Chapter 408: Unsolvable

You are an ordinary person. One day, you are selected by a system and transmigrate to another world.

On the morning of your transmigration, your mom, thinking about how rarely her son comes home, gets up before seven o'clock to line up at the supermarket to buy the freshest pork ribs, which are your favorite.

Your dad goes to work, and his co-workers are surprised to find him working extraordinarily hard today, smiling from time to time. The co-workers step forward and jokingly ask: "Did you eat honey today, Old Chen? Look how happy you are."

"Haha, isn't it because my son came back? That little brat, you can't even see a shadow of him all year round. It's rare for him to come back. I figured I'd finish work early today and ask the boss for a half-day off this afternoon." Your dad, who is usually unsmiling, smiles incredibly happily.

Upon hearing this, some co-workers are envious, some talk about their own children who don't come home, and some discuss the problem of the century—why kids nowadays don't want to get married. But without exception, they all rush to help your dad with his work.

The work that originally took a whole morning to finish is completed in two hours with the help of the co-workers. That stalwart father of yours, who holds up the family, stands in front of a young leader in his early twenties, smiling apologetically like a scolded elementary school student, and finally begs for a half-day off. He happily goes home holding the leave slip.

On the way home, he remembers that before going to bed last night, you asked him to help buy a pack of cigarettes.

"This stinky brat! He even started ordering his old man around!"

Arriving at the small shop, your dad looks at the dazzling array of cigarettes in the cabinet, slaps his thigh, and mutters to himself that he forgot to ask what kind of cigarettes you smoke.

"Hello, what cigarettes are you buying?" Under the impatient repeated inquiry of the boss, your dad finally selects a target:

"Give me a pack of Yuxi."

He thinks that during the New Year, the young people from the village who came back all smoked this, so you must also like smoking this.

At the same time, he buys himself a 7.5 yuan pack of Baijiao, pulls one out, lights it, and hurries home with the cigarette in his mouth, humming a little tune.

As soon as he gets home, he smells the aroma of stewed pork ribs filling the whole house. Grinning broadly, he comes to the kitchen and says with a smile: "Looks like I get to bask in my son's light today."

Your mom rolls her eyes at him and shows off to him how she snatched the freshest pork ribs from those old men and women this morning.

The couple cooks in the kitchen, and the family pet scratches at your door, occasionally letting out whimpering sounds.

At 12 noon, your parents bring the pork ribs and your favorite dishes to the table.

They also pour pet food into the pet bowl.

But the pet, which usually can eat half a catty of food in one meal, doesn't come to eat today.

It continues to scratch at your door, its little head unable to figure out why the little master's scent suddenly disappeared.

Afraid it might disturb you, your parents pick it up and sit on the sofa to watch TV.

Watching TV programs they don't like.

12:30 PM.

"Outrageous, it's already this time and the little brat still hasn't woken up," your dad mutters.

Your mom slaps him on the back and whispers: "Our son works hard outside. What's wrong with letting him sleep a little longer?"

"By the way, Old Chen, what do you think of that Li Mei next door? Her parents retired last year, and she works in a state-owned enterprise. Our son isn't young anymore either..."

"Little Mei, huh? She's really not bad, and she was even our son's elementary school classmate."

1:00 PM.

They talked about many things during this time.

For example, when you and Li Mei would get married, where to hold the banquet, which parents would help take care of the child, and where the child would go to elementary school.

The food on the table has already gone cold. Your mom reheats it again, thinking you should be about ready to wake up and are probably playing on your phone in bed right now. She carefully approaches your room door and knocks gently:

"Son, are you awake? Mom made your favorite winter melon stewed pork ribs."

Seeing that no one inside answers.

Your mom gives your dad a look.

Your dad knows it's his turn to take the stage. Usually, as long as he calls you to get up with a stern face, you can always scramble up nimbly.

But this time, your dad puts on a stern face and calls out several times at the door, but you don't respond.

The family pet is still scratching at your door, whimpering from time to time.

Your parents finally realize something is wrong, and disregarding things like respecting privacy, they push open your room door and find the bed completely empty.

Your dad calls you, and your phone vibrates on the bed. For some reason, a trace of panic rises in their hearts.

