Era: Rise from the Wilderness

After passing through the wheat field bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, and circling the shimmering salt lake, I climbed the familiar long slope. Below, the red-brick and gray-tiled factory dormitories stretched out before me without reservation.

From a distance, the low-lying bungalows stretched out silently like a lurking herd of beasts.

Several tall chimneys nearby pierced the sky, but they lacked the iconic billowing smoke of the past, like silent exclamation marks, signifying the weariness of the state-owned factory under the changing times.

The growing pains of the early 1990s have quietly permeated this land.

His home was on the very edge of that dormitory area, in a large courtyard nestled at the foot of a verdant mountain.

It was called a tenement, but in reality, there were only five households sharing a spacious mud courtyard.

In the middle of the courtyard, the old locust tree, with its lush branches and leaves, casts a large expanse of cool shade, making it the center where neighbors sit and chat in the summer, fanning themselves with palm-leaf fans.

Li Yunjing gripped the rusty brakes and, relying on muscle memory, skillfully slid the "Old Forever" to the mottled courtyard wall, where he casually leaned it against the wall.

In this day and age, there's no need to worry about locking up or being stolen with an old car like this that "makes noise everywhere except for the bell."

But when he actually stood at that familiar courtyard gate, his feet felt like they were nailed to the ground.

"Thump! Thump! Thump!"

My heart was pounding in my thin chest cavity, beating wilder and more uncontrollably than when I woke up on the playground.

I feel apprehensive as I get closer to home.

These four words, never before, have carried such a specific and subtle ache, weighing heavily on my heart.

The longing is like oil being poured on a raging fire, but when it's within reach, there's a fear that it's all just a mirage, a fear that the slightest touch will shatter this beautiful dream of regaining what was lost.

"Huff... huff..."

He took several deep breaths, trying to suppress the excitement that was about to burst out of his chest, before lifting his foot and stepping over the low threshold.

The yard was quiet, with only a few chickens scratching for food in the corner.

At this hour, the adults are still working in the factory or in the fields.

He walked through the narrow corridor, lined with honeycomb briquettes and other debris, to the very end.

The familiar front door, its green paint peeling away to reveal the original wood, was ajar.

A familiar aroma of food, mixed with the warmth of cooking smoke, wafted out from under the door.

It's bean sprouts stir-fried with shredded pork!

Li Yunjing's nose suddenly stung, and her vision blurred instantly.

This dish is my mother's most frequently made and best-kept home-style cooking.

The bean sprouts were grown from mung beans at home, and they were crisp and fresh. The shredded meat was cut into thin strips and served with a little bit of green pepper strips for added flavor. It was stir-fried over high heat with plenty of oil, and it was still sizzling when it was served.

In those years when meat was still a rare treat, this was considered a "main dish" on the family's dining table.

In my memory, my mother would always habitually put all the scraps of meat into his bowl, while she would only eat rice with bean sprouts.

Fragments of the past surged through his mind like a flood bursting its banks.

Under the dim light of a fifteen-watt bulb, his mother, head bowed, stitched up his worn-out knees with every stitch; his father's large hands, with clumsy tenderness, gently stroked his head; the family huddled around the small, peeling square table for dinner, listening to his parents chat about trivial anecdotes from the factory and inquire about his mediocre grades…

Later, my parents, like crops that have been quickly dried up by the years, visibly became hunched over and aged.

They began to worry about his future and marriage, their hair turned gray and their wrinkles deepened.

He himself struggled and drifted in a distant city. Every time he returned home and saw his parents' increasingly aged faces, a dull pain mixed with helplessness and guilt would seep into his bones.

Countless times, during late nights of working overtime, he would swear to the city's neon lights that if he could do it all over again, he would make sure his parents could be relieved of their burdens as soon as possible and live a relaxed, prosperous life, no longer having to bow down for a few coins.

And now, behind this half-open door lies the starting point he has been dreaming of, the one that can rewrite everything!

He raised his slightly trembling hand and gently pushed open the unlocked wooden door.

He tried with all his might to make his voice sound calm, but when it came out, it still trembled uncontrollably, revealing the turbulent emotions churning within him:

"Mom...I'm home."

Immediately, the kitchen echoed with the crisp, clean sound of a spatula striking a wok.

Then came the gentle, weary voice of a woman, etched deep within his soul, tinged with the weariness of years of toil:

"Yun Jing is back!"

"Hurry up and wash your hands so we can eat!"

"Why so late tonight?"

"You went out into the wild again, huh? Look at you, covered in dirt!"

Listening to this incredibly sincere nagging, and looking at the slightly blurry figure at the kitchen doorway, wearing a faded blue apron and busy at the stove, Li Yunjing could no longer hold back her tears, which rolled down her cheeks in large drops.

He hurriedly lowered his head and mumbled an "Mmm," afraid that his mother would see his disheveled state. He practically fled, slipping sideways into the small room next door that belonged to him.

The room was only seven or eight square meters, compact yet tidy.

A narrow single bed is placed against the wall, covered with an old sheet with an adorable panda pattern. The color has faded to white due to repeated washing.

Beside the bed was an old-fashioned wooden desk, with a heavy glass plate on top. Under the glass were several yellowed celebrity stickers, a densely copied timetable, and a few empty Hero brand ink pen cartridges.

On the wall, several "Three Good Student" certificates are still bright red, and next to them is a Transformers drawing he made with a pencil back then, the strokes are childish but full of enthusiasm.

Everything remains exactly as it was, just as my mother had done!

Clean, tidy, and meticulous.

Li Yunjing suddenly collapsed onto her small bed, burying her face deeply in the pillow.

The pillowcase has a clean and warm scent, unique to those exposed to sunlight.

He no longer suppressed himself, letting his scalding tears silently soak the cotton pillow.

This is an outpouring of extreme joy, a celebration of something lost and found across time and space, and a ritual to bid farewell to the heavy past.

He cried for an unknown amount of time before suddenly sitting up and roughly wiping away the tears on his face with his sleeve.

His eyes, now clear and resolute after the tears, had become bright and determined.

He walked to the desk and his gaze fell on the small calendar card with a beautiful woman's portrait printed on it in the lower corner of the glass plate.

The red numbers, like a brand, clearly show: Saturday, June 15, 1990.

In 1990... I had just turned 18, and it was the summer after I finished the college entrance examination!

He frowned, trying to retrieve the major events surrounding this specific point in time from the depths of his memory.