4 Contemplation

Chen Ran felt as if he had been startled awake. Their apartment was on the third floor, facing the courtyard. Below, there was a rain canopy, and he could hear people talking. Chen Ran hurried to the door, wanting to look down. Just then, Luo Mingxiu woke up and said to him, "Xiao Ran, stay inside and don't go downstairs, you hear me?"

"Mom!" Chen Ran looked at her face and noticed her expression was deeply unsettling.

"Xiao Ran, listen to me." Luo Mingxiu didn't elaborate. She simply opened the door and then, with a loud "bang," shut it behind her. Chen Ran stood in the empty apartment, silent. He assumed his mother didn't want him to know what was happening. Hanging his head, he took a deep breath, turned around, and walked back to his room. If his mother was keeping it from him, it was for a reason; besides, he was only thirteen—a half-grown child who could do nothing.

He only... wanted to spare his mother any extra worry.

The rustling sounds from below eventually faded into silence. In the end, Chen Ran stayed in the apartment as told. This was the police residential compound; almost everyone living here was a police officer from Ningchuan City. Surely no one would dare to cause trouble in such a place, he thought. Suddenly, he heard a "knock-knock-knock."

Chen Ran set down his pen and opened the door. Fang Shouyi and Yang Meiyue were standing there, supporting a tear-streaked Luo Mingxiu.

Yang Meiyue said softly and awkwardly, "Xiao Ran, why don't you go back to your room?"

Fang Shouyi looked at Chen Ran and added gently, "Xiao Ran, go back to your room and rest. The doctor said you need plenty of rest."

"Okay." Chen Ran nodded obediently and returned to his room alone.

Sitting in his room, Chen Ran could hear Yang Meiyue whispering to his mother. "Mingxiu, Old Fang checked, and the martyr status application has been submitted. Don't argue with those people. They are... Mingxiu, I asked Old Fang, and he said you could move to the police compound in Linjiang City. Why don't we move there? Once the martyr benefits are approved, you can just move. Old Fang and I are both there, and it would be convenient for us to look out for each other as neighbors. Besides, once Qingyan graduates, won't she have to work in Linjiang? You can't let her be there all alone; it's worrying for a young woman to work in Linjiang by herself..."

Aunt Yang said much more, and Chen Ran caught fragments of it. He began to piece things together: his mother hadn't let him go downstairs because the family of the young man his father had saved was causing a scene. The people attending his father’s funeral were all police officers, so they couldn't easily lash out. Otherwise, they would have beaten the troublemakers long ago. There were witnesses willing to testify for his father, and the local station was applying for "martyr" status for his act of bravery.

Chen Ran pursed his lips, saying nothing, until he bit them hard. He took a deep breath as tears escaped his eyes. He looked up at the ceiling and let out a long, slow breath, then turned his gaze back to his textbook. It was a Chinese literature book. Chen Ran often had to guess his way through the material, but he still managed to scrape by with a score of over a hundred.

Flipping through the book while wiping away tears, Chen Ran soon grew sleepy and slumped over his desk, drifting into a hazy slumber. He dreamed of his late father smiling at him, and of his weeping mother and sister... It was a long, long dream. When he finally stirred, the sky had turned dark. Outside the room, Uncle Fang’s voice called out, "Xiao Ran, come out and eat."

Chen Ran wiped the dried tear tracks from his face, rubbed his eyes, and opened the door. "Uncle Fang."

Fang Zhentian mused, "Eat first, Xiao Ran."

"Thank you, Uncle Fang." Chen Ran’s room was small, containing only a few wardrobes, a bed, and a desk. Fang Zhentian noticed at a glance that the textbook on the desk was open.

"Were you studying just now, Xiao Ran?" Fang Zhentian’s voice was very gentle—it was surprising to hear such a tender tone from his rugged, stern face.

"Yes," Chen Ran sniffled, answering vaguely. "Father told me to study hard."

"What a good boy." Thinking of Chen Ran’s father, Fang Zhentian felt a pang of heartache. How could such a good man as Old Chen be gone so suddenly? Looking at the young boy who was only ten-something years old, his eyes were full of pity. "Eat your meal, then study well."

"Okay!" Chen Ran nodded gently and held his bowl, eating. Fang Zhentian sighed beside him, gently patting Chen Ran’s head. After the meal, Chen Ran returned to his studies, and Fang Zhentian said softly, "Xiao Ran, if you need anything later, just come find Uncle Fang."

Chen Ran nodded obediently. Fang Zhentian picked up the dishes and left, closing the door gently.

