Chapter 6 5. Contentment in Idleness
Zhang Zhiluo and Liang Fengying were both frantic with worry.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Are you alright? Did you catch a cold?”
“Is something hurting? No, we have to go to the hospital.”
…
Watching the two of them scrambling to pack up and head to the hospital, Zhang Luo quickly waved his hand.
“No need.”
“No need?”
“My dad reeks. The fishy stench is making me nauseous.” Zhang Luo kept waving. “I’m fine.”
Zhang Zhiluo: “…”
He lowered his head and sniffed himself, bewildered. “Where’s the smell? There’s no scent at all.”
As he spoke, he moved to approach Liang Fengying.
“Wife, come smell, isn’t it—”
Liang Fengying had already raised her hand.
“Stay away from me!”
Zhang Zhiluo: “…”
Zhang Luo: “Dad, hurry up and take a bath. I really can’t stand it. This fish stench—urk—”
Zhang Luo was gagging again.
Liang Fengying: “Keep that armpit clamped tight and don’t you dare loosen it!”
Zhang Luo flopped onto the sofa, his other hand flashing an OK gesture.
Although Zhang Zhiluo repeatedly insisted he smelled of nothing and wasn’t stinky, under the undeniable, pressuring gazes of Liang Fengying and Zhang Luo, he eventually went to bathe first.
Liang Fengying: “Keep it clamped for a full fifteen minutes, then show me.”
With that, she got up, carefully examined Zhang Luo once more to confirm his complexion showed no major issue, then picked up the black plastic bag Zhang Zhiluo had brought back and went into the kitchen.
In the bathroom, the rush of water.
In the kitchen, the clang of knives.
Listening to these sounds, Zhang Luo suddenly felt a wordless—
contentment.
A contentment that was perfectly at ease, utterly justified in its idleness, the contentment of lying sprawled on the sofa with nothing to do.
—
The thirty-year-old Zhang Luo often mocked himself by saying he was a salted fish.
Even though some people around him called him the king of the grind.
He always worked overtime, and could be considered hardworking—one of the countless beasts of burden of the modern era.
And the reason he mocked himself as a salted fish was because if he didn’t, he would have to face an even more miserable reality—
You work hard, you’re diligent, yet you only brand the mark of the beast of burden deeper into your flesh.
Among your peers, the geniuses need not be mentioned; those with a bit of family background could still live comfortably; those more ruthless than you who could squeeze themselves dry to struggle onward had at least achieved some small success.
And you, you probably belonged to the so-called “too high to reach, too low to settle for” category.
You started late, your peak wasn’t high enough, you couldn’t charge to the front, yet you were unwilling to be the tail end. So you lived huffing and puffing like a steam locomotive, burning yourself as you chugged along the tracks, then helplessly watched yourself gradually being left behind. You watched with your own eyes as your peers moved from the steam age into the electrical age, and even the information age.
But no one can willingly be left behind in an era destined to become obsolete.
After work, the thirty-year-old Zhang Luo would return to his rental apartment, lie on the sofa, and play two rounds of games, yet he would still feel lost and melancholic. He felt that tomorrow, which had essentially lost all hope, was eroding night after night that should have been for relaxation and recuperation with an unstoppable, devastating momentum.
A salted fish, yet a salted fish unable to truly stay salted—not only suffering external depletion, but internal friction as well.
—
Zhang Luo came back to his senses and looked up at the ceiling of his home.
The summer of being fifteen years old. First year of senior high.
School had just started.
His grades were actually not bad—he had tested into City No. 2 High School.
City No. 2 High School counted as one of the best high schools in the city. It couldn’t compare to No. 1 High, but every year it still produced some students who soared into brand-name universities.
But his grades weren’t particularly good either. He hadn’t made it into the key class of City No. 2 High School.
Fifteen years later, key classes were abolished; the concept no longer existed. Supposedly this was to reduce the burden on students and ensure educational fairness.
Fifteen years ago, every high school had a key class. It bore the hope of that high school for charging toward brand-name university admissions.
