Chapter 39.1 - I’m Sorry (1)
After skipping class for three days, Luo Zhi finally woke up one day feeling noticeably clearer in her head. Her phone buzzed suddenly—it was a call from her mom.
“Luoluo, how have you been these past few days? I saw on TV that it’s supposed to snow in Beijing. Is it cold?”
“Not really.”
In fact, she had no idea whether it was cold outside or not—she hadn’t left her room. At first, Belle had helped buy food for her. Then Zhang Mingrui texted her, asking why she hadn’t shown up for Law class. Jokingly, she said she was so sick she was near death. Unexpectedly, he said he’d come to the dorm to check on her. After she declined repeatedly, he finally gave up. But that night, he called again and said he had gone all the way to Jiahe Yipin to buy her some porridge and was bringing it over. Luo Zhi was startled and had to ask Belle for help. As a result, when Belle went down to intercept him, she later teased Luo Zhi with a mischievous smile, pressing her for details.
That’s how the past few days had gone.
“What’s wrong with your voice? Why is it so hoarse—do you have a cold?”
“A little bit. It’s fine, nothing serious. No fever, just coughing. Don’t worry, I’ve taken medicine.”
“As if you ever take medicine properly. No wonder—I had a dream about you last night. Dreamt you dyed your hair and had an allergic reaction. Your lips swelled up like Stephen Chow in Kung Fu, couldn’t even speak. I called to check on you—and sure enough, you’re sick.”
“Mother-daughter telepathy,” Luo Zhi laughed roughly. Her voice sounded like a croaking duck. “You worry too much about me, so you have weird dreams. Don’t be superstitious, it’s nonsense. But honestly, I wouldn’t mind swollen lips—it’d save me from having to talk.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just a sore throat.”
“Teaching those two kids—is it exhausting?”
“No, it’s just babysitting. Really simple. Their spoken English is really good, but their grammar is a mess. I just help them correct their writing and tutor them in fourth or fifth grade level math, in English, since their textbooks are in English. Much easier than teaching high school kids. I told you before—it’s like getting paid for nothing.”
“No way it’s not tiring! You’re always trying to fool me.”
Luo Zhi just laughed. There was no point in arguing with her mother.
“One of my coworkers—you remember Aunt Fu, the one you met during the holidays—she’s going to Beijing to help her son settle in. He just got a job at a hotel. I had her bring you a pair of boots I bought on sale here—they’re really pretty, you’ll love them. I was going to ask you to meet her at the train station, show her how to take the subway, and pick up the boots. But since you’re sick, forget it.”
“It’s fine. Just send me the train number and time in a text so I don’t forget. How’s work?”
Her mother used to stand all day at the counter, but last year was diagnosed with early varicose veins. Through someone’s recommendation, she now cooked for factory workers in the cafeteria of a plastic mold plant. Luo Zhi would listen as her mom talked about workplace gossip and drama, sometimes giving advice, sometimes teasing her for fun.
When the topic turned to her workplace, her mom kept talking and only hung up after a long chat.
After the call, Luo Zhi stared at the phone screen with a smile full of fondness. She still remembered how, when she was little and too weak to walk, her mother carried her from place to place seeking justice, even when threatened. She still clutched a kitchen knife in one hand, holding Luo Zhi close and telling a bureau director calmly: “I carry this to work every day. I can keep carrying it—until you kill me.”
Some of the “legendary” experiences from childhood could easily be turned into a melodramatic TV drama.
Time flies. She had grown up; her mother had grown old, now calling and chatting endlessly about random everyday things. Luo Zhi understood her mother’s loneliness. At nearly fifty, her mom had no close girlfriends, no confidante she could casually and sincerely chat with—except family. Unlike Luo Zhi, who despite her troubles still had a future ahead, whose loneliness stemmed from pride, vanity, or a romantic kind of sadness—her mother’s loneliness was tangible. It came from life nearing its conclusion, returning home each day to an empty, quiet space, where even breathing seemed soaked in melancholy.