Back at his desk, Chen Ran flipped through his Chinese book. He had been out of school for a long time—over a decade—and had long forgotten the content. Now, revisiting the textbooks presented some challenges. The knowledge had long since left his mind, and reclaiming those memories was a tedious task.

Chen Ran sighed softly and continued to grind away at the books.

After decades away from school, he had to pick up these books and study earnestly again. However, the first-year junior high Chinese curriculum was relatively simple for him. Even after such a long hiatus, he could manage it. It was math, English, physics, and chemistry that would require more effort. In his previous life, he had chosen the liberal arts stream in high school, likely because he realized science wasn't his strength when it came time to choose. This time, he wanted to push himself; perhaps choosing science would be better. If his father were still here... he would probably have wanted him to choose science.

The dim light illuminated the room, and Chen Ran coughed twice. He turned the pages. Through the window, the faint lights of the courtyard shone below. There was no funeral music, only the sound of hushed conversations. Chen Ran couldn't hear them clearly. The late autumn air was chilly. He closed the window and sniffed. He had almost forgotten how they had survived that initial period without his father.

His mother’s health had never been good, and Chen Ran had inherited her frailty. His sister, however, was quite robust. In the year 2000, his father’s salary hadn't been high—only about 700 yuan. His mother needed money for medical treatment, he needed food, and his sister was in college with annual tuition to pay. The furniture at home was old and worn. His father’s death had made a financially tight household even worse. His mother had to force herself to set up a street stall selling snacks just to get by.

Some in society wanted to donate money, but his mother always refused. She would say, "I have hands and feet; I can raise my two children." Little Chen Ran used to wonder why she wouldn't accept the help, but he later understood that one must rely on oneself.

In Chen Ran’s eyes, his mother wasn't a good businessperson. Every time she sold snacks, she chose the best ingredients and was incredibly honest. She didn't make much money—just enough to feed them. Sometimes she had to run from the urban management officers. The students who once envied him for having a policeman for a father began to mock him, saying that now that his father was gone, his mother was just a street vendor. Back then, he was young and overly concerned with face. Listening to his classmates' ridicule, he didn't dare to hold his head up in school. He would feel inferior, and when leaving school, he wouldn't even look at his mother, turning and walking away immediately.

Later, he finally understood a truth: as long as one earns a living with their own hands, it is never shameful. Only those who are lazy and wait for handouts are the ones who should be ashamed.

His mother supported the entire family on her own. From junior high through high school and until he graduated from college, she provided his living expenses. During that time, he had thought about taking part-time jobs, but his health was too poor—he simply couldn't handle it. He clenched his fist. He couldn't go on like this; he had to study hard.

From every angle, his only way out was to excel in his studies. If he could study well enough that schools would offer him scholarships, his mother wouldn't have to work so hard. He didn't want to be a burden. His family consisted only of his mother, his sister, and himself. His rebellion back then had left his mother and sister in despair. This time, he wouldn't let them down again. Furthermore, he possessed a mysterious system. Regardless of its purpose, it could help him learn. He firmly believed that this time... things would be better than in his previous life.

Even the bitterest winter would pass; there would eventually come a day when spring blossoms!

The gloomy weather hung over the city. The funeral music started again. Chen Ran closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Then, he opened them and threw himself into his studies. His slightly childish face was filled with a maturity far beyond his years. Flipping through the pages, he took notes. He didn't know how long he had been studying. The only clock in the house was in the living room, and his father had owned a watch. His father had promised to take him to buy an alarm clock that weekend so he wouldn't be late for early morning study sessions.

His pen moved across the paper, and he filled an entire page with notes. He set the pen down. He wasn't used to writing with a fountain pen for such long stretches; after he started working, most of his tasks were done on a computer. He rarely wrote by hand, and his calligraphy had never been good. Looking at the notebook, his handwriting was truly hard to look at.

Perhaps he needed to practice his penmanship, too.

He closed his notebook. It was very late. He lit the stove and boiled a pot of water. After washing up, he lay in bed, feeling quite exhausted. Before long, he fell into a deep sleep.

The sound of drizzling rain accompanied his breathing, and he slept soundly.

"Xiao Ran, Xiao Ran." It wasn't dawn yet; the surroundings were pitch black, looking somewhat terrifying. A dim, old lightbulb swayed overhead in the wind. The mottled walls, tinged with yellow, were covered in crooked, scrawled pencil marks.

A tall figure cast a shadow against the wooden door.