Which way to go is the road?

Amid cheers, Zhang Chu sang two songs, instantly restoring the warm and peaceful atmosphere that had been disrupted. Apart from a few individuals who were slightly uncomfortable, everyone's faces were filled with calm smiles.

From the moment Qian Luomei announced Xiang Fei as the store manager to the argument with Wang Haoming, Xiang Fei remained silent. As things gradually calmed down, he felt he should do something, since he was the protagonist of the incident, and it would be irresponsible for him to remain silent.

"Let me say a few words!" Xiang Fei stood up, watching everyone put down their chopsticks and smile at him, and continued, "To be honest, I never really wanted to be the store manager. Like Haoming just said, I'm too inexperienced, and my internet cafe skills are the worst. I know that! But Sister Luomei thinks highly of me, trusts me, and has entrusted me with this responsibility. What can I do? Push it away? I feel like I'd be letting her down. So all I can do is thank Sister Luomei and her family! Thank you for giving me this opportunity."

Xiang Fei raised his glass, toasted Qian Luomei's entire family, refilled his own glass, and continued, "At the same time, I truly feel inadequate as the store manager. Fortunately, this position can be promoted or demoted. Therefore, I will do my best as store manager. If I am incompetent, fail to perform my duties, or do anything that betrays my responsibilities, please feel free to report to Sister Luomei at any time. I am willing to accept everyone's supervision!"

Qian Luomei led the applause, which was echoed by the crowd. Xiang Fei then gestured for everyone to quiet down: "At the same time, as the manager in charge of the internet cafe's operations, my future work will depend on the support and love of everyone present. I hope to receive your continued support and affection. Let's work together to develop 'Shuiyunjian' well. I propose a toast to the thriving and prosperous future of 'Shuiyunjian'!"

"cheers"

Some sat, some stood, clinking glasses with each other, to offer their best wishes, to celebrate this joyous and harmonious family dinner, and to admire the bright, round moon hanging in the sky.

Afterwards, under everyone's watchful eyes, Xiang Fei took the initiative to approach Xiangzi and Wang Haoming: "Haoming, Xiangzi, thank you so much for taking care of me these past six months! I hope we can continue to be good brothers, maintain a good relationship, and do our jobs well. Let's have a toast!"

Xiangzi stood up to clink glasses with Xiang Fei, but couldn't pull Wang Haoming up from beside him. Finally, out of respect for Qian Luomei, he stood up, but when he did, his eyes darted away, and he seemed a little reluctant.

Xiang Fei didn't mind and picked up his wine glass to drink it all in one gulp.

"Xiang Fei, on such a wonderful day, you can't forget your signature song. I forgot to ask you to prepare one earlier. Do you have a song ready for everyone?" Qian Luomei was willing to let her new store manager further showcase his talents in order to gain the approval of her family, colleagues, and friends.

"Oh, right! I've heard that Xiang Fei can write poetry for a long time, but I've never had the chance to appreciate it. It seems we're in for a treat today!" Old Master Qian said, holding his wife's hand. He looked at everyone, then at his wife, their hearts in sync.

Qian Luomei's mother, Wang Fang, was a quiet old lady who hadn't spoken until she heard about reading and writing poetry. Her eyes lit up: "Great! I love reading poetry, but I've never written one. How about this: Xiang Fei, you write it, and I'll read it to you?"

"No, no, I don't dare. The poems I write are just for fun, they're nothing special, how could I trouble you to read them?" Xiang Fei thought to himself, feeling miserable.

"You young people can have fun, but we old folks can't? It's all the same, we're just here to have some fun! Let Luo Mei's mother read it!" It seems that Mr. Qian has some expectations for his wife's performance!

"That's right!" the old lady echoed.

"Xiang Fei, don't refuse yet. Do you have the poem or not? If you don't, then what's the point of refusing? Even if you show it to my mother, it might not be to her liking!"

"There's a poem I wrote before, a poem about homesickness, that I penned while traveling by train back home. Since I didn't have paper or pen, I just wrote it in my phone's text message drafts!"

"Then send it to me. My phone can enlarge the font size. My mom has presbyopia, so she might not be able to see it clearly if it's smaller!" Qian Luomei gestured to Xiang Fei with her phone.

Xiang Fei sent the poem over, and Qian Luomei used her phone settings to enlarge the font size and showed it to her mother.

"Not bad, not bad, I'll read it!" The old lady glanced at the stereo next to the TV, then looked at her daughter: "Luomei, can you download a piece of music for me to use as background music? It's called 'Meditation,' a violin solo."

Just as Qian Luomei was about to get up, Lao You quickly stood up, took out a USB drive, downloaded the song to the computer in the study, plugged it into the speakers, asked the old lady's opinion, started playing it, and adjusted the volume to just the right level.

The melody is tender and poignant, like a lament, tugging at the softest part of people's hearts.

A full moon hangs in the night sky, fireworks shimmer with the brilliance of a foreign land, and the attic is brightly lit.

Grandma Wang Fang got up and went to the television. With her slightly curly white hair, high-necked white sweater, and red scarf, she dressed intellectually and fashionably. She stood in the posture of an old-time cultural troupe, letting her weathered yet clear voice float in the music.

Come back home

flapping trembling wings

The cold wind howls as it flies thousands of miles

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Come back home

Give your hometown a smile

Wading across the jubilant little river of my dreams

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Come back home

Shedding all the burdens

Pushing up the dusty, creaking wheelbarrow

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The sycamore tree is still the one with the carvings.

But I often disappear under the tree.

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Depart

Leaving behind a silhouette

Someone is secretly shedding tears.

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Depart

Even turbid wine is warm

The mess of cups and plates seemed to lament the many passersby.

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Depart

The cold wind grew even more bleak.

Patches of green in the vast wilderness paint a picture of hospitality

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My hometown is behind me.

But where am I?

After the recitation, the elderly lady Wang Fang bowed in respect, and everyone applauded enthusiastically. The most excited person was the elderly gentleman Qian Ruofeng, who went over to give his wife a heartfelt hug, and the two returned to their seats hand in hand.

"Was my mom's recitation good?" Qian Luomei's pride was evident in her words.

"Good!" everyone shouted in unison.

"Alright, aren't you going to pay the bill? Let's go!"

Everyone raised their glasses together, drank them down in one gulp, and talked about the old lady's remarkable demeanor just now, a performance full of emotion!

"Mom, what do you think of Xiang Fei's poem? Give me your opinion!" Qian Luomei said to her mother, winking.

"Stop winking at me, you just want me to praise your new store manager, don't you!" The old lady continued, looking at everyone's cheerful smiles. "To be honest! It's great that he loves literature and enjoys writing poetry at such a young age! Especially in today's fast-paced society, where everyone is focused on making money, Xiang Fei's ability to maintain his original aspirations and elevate his literary skills is truly commendable and praiseworthy!"

"Mom, why don't you talk about poetry? Stop talking about spirit all the time!"

The crowd burst into laughter again.

"Look how anxious you are! You've finally found a talent scout! Speaking of poetry, I think this poem is very unique in its writing style and its imagery, evoking a lot of associations! It's remarkable for someone so young!" The old lady then changed the subject: "However, the imagery is too specific, which limits the space for association, so its weakness is also obvious—it doesn't meet the requirement of 'poetry has an end, but its imagery is infinite'!"