Going home for Chinese New Year, I squeezed onto a bus with three energetic young women.

The sixth day of the first lunar month.

People exchanged more than 300 days of labor for a five-day dream of the lively Spring Festival.

The silence that followed the excitement was even more deafening than during the Spring Festival.

After a few carefree days as children, stepping out of this courtyard, everyone has to put on that invulnerable social shell again, become adults again, and confront this messed-up life.

Public institutions are more lenient; you don't have to clock in until the 8th. But the 6th of the lunar new year is basically a watershed moment.

High-speed rail stations, train stations, and even congested highways are filled with young bodies heading to a new round of torment.

The hustle and bustle of the Lunar New Year was swept away by the cold wind on this day.

It was 6:30 in the morning, and the sky was still dark.

Bai Li put on her trench coat and opened the door.

The cold air rushed in, dispelling the heat that had suffocated the kang (heated brick bed) all night.

The four girls, who were lying haphazardly in their blankets, were woken up by the cold.

Bai Li knocked on the wooden door frame: "Get up, pack your things."

Get dressed, wash up, and pack your luggage.

The whole process was surprisingly quiet, completely unlike the noisy commotion of the previous days when people were fighting over water basins and towels.

Inside the main room, Old Bai and his wife had already prepared breakfast.

Steaming hot pork stew, and freshly made unleavened flatbread.

This is my last meal in my hometown.

Four energetic young women sat around the table, eating with great seriousness.

They chewed every bite of food very carefully, even picking up the crumbs of bread that fell on the table and stuffing them into their mouths.

As she ate, Lin Xiaoshuang's tears fell into her bowl, splashing and creating small dents in the stew's broth.

This is separation.

These past few days have been the most "home-like" days they've ever experienced in their lives.

The elders don't mind their tattoos and colored hair; they give them red envelopes, show them affection, and even protect them.

Now, the dream is over.

Grandpa Bai stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and turned his head away, refusing to look at them.

Grandma's eyes also reddened, and she kept piling meat into their bowls:

"Eat more, the food outside isn't oily enough. If you miss Grandma, come back, and Grandma will make dumplings for you."

After the meal, everyone carried their luggage to the car.

The yard, which was full of relatives' cars yesterday, is now completely empty.

The lively New Year celebrations are like fireworks; once they're over, all that's left are red paper scraps scattered on the ground.

The old man will once again face this empty courtyard, hoping that one day, in some month or year, the children will push open this door again.

Grandma was carrying several large plastic bags and trying to stuff them into the trunk of the Panamera.

"Take some vegetables with you, these are homegrown Chinese cabbages."

"This bag contains freshly steamed white flour buns, and this also contains fried crispy meatballs. Take them with you, take them all."

The love of the elderly is always expressed in this most simple and straightforward form of feeding.

Bai Li didn't stop her, letting her grandmother stuff the trunk of the million-dollar luxury car into a vegetable market.

As the car backed out of the gate, Bai Li rolled down the window and waved to the elderly couple standing at the door, wiping away tears.

The car slowed down as soon as it turned past the old locust tree at the village entrance.

Outside the gate of the neighboring courtyard, there was a Wuling Hongguang with peeling paint.

A little girl wearing a floral cotton-padded jacket, her face red from the cold, was standing in the cold wind.

Her parents were busy tying snakeskin bags to the roof rack of the car.

The girl neither cried nor made a fuss; she just stared with her eyes wide open.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she desperately wiped them away with the back of her hands, which were covered in chilblains, trying not to let them fall.

The man tied the rope, walked over, squatted down, and patted the girl's head with his rough hands.

"Dad went out to work, okay? Be a good boy and listen to Grandpa and Grandma at home, and don't cry."

The girl tilted her head back, sniffed, and spoke with a maturity beyond her years:

"Then can you come back and visit me during your vacation?"

The man chuckled and agreed, while the woman in the passenger seat covered her mouth and turned her head away.

"Okay, sure."

That "yes" was bitter to the core.

The lowly laborers who work in factories tightening screws and carrying bricks on construction sites get paid a day for a day's work. There's no such thing as a fake job.

They don't even have the right to be sick and rest.

