, right, Xiaoyang, the New Year is almost here. Mom wants to ask you, are you... coming home for the New Year this year?"

She paused, fearing that she might be putting pressure on her son, and quickly added.

"If you're busy with work, it's fine if you don't come back. You're out there by yourself, so eat well, take good care of yourself, and don't be stingy with money. Your father and I are here at home, so don't worry about us."

Parents are always like this.

No matter how much they miss their child, they are afraid of hindering his work or becoming a burden to him.

Watching his mother on the video call pretending to be at ease, Wang Yang felt a pain in his heart as if pricked by needles.

Before, he was poor and couldn't even afford the travel expenses to go home.

His monthly salary was 6,500; he would send 1,000 home, and the rest was just enough for rent and living expenses.

Every New Year, he would find excuses not to return, leaving the old couple to spend the holiday in an empty house.

Wang Yang remembered one year on the twenty-ninth day of the twelfth lunar month.

His mother called to ask if he was coming back, and he said he was too busy with work to get away.

His mother smiled over the phone and said it was fine, telling him to work hard.

Later, his younger sister told him that after hanging up, his mother sat alone in the main room.

She stared blankly at his childhood photos and sat there for most of the night.

This year is different.

He has money now, and he has confidence.

He can no longer let his parents spend the New Year alone.

"I'm coming, Mom, I'm coming."

Wang Yang's voice was slightly choked with emotion as he said firmly.

"I'll be back in a few days. I'll stay home and spend the New Year with you this year."

Li Xuehua's eyes lit up instantly.

The smile on her face bloomed, her wrinkles bunching together; she was so excited that her hands were trembling.

"Really? You're really coming back? That's wonderful! That's wonderful! Mom will prepare cured meat, fried meatballs, and steamed rice cakes for you right away—all the things you love to eat!"

She rambled on, her joy impossible to hide, like a child who had just received candy.

"Your father was talking about you a few days ago, saying he didn't know if you'd come back and whether we should smoke more cured meat this year. I said to smoke more, just in case you came back. Now it's great, you're really coming back!"

Wang Yang fought back his tears and responded with a smile.

"Okay, Mom, I love all of it."

"Oh, what kind of dumpling filling do you want? Cabbage and pork or chives and eggs? Mom will make them all for you!"

"Anything is fine. I love whatever Mom makes."

"Alright, alright, Mom will make them all! I'll make plenty, freeze them, and you can take them with you when you leave!"

The more Li Xuehua talked, the happier she became, wishing she could rush into the kitchen to start working right now.

They chatted about daily life for a while, asking if his work was tiring, if he was eating well, and if he had found a partner.

Wang Yang answered each question, saying everything was good, and told his mother not to worry.

Fearing that she might be disturbing her son's rest, Li Xuehua reluctantly ended the video call.

"Then get some sleep early, don't stay up late. Be careful on the road when you come back, stay safe."

"Okay, Mom, you get some sleep early too."

The screen went black.

Wang Yang leaned against the cold wall, his heart filled with mixed emotions, feeling a tight, uncomfortable knot in his chest.

His parents were getting old, and their health was declining year by year.

His father, Wang Fuguo, had carried cement at construction sites when he was young, leaving him with all sorts of ailments.

Back pain and leg pain were common occurrences, worsening on cloudy and rainy days, but he never complained, gritting his teeth and enduring it.

Every time they spoke on the phone, he said he was doing well and told his son not to worry.

His mother, Li Xuehua, had toiled her whole life, her hands covered in calluses and cracks.

In winter, when washing clothes, her hands would freeze until they were red like radishes, yet she wouldn't use hot water, saying it wasted firewood.

There were also his elderly grandparents at home to support.

His grandfather was eighty-three, needed a cane to walk, was hard of hearing, and had to be shouted at right next to his ear.

His grandmother was seventy-nine, had trouble walking, sat on the bed doing needlework, and her eyesight was not very good either.

The expenses for the whole family relied entirely on his father doing odd jobs and his mother farming.

Farming didn't earn much money throughout the year.

During the off-season, his father would go to the town's construction sites to find work, working himself to the bone for about a hundred yuan a day.

Life was tight, and every penny had to be stretched as far as it could go.

Before, he had no ability, and could only send one thousand yuan home each month, a drop in the bucket.

