Chapter 50

Wang Jianjun's mouth hung open, unable to speak for a long time.

Finally, he gave his thigh a heavy slap, and tears came "whooshing" down.

"Shanhe! Oh, Shanhe! On behalf of all the elders and youngsters in the village, I thank you!" As he said this, he prepared to bow.

Gu Shanhe hurriedly supported him.

"Uncle Wang, don't be like this. This is what I should do."

Among the surrounding crowd, no one knew who started the applause first.

The applause went from sparse to enthusiastic, finally ringing out as one.

Su Qingyin and Gu Huaijin stood at the entrance of the main room.

Watching their son surrounded by the fellow villagers, the two held hands tightly, tears streaming down their faces, but the corners of their mouths were lifted.

That afternoon, the people in the Gu family courtyard never stopped coming.

One wave left, another arrived; they were all there to see Gu Shanhe, to express their thanks, and to inquire about things.

Su Qingyin was so busy her feet barely touched the ground, boiling water, steeping tea, and bringing out the melon seeds and peanuts saved for the New Year to entertain them.

Gu Huaijin went to the village's small supermarket to buy meat, fish, and tofu, and even slaughtered a chicken they had raised themselves, saying he wanted to cook a proper meal and keep Wang Jianjun to eat with them.

Wang Jianjun did not decline.

He sat in the Gu family's main room, talking in detail with Gu Shanhe.

From route planning to school site selection, to the bidding process, to fund supervision.

Gu Shanhe said, I will provide the money, but the project must be publicly bid, the quality must be strictly controlled, and every cent spent must be itemized and publicized to the whole village.

"That goes without saying!"

Wang Jianjun patted his chest.

"Shanhe, rest assured, even if I don't eat or sleep, I will handle this matter beautifully for you! I absolutely won't let your money go to waste!"

At dusk, Wang Jianjun finally rose to leave, saying he would go to the township personally first thing tomorrow morning to report.

Gu Shanhe saw him to the door.

Wang Jianjun walked a few steps, then turned back, hugged Gu Shanhe firmly, said nothing, turned, and strode away, his silhouette stretched long under the setting sun.

The courtyard finally became quiet.

Su Qingyin was stir-frying in the kitchen, the spatula clanging against the iron wok.

Gu Huaijin was picking scallions in the courtyard, carefully tidying them one by one, and Gu Shanhe moved a small stool, sat next to his father, and helped him pick them.

As the sun set, the afterglow cast their shadows onto the ground, stretching them long.

"Dad."

Gu Shanhe suddenly spoke.

"Hmm?"

"After the road is repaired and the school is built, you and Mom should move to the city to live. My house there is big, and it's just sitting empty."

Gu Huaijin paused in his movements, then continued picking the scallions.

"I'm not used to living in the city. I don't know the neighbors, and once the door is closed, it's stifling. The village is better; there are many acquaintances and many people to talk to."

Gu Shanhe was silent for a moment.

"Then I'll renovate the old house and build a new one so you can live more comfortably."

"No need." Gu Huaijin shook his head. "This house is quite good, warm in winter and cool in summer. It's not easy for you to earn money, don't spend it recklessly."

"It's you who should be thinking; you're not young anymore, it's time to start a family. Your mom nags every day, saying she wants to hold a grandson."

Gu Shanhe smiled: "I'll get married when I meet the right one."

Dinner was very sumptuous: braised chicken chunks, steamed fish, stir-fried meat, tofu and cabbage soup, and Gu Shanhe's favorite stir-fried bacon with garlic sprouts.

The family of three sat around the small square table; the light was dim, but warm.

Su Qingyin kept putting food into her son's bowl until it piled up like a small mountain; Gu Shanhe buried his head and ate, sweating at the tip of his nose.

Food at home is still the most fragrant, with the flavor of the wok and the scent of life.

After the meal, Gu Shanhe scrambled to wash the dishes, but Su Qingyin wouldn't let him; in the end, the mother and son washed them together, one washing and one rinsing, with tacit cooperation.

Gu Huaijin sat in the main room smoking, watching the backs of the two in the kitchen, a smile on his lips amidst the swirling smoke.

After cleaning up, Gu Shanhe said he wanted to go out for a stroll.

There were no streetlights in the village, only light filtering from a few scattered windows.

He walked slowly along the village road, past the old locust tree at the entrance, past the dried-up pond, and past the abandoned threshing floor.

The moonlight was bright, making the dirt road look white; there was dog barking in the distance, insect chirping nearby, and the air smelled of firewood, earth, and a faint floral scent—the early peaches in someone's courtyard must have bloomed.

He walked to the village primary school.

Two rows of dilapidated bungalows, the wall plaster peeling off to reveal the yellow mud inside, several window panes broken and patched with plastic sheets.

The flagpole was covered in rust, the flag rope swaying gently in the wind.

He stood outside the rusty iron gate for a long time, remembering when he studied here as a child.

In winter, the classroom was drafty, and his hands were too frozen to hold a pen; in summer, the roof leaked, and they had to move desks to avoid puddles during class.

But he didn't feel it was bitter back then; he only felt that being able to go to school was the greatest happiness.

He took out a cigarette, lit it, and took a deep drag.

The smoke dispersed in the moonlight; he thought of the system, of the emotional points gained through editing videos, and of those industries that appeared out of thin air.

Sometimes he was dazed, wondering if all this was real.

But at this moment, with his feet on the soil of his hometown, smelling the familiar scents, hearing the familiar dog barks, he knew that whether it was real or fake didn't matter; what mattered was that he could do something.

For this land, for these people.

After finishing the cigarette, he walked back.

Passing by a few houses, the sound of televisions, children's laughter, and couples bickering drifted from the windows.

The smoke and fire of the human world, nothing more than this.

Returning home, his parents were already asleep.

The light in the main room was still on, a cup of honey water on the table with a note pressed underneath.

"Son, drink this before sleeping to soothe your throat."

It was his mother's handwriting, neat and tidy.

Gu Shanhe picked up the cup; the water temperature was just right.

He drank it in one gulp, sweet and warm all the way to his stomach.

He pushed open the door to his room.

It was still the way it was when he was a child: a wooden bed, an old desk, and a wardrobe.

On the wall were a yellowed world map and the awards he received in primary school: Model Student, First Prize in Composition Contest, Second Prize in Calligraphy Contest.

On the desk were a few old books, "Journey to the West" and "Romance of the Three Kingdoms," their pages curled at the edges.

He sat on the edge of the bed and touched the quilt—it was new and smelled of sunshine; his mother must have just sunned it during the day.

He lay down and turned off the light.

Moonlight shone in through the window, casting a square of white on the floor.

In the distance, the call of an owl could be heard, long and ethereal.

He closed his eyes, his breathing gradually becoming steady.

This night, there were no dreams, no system notification sounds, no emails to process.

Only the night of his hometown, quiet, deep, and embracing everything.

He slept soundly and sweetly, like the boy from many years ago running on the field ridges with a schoolbag on his back.