The carriage was eerily quiet, with only the whooshing sound of the air conditioning vents.

This scene transformed into a boning knife, piercing the hearts and lungs of the four spirited young women in the back row.

Lin Xiaoshuang buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling violently.

Zhang Qian bit her lower lip hard, her fingers twisting together.

Chen Tingting turned her head and stared out the window. Her red hair covered half of her face, but her eyes were bloodshot.

Li Jiaxin lowered her head, her fingernails scratching a red mark on the back of her hand.

The scene evoked my emotions.

That's how they grew up.

On that very morning of farewell, without noticing, I turned around and my parents were gone.

The memories of left-behind children in rural areas are forever the dirt road at the entrance of the village and the exhaust fumes from their parents' cars as they drive away.

The adults left behind an empty promise, "I'll buy you new clothes next year," and then disappeared into the crowd.

and then?

Then came the endless wait, sitting on the earthen mound at the village entrance until dark, watching every passing bus in the heavy snow.

When we met again, it was many years later.

So long that they even forgot what their parents looked like.

So long that they became neglected weeds, drifting through life on the streets, smoking, drinking, and fighting, using their colorful hair and hedgehog-like temper to cover up the abandoned hole in their hearts.

I hate the pain of parting the most in my life.

The car drove onto the provincial highway.

"Big brother..."

Lin Xiaoshuang leaned forward and reached out to grab the cuff of Bai Li's trench coat.

She cried her heart out, her voice trembling uncontrollably.

"Let's not break up, okay?"

This question was asked with extreme panic.

Chen Tingting, Li Jiaxin, and Zhang Qian all stared at them.

His eyes were full of pleading, afraid of being abandoned.

Bai Li held the steering wheel with one hand and grasped Lin Xiaoshuang's hand with the other.

"Of course. We won't separate, and nothing can separate us."

Bai Li's voice was steady, yet every word carried immense weight.

He has money, plenty of time, and top-tier physical attributes provided by the system.

His job is to nurture and cultivate these wounded young women, helping them to transform.

"Have you forgotten?" Bai Li looked at the pale faces in the rearview mirror, her tone softening slightly.

"I still need you guys for my job. After the New Year, when I go back to the city, the short drama studio will start filming immediately, and I'll reserve all four female leads for you."

"So, the four of you are now glued to my ship for life. You can't escape."

These words, by binding them with the most practical interests, gave them the highest level of security.

Lin Xiaoshuang stopped crying and smiled, nodding emphatically.

Chen Tingting let out a long sigh and leaned back in her chair.

Bai Li deflated most of the oppressive atmosphere in the car with a few deft moves.

Once on the highway, the Panamera sped along smoothly.

The girls in the back row calmed down and started chatting idly, discussing where they would get their nails done after returning to the city.

Zhang Qian sat in the passenger seat and did not participate in the conversation in the back.

She was looking down, her fingers idly swiping across her phone screen.

Bai Li glanced at it out of the corner of his eye.

Zhang Qian's phone screen was neatly organized.

"You also have a habit of categorizing things?" Bai Li casually started a conversation, breaking the silence in the car: "Payment apps are in one folder, chat apps are in another, and music apps are in a separate box."

Zhang Qian stopped pointing and looked up, her blue hair making her fair face stand out.

She shook her head seriously.

No.

"What kind of obsessive-compulsive disorder is that?" Bai Li asked casually.

Zhang Qian reached out and tapped the WeChat and Alipay icons on the screen.

"Because I've always thought that if I put Alipay and WeChat in the same folder and turned off my phone screen..."

She paused, her tone filled with utmost sincerity and a thirst for knowledge.

"Won't they sleep together in the dark? And maybe even make some money for me in the process..."

"Creak—!"

Bai Li's foot jerked, and the car drew a tiny S-shape on the lane.

Chen Tingting, who was drinking water in the back row, sprayed a mouthful of water all over Li Jiaxin's leg, which was tattooed with roses, and then coughed violently.

Lin Xiaoshuang stared wide-eyed at Zhang Qian in the passenger seat.

A decisive goal.

What bitterness of parting, what melancholy of spring and autumn? These are all physically exorcised by this astonishing brain circuitry.