Now he had the system and the ability to earn money, so he had to ensure his family lived a good life as soon as possible.

Wang Yang took a deep breath, took out his phone, and opened WeChat.

He first transferred thirty thousand yuan to his mother, Li Xuehua.

Then he transferred another thirty thousand yuan to his father, Wang Fuguo.

It wasn't that he didn't want to transfer more, but he knew his parents' personalities too well.

If he transferred hundreds of thousands all at once, they would definitely overthink it, believing he had done something bad, and they wouldn't accept it no matter what.

Thirty thousand each, sixty thousand in total—not too much, not too little.

Just enough to improve their lives without raising suspicion.

After transferring the money, he sent a message to his parents.

"Dad, Mom, I recently collaborated on a small project with a friend and made some money. Take this money and spend it, don't skimp. Buy some good food for Grandpa and Grandma, and get some new clothes. If it's not enough, I'll transfer more."

After sending the message, Wang Yang put down his phone and looked silently out the window.

High-rise buildings stood in Yuntian City, with heavy traffic flowing below.

But his roots were in the countryside, with those parents who had toiled their whole lives.

In that dilapidated yet warm blue-brick house.

Wang Yang remembered when he was a child, the family was poor, and they could only eat meat during the New Year.

His mother would slice the meat into thin pieces, place them at the bottom of the bowl, and cover them with potatoes, just so the family could have a few more meals.

He remembered his father going to town to sell vegetables in winter, getting up at three in the morning, pedaling a tricycle for twenty li.

When he returned, his face was frozen bright red, and his hands were so stiff he couldn't straighten them.

Yet he would still smile and pull two hot steamed buns from his chest, handing them to him and his sister.

He also remembered his grandfather sitting in the courtyard basking in the sun, smoking a dry pipe, telling stories of his youth over and over again.

His grandmother would be sewing shoe soles in the house, occasionally looking up and smiling at the grandfather and grandson.

Those scenes had always been in his heart.

Before, he had no choice but to watch his parents suffer.

Now he had the system and money; he couldn't wait any longer.

Wang Yang clenched his fists, a flash of determination in his eyes.

His parents needed support, his grandparents needed filial piety, and the family's life needed improvement.

Everything required money.

Only by getting more rewards from the system as soon as possible could he give his family a better life.

He stood up and walked to the window.

The sunlight shone in, landing on him, feeling warm.

...

Wang Family Village, Fenghua County.

The cold wind of the twelfth lunar month swept up bits of withered grass, brushing past the old locust tree at the village entrance.

Hanging from the branches were a few strings of firecracker debris left over from children playing, exuding the unique festive atmosphere of the countryside.

Wang Yang's home was the most ordinary blue-brick house in the village.

The courtyard wall was built of yellow mud, not very high, with a few tufts of withered grass growing on top.

Dried firewood was piled in the corner of the courtyard, stacked neatly.

Under the eaves hung strings of cured meat and sausages, smoked until they were shiny with oil.

They were smoked by Li Xuehua half a month in advance, just waiting for her children to come back and eat them.

The paint on the wooden door of the main room was peeling, revealing the grayish-white wood underneath.

Old paper-cuts from last year were still pasted on the window lattice, their edges curled up, rustling when the wind blew.

Inside the house were a paint-chipped wooden table and bamboo chairs.

The chair legs were tied with wire; they still wobbled when sat upon, but with a piece of cardboard underneath, they could still be used.

In the corner stood an old color TV, bought over a decade ago, with a small screen and a yellowed casing.

It wasn't wealthy, but it was kept spotlessly clean.

The cement floor was swept until it shone, and the oil bottles and salt jars on the stove were wiped clean enough to reflect one's image.

A family portrait hung on the wall; Wang Yang was still small then, standing between his parents, smiling to reveal his missing baby teeth.

It exuded a sense of down-to-earth rural life.

Li Xuehua hung up the video call with Wang Yang, her hand holding the phone still trembling slightly.

The smile on her face hadn't faded, and she habitually opened WeChat, wanting to see the message her son had sent.

Usually, her son would transfer one thousand yuan every month, and she would save it, reluctant to spend it.

She kept every cent in her heart, and the ledger was filled with dense writing.

"Twelfth lunar month, Xiaoyang transferred one thousand, saved."

But the number that popped up on the screen made Li Xuehua freeze in place instantly.