Chapter 4: Homecoming

The street was still the same street, the old residential area still the same old residential area, just the plane trees had shrunk a bit, and the infrastructure wasn’t as complete.

Wutong Residential Area.

Walking down the familiar path to his front door, Xu Qingzhou suddenly felt the anxious hesitation of returning home.

His parents, young and eighteen, had once—he’d earned a little money and wanted to buy them a new house—but the old couple were used to living in Wutong Residential Area and refused, saying they’d save it for Xu Qingzhou as his wedding home.

He was stationed in Jingdu, seeing them only a few times a year; for two years, to chase data, he didn’t even come home for the New Year.

“What are you standing there for like a door god?” A woman shouted, her voice sharp.

Familiar feeling. Looking at the middle-aged woman inside the window, Xu Qingzhou waved. “Coming.”

The room’s layout hadn’t changed: to the left upon entering was the kitchen and dining table; ahead lay the living room, with sofa and coffee table.

“No.”

Read! {

People in physics have one defining trait: they work extremely hard. Even without that one percent of talent, relying on the remaining ninety-nine percent of effort, they can achieve maximum success.

“Maybe.” Xu Qingzhou agreed.

Fortunately, Xu Qingzhou was one of those who possessed that one percent of talent. Even so, after starting work, he still wanted to split every twenty-four hours into pieces—library, lab, dorm, three points in a line.

Xu·Metro Elder·Qing·Meme·Zhou.

Wang Xiaping finished washing the pot, took off her apron, and urged: “What are you zoning out for? The porridge’s gone cold.”

Seeing Xu Qingzhou so certain, Wang Xiaping finally relaxed, stood up to collect the bowls, and said: “It’s just the Gaokao. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself.”

“I’ll start reviewing right away.”

“Pity, the national team was just a hair away from qualifying for the World Cup.” Xu Shouyun sipped tea, spat out a leaf, then nodded. “Next time, if we try harder, we still might make it.”

After fiddling for two minutes, Xu Qingzhou tapped the familiar QQ icon and entered his space.

Like someone regaining memory, touching something once familiar gradually revived the related recollections.

The rice porridge had been set on the coffee table in front of the sofa, cooling; on TV, a replay of Dynamo Kyiv vs Valencia was playing.

April 7, 2014

After scolding him, his mother smiled at Xu Qingzhou and said: “The porridge isn’t ready yet. Go freshen up and take a shower.”

He’d posted two messages yesterday.

On the bedside table beside the window sat a stack of comics: “Ah Shuai Collection,” “Dragon Ball,” “Wulong Yuan.” And there, too, was a longsword—Hongmao the Young Hero’s Rainbow Sword.

“Mm.” Xu Shouyun nodded, not turning around. “Your mom’s in the kitchen.”

“I know.” Xu Qingzhou nodded, stood up. “It’s already ten. You two should get some rest too.”

Old interface, old software.

Without that one percent of talent, even ninety-nine percent effort will most likely amount to wasted effort.

“Good goal!”

“Xu Qingzhou, what are you dawdling for? Go shower!” Wang Xiaping called from the doorway.

“Really not?” Wang Xiaping confirmed. She felt her son seemed off today.

“Valencia had a scoring chance just now—just that striker’s no good,” Xu Shouyun lamented.

Time passed second by second until Xu Shouyun knocked on the door, reminding him to sleep.

In the mirror, a boy of seventeen or eighteen, still with abdominal muscles from inhaling deeply, his face slightly childish, at the age where lunch at noon means hunger by twelve-thirty—everything brimmed with hope.

These were etched into his core memory; touch one switch, and they surged up all at once.

Xu Qingzhou nodded with a smile and sat beside Xu Shouyun. On TV, Valencia’s striker stepped up for the penalty.

On one side, a pile of high school textbooks from three years.

Bang—the door was shoved open. Wang Xiaping stood there, face dark, threatening: “If you play with your phone again, I’m taking it away.”

During his last physical, the doctor said his body was like an overused machine.

