Chapter 381: A myriad of lights, all within his sight
Jiang Ci’s hand hovered in mid-air, grasping at nothing.
His wrist lowered, his knuckles turning pale from the force of his grip.
Though his hand was truly empty, in the eyes of the audience, it seemed he had indeed picked up a heavy bottle of strong liquor, holding it steadily.
He gave a slight turn of his wrist, tilting the bottle’s mouth.
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, accompanied by an almost imperceptible swallow.
The nonexistent liquor filled that nonexistent cup.
After filling one cup, he didn’t stop.
His wrist pressed down again, pouring his own cup full to the brim as well.
In Star City, within an old living room.
Chu Hong picked up the bottle of Red Star Erguotou from the table and unscrewed the cap.
The pungent aroma of liquor filled the small room.
She steadily poured the liquor into the glass cup placed before the photo frame, the liquid level rising until it was perfectly even with the rim of the cup.
On the television, Jiang Ci raised his hand.
Outside the television, Chu Hong set down the liquor bottle.
The movements of mother and son were perfectly synchronized.
At the center of the stage.
Jiang Ci picked up that intangible cup and lightly clinked it against the empty chair opposite him.
He tilted his head back and drank it all in one go.
The first cup, toasting to this homecoming that had been delayed for far too long.
The illusory burn of the strong liquor seared his throat. His features instantly twisted tight, but then quickly relaxed as he let out a satisfied sigh of liquor-scented breath.
Pour again, drink again.
The second cup, toasting to the nurturing he could never repay.
He drank this cup too hastily, breaking into violent, choking coughs that flushed his entire face red. Yet he pressed his hand hard over his mouth,
trying not to let too loud a sound escape, as if afraid of disturbing someone.
The third cup.
Holding the cup aloft, he stared fixedly at the empty space opposite him.
Toasting to these damn, long, drawn-out years that separate people across distances.
He drank this cup very slowly.
The bitterness burned all the way down his throat into his stomach, and also burned until the corners of his eyes grew hot.
Then, he set down the cup.
His right hand reached out, two fingers coming together with practiced ease, forming the posture for holding chopsticks.
From that plate of steaming “dumplings,” he steadily picked up one.
But he wasn’t in a hurry to bring it to his mouth.
He brought the “dumpling” close to his lips, puffed out his cheeks, and gave it a gentle blow.
Hoo—
That puff of warm air seemed to also blow away the heavy, aching sorrow that had accumulated in the audience’s hearts.
Just when everyone thought he was about to eat it, his wrist turned.
That cooled-down dumpling was placed into the empty bowl opposite him.
“Dad, you eat first.”
Silent lines, yet they rang deafeningly in everyone’s heart.
The bullet comments at this moment completely collapsed.
【Holy shit… my tears just shot out.】
【My dad passed away three years ago. Back when the family ate dumplings, the first bowl was always for him. This detail is killing me!】
【He clearly didn’t say anything, but why do I hear him calling out ‘Dad’?】
Jiang Ci picked up another one.
This time, for himself.
Perhaps the dumpling was too slippery, or perhaps those nonexistent chopsticks were too old.
His hand shook, and the “dumpling” fell.
Instinctively, he tried to catch it, scrambling clumsily across the tabletop after the rolling food.
The movements were comical, awkward, even somewhat pathetic.
Finally, he pinned it down.
Without any disgust, he picked it up and directly stuffed it into his mouth.
His cheeks bulged as he chewed vigorously.
He ate too hastily, burning his tongue. He opened his mouth, continuously sucking in cool air, yet couldn’t bear to spit it out.
On the sofa, Auntie Wang tightly clutched the tissue in her hand.
Without any disdain, he picked it up and directly stuffed it into his mouth.
“This child…”
She sobbed, her voice broken, “This silly child, how can eating air look so delicious…”
“It makes me… strangely hungry, and also strangely heartbroken.”
In Jiang Ci’s mind, the system’s notification sounds were like exploding firecrackers.
【Detected group emotional resonance!】
【Heartbreak Value +888!】
【Heartbreak Value +1200!】
【…】
The values jumped frantically.
This pain born from beauty being torn apart, from familial love being awakened, felt so real it was startling.
This was no longer simple tragedy harvesting.
This was a gentle, lingering execution.
The skit was nearing its end.
Jiang Ci stopped chewing.
He lifted his sleeve, wiping it on that worn-out padded jacket, roughly swiping at the greasy sheen on his mouth.
He looked across the table.
His previously tense shoulders relaxed, his whole body slumping against the chair back.
He grinned, smiling.
The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes gathered together, revealing a mouthful of white teeth.
That smile was utterly foolish, yet it carried a certainty that felt reassuring.
“Mom, I’m doing fine.”
“Money’s enough, work’s going smoothly, don’t you worry.”
As he “spoke,” he reached a hand into his chest.
After fumbling for a while, he pulled out something square and flat.
A red paper packet.
Though it was object-less performance, the force with which he pinched the edges of the “red envelope” with both hands
made one feel that what was inside wasn’t money, but all the grievances he had suffered outside this year and all the dignity he had earned.
He stood up, holding the red envelope with both hands, respectfully offering it to the opposite side.
Pushed it forward.
Pushed it a little further.
Only after confirming “the other party” had accepted it did he relax with a sigh, sitting back down on the chair.
The live audience was deathly silent.
Only countless suppressed intakes of breath and faint sobs could be heard.
Everyone could feel a tremendous emotional tension
bursting forth from that slender figure, pressing them firmly into their seats, unable to move.
Jiang Ci suddenly raised his wrist.
He pushed up the already worn-out cuff and glanced at the nonexistent watch.
His movements paused for a second.
Time was up.
Reunions are always brief; parting is the norm.
He stood up, first returning the chair to its place, straightening it.
Then he picked up that red scarf placed on the “cabinet.” (In reality, it was on the floor.)
One loop, two loops.
Wrapping himself up tightly and securely once more.
That brief vulnerability shed at the doorstep of home,
that weakness revealed before his parents,
was sealed away again within this layer of red armor.
He became once more that unbreakable Jiang Ci.
Became once more that stranger in a foreign land who could fight desperately for a few dollars in the wind and snow.
He turned and walked towards that intangible door.
Pulled open the door bolt.
A timely breeze on stage ruffled the stray hairs on his forehead.
He stepped out one leg.
His figure halted.
At the moment he was about to step into the darkness.
Jiang Ci looked back.
That gaze pierced through the spotlight of the studio, pierced through the television screens of thousands of homes.
It looked towards Chu Hong in the living room, towards the weeping Auntie Wang,
looked towards everyone eating their New Year’s Eve dinner, or those unable to eat a New Year’s Eve dinner.
A deep, long look.
As if he wanted to etch the appearance of this home, the position of that empty chair, deeply into his mind.
The frame froze.
The lights of ten thousand homes, all reflected in his eyes.