That class had the best teaching staff and the best resources. For example, spots for independent enrollment or guaranteed admission were often reserved for students in that class.
Zhang Luo had almost obtained the independent enrollment recommendation quota for Guojingping University—the qualification to directly enter the second round of interviews.
But because he wasn’t a key class student, that quota wasn’t given to him in the end.
This matter dealt Zhang Luo a heavy blow, and even left him furious for quite a long time, causing him to become somewhat self-abandoning during his senior year.
Of course, you couldn’t say that if that incident hadn’t happened, Zhang Luo would certainly have tested better. But how would things have turned out? Who could know?
Zhang Luo suddenly recalled this matter. With a thirty-year-old soul once again having the opportunity to stand at a crossroads, he vaguely felt an uncontrollable excitement.
Everything could start over.
If he could do a little better on the college entrance exam, just ten more points, he could get into a brand-name university instead of an ordinary, decent Yuming University. Perhaps the new starting point of his life would be a little different. Perhaps this salted fish of his could at least swim into a stream?
“Son, how are those new classmates of yours?” Zhang Zhiluo came out after his bath. Because the weather was hot, he just wore a pair of baggy shorts, rubbing himself haphazardly with a towel.
“Not bad. I haven’t really interacted with them yet, so how would I know?” Zhang Luo sat up straight while studying his father. A warm surge welled up uncontrollably in his heart, but by now he had regained his composure and knew he had to pretend everything was normal. “Dad, has your stomach been uncomfortable lately?”
Although he also knew that his father hadn’t died of stomach cancer until he was twenty-four—meaning there shouldn’t be anything wrong with his father’s stomach at this point—Zhang Luo still couldn’t help asking.
“No.” Zhang Zhiluo asked, “Why are you asking me this? Are you feeling unwell?”
“No, I heard from a classmate that his dad died of stomach cancer. He never got physical exams before, so it wasn’t detected early.” Zhang Luo said, “You need to take care of yourself. Don’t go dying on us; Mom and I still need you to provide for us.”
Zhang Zhiluo: “Ptooey, ptooey, ptooey! You’re cursing me to death already!”
Liang Fengying came out of the kitchen.
“He’s been weird all day, saying a bunch of strange things and doing Iron Sand Palm like he had a stroke.” Liang Fengying looked at Zhang Luo. “Take out the thermometer. Let’s see, do you have a fever? No, we still need to go to the hospital for a checkup.”
Zhang Luo suddenly thought, that’s right. If they went to the hospital for a checkup now, and there really was something wrong with his father’s stomach, it would be detected.
“Then sure, let’s go to the hospital for a checkup.” Zhang Luo said and took out the thermometer.
36.8 degrees.
A perfectly normal number.
Liang Fengying inspected it carefully before letting out a sigh of relief.
“I’ll say hello to your aunt. Tomorrow we’ll go to your aunt’s hospital for a checkup.”
“Don’t just check me. You two should get checked together too,” Zhang Luo said.
Liang Fengying: “You think checkups don’t cost money?”
“Spend a little money. What if some problems really are found? Early detection, early treatment.”
In this regard, Zhang Luo genuinely believed this from the bottom of his heart, especially after his father, because he never got physical exams, only had his stomach cancer discovered at a late stage.
—
You must get regular checkups.
A junior of mine from university, one November, when we were eating together, told us that she had been feeling unwell, often in so much pain at night that she couldn’t sleep. But because she was studying alone outside, she didn’t tell her family. She just endured it herself, thinking it wasn’t a big deal. At the time, we all thought it was probably just some discomfort somewhere, a little pain. Although we urged her to definitely get it checked, we didn’t think it was serious. In the end, not a few months later, news came that she had been found to have breast cancer. Everyone pooled money together to help her with treatment, but before long, she still passed away because it was discovered too late.
This incident affected and touched me deeply. It was also after this that I made sure to get a physical exam every year. This kind of thing—you truly only take it to heart when someone close to you experiences it.
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