2:00 PM.

Your parents have called your classmates, friends, teachers, leaders, and buddies one by one, asking if you are with them.

The result is negative across the board.

Your mom thinks of something and hurriedly runs downstairs to stand at the entrance. Every time she meets someone, she asks if an ambulance came to the neighborhood today. She is afraid something happened to you and you jumped off the building while they weren't home.

Upon learning that no ambulance came, she breathes a sigh of relief but also feels faintly uneasy.

3:00 PM.

Your parents come to the neighborhood security booth and hand that pack of Yuxi to the elderly security guard.

They go to the surveillance room and check the people entering and leaving the neighborhood frame by frame, second by second.

6:00 PM.

They sit at the dining table, on which are the winter melon stewed pork ribs that have been reheated several times. They think you might have gone out for something and should be back home in the evening.

8:00 PM.

The food on the table has been reheated an unknown number of times. The winter melon in the winter melon stewed pork ribs, just like you who suddenly disappeared, can no longer be seen.

9:00 PM.

They think of the worst possible outcome. Your mom's legs go soft, and your dad braves the rain, taking a flashlight to the nearby river, searching while calling your name.

7:00 AM the next morning.

At the police station, your dad's eyes are bloodshot as he constantly mutters: "It's been 24 hours, it's been 24 hours, it's already been 24 hours."

10:00 AM.

Your dad comes home. Your mom drags her weak legs out of bed, grabs your dad's arm, and stares intently into his eyes.

Your dad gently shakes his head.

Your mom collapses onto the floor.

The morning of the third day.

Your parents go to the train station, bringing nothing, and take the earliest train.

During the 18-hour train ride, they only eat two cups of instant noodles, and leave half behind.

The fourth day.

They go to your workplace, asking your leaders, asking your colleagues.

Afternoon.

They go to your rented apartment and sit quietly there all night, thinking that as long as you come back, they can see you immediately.

The fifth day.

They return to their hometown and go to your grandfather's house in the village. Whenever they see someone, they ask, "Has my son come back?"

The sixth day.

They return to the city and sit quietly for another night. Perhaps they feel they can wait, wait until you've had enough fun and come back, wait for news from the police station, wait for phone calls from your buddies and friends, wait for that worst possible news...

The eighth day.

Your mom can no longer get out of bed, and your dad's originally jet-black hair has turned half white.

The tenth day.

Your dad sends your mom and the pet back to the countryside for your grandfather to take care of. He resigns from his job, takes the family savings, casually buys a few large flatbreads, and gets on the train again.

You said you wanted to go to Yunnan, so he takes the train to Yunnan.

You went to college in Kyoto, so he takes the train to your college.

Your ex-girlfriend is in Guangdong/Guangxi, so he takes the train to Guangdong/Guangxi.

For half a year, he runs all over the country, growing half-white long hair and a stubbly beard, looking like a savage, but with a fierce look in his eyes as if ready to fight someone to the death, causing many people to look at him strangely.

A year later.

Your dad goes to the Myanmar region, thinking perhaps you were kidnapped and taken there.

Several months later.

Your mom in the village learns that your dad died in the Myanmar region, his corpse not even whole. She hears that his heart, liver, and kidneys were all dug out.

Your mom went crazy.

There was already a madwoman in the village, but she had died many years ago. You even teased her when you were little. Now, another madwoman has appeared.

Whenever she sees someone, she asks: "Have you seen my son? He's very well-behaved. Oh, right, he's getting married. Remember to come drink his wedding wine."

Every time she comes out, the village children tease her. Gradually, they figure out a pattern: as long as they call her 【Mom】, she will smile at you, give you money, give you all the money she has on her. But this money isn't easy to take, as every time a dog will rush up and bark at them.

Every evening, your mom will have a moment of lucidity, two streams of clear tears flowing down as she mutters: "Son, where exactly are you?"

…

Who else wants to transmigrate now?

When you transmigrate, you take away two portions of yearning. When you are doing well in another world, little do you know that you have already lost your anchor.

When a person loses their anchor...

Everywhere is a foreign land.

These two portions of yearning and the anchor will eventually trap your entire life.