Xu Qingzhou finished showering, rinsed his underwear, and stepped out of the bathroom feeling refreshed.

{That’s enough. I’m tired.}

“All you ever do is stare at that stupid ball,” his mother said, wiping her hands with her apron as she walked out of the kitchen.

But by the era of modern physics, the thinking in physics underwent a leap—it demanded intelligence and talent. On the sofa sat a thin, tall man in his early forties, glasses on, legs crossed, watching the football match. Compared to ten years later, his temples held less white hair.

{Green mountains, clear waters, a brook, emerald bamboo—this is my pursuit.}

!.

“Dynamo’s defense is strong.”

After reading “Qinyuanchun·Changsha” through once, he closed the book and silently recited it, flawlessly, in one breath.

Wang Xiaping nudged her husband, signaling him to ask about their son. Xu Shouyun understood, nodded slightly, lowered the TV volume, and turned to Xu Qingzhou: “Have you run into any problems at school lately?”

“You two father-son pairs just sit around doing nothing all day,” Wang Xiaping complained helplessly, sitting beside Xu Shouyun, accustomed to this scene.

From the kitchen came the faint sound of scrubbing pots.

Xu Qingzhou shrugged and returned to his room, sat at his desk, and opened his phone.

“The Gaokao is like a marathon—you’re a long-distance runner on the path of study. The finish line isn’t your score, but becoming a better version of yourself,” Xu Shouyun added with a smile.

Full of eye-searing non-mainstream youth angst literature. Xu Qingzhou felt his scalp crawl, his skin prickled with goosebumps, and quickly closed the space.

Xu Shouyun chuckled, wisely saying nothing.

Hey, still 4G.

“Qinyuanchun·Changsha”

The 2014 World Cup Asian qualifiers: China made it to the top 20, ranked third in their group, and failed to qualify for the Brazil World Cup.

“No.” Xu Qingzhou put down his bowl.

“Coming.” Xu Qingzhou replied, picked up the folded clothes on the bed, and walked into the bathroom.

April 6, 2014

“Dad, Mom, I’m back.”

Xu Qingzhou took a deep breath and focused on memorizing and reciting.

Xu Qingzhou put down his phone, pulled out his Chinese textbook, and opened it.

Wang Xiaping turned back, warning: “Don’t play with your phone.”

Stepping into the small ten-square-meter room, he smelled strong ink fragrance. On the wooden desk sat a white phone—a Coolpad.

Although from Newton’s classical physics era through the end of the nineteenth century, the theories were relatively easy to accept and understand—this era studied various physical phenomena, and with enough time, one could grasp them.

Xu Qingzhou’s eyes suddenly stung. He hadn’t seen this scene in many years.

Xu Qingzhou nodded obediently; the phrases that once annoyed him in middle school now sounded especially soothing.

“Good.” Xu Qingzhou felt warmth in his heart. During this final term of senior year, he’d gained over ten pounds.

“Alright, go review. Don’t stay up too late—your body is the foundation of everything,” Xu Shouyun said, holding his teacup.

Xu Qingzhou was numb.

But in the world of physics, what matters is that one percent.

He carried his bag into the bedroom.

{In my heart lies a maple forest (maple leaves), the ground carpeted with soft maple leaves.}

Seeing Xu Qingzhou begin reading, Wang Xiaping nodded in satisfaction and gently closed the door.

Standing alone in the cold autumn, the Xiang River flows north, at Orange Isle’s head.

{Some things, only one can do. Some barriers, only one can break through. Some paths, only one can walk.}

“Brat, now you’ve learned to care about us? Taking care of yourself is the best care you can give us,” Wang Xiaping said, wiping her hands as she came out of the kitchen.

Xu Qingzhou sipped his porridge and commented.

He realized it was 11:50.

Xu Qingzhou murmured an acknowledgment, tidied up briefly, and went to bed.

The TV sound outside vanished—obviously switched off by his mother—followed by low, muffled voices.

That night, he slept peacefully.

(End of Chapter)