"Dad, I've told you ten thousand times, but it's useless. There are so many of these things now that people have become numb and no one cares..."
"Fart, I don't believe there is really no law in this world..."
The son became impatient: "Dad, do you want us to tie a gasoline bottle and burn ourselves to death like Tang Fuzhen did? Let me tell you, the media will not pay attention to a person until he dies. Even if he dies, people may not pay attention to you.
Save it, I don't want to kill myself... Besides, what's the benefit of living here? I wake up to the sound of cars in the morning and fall asleep to the sound of cars at night. I quit. If this continues, I won't get the money and I will die first.
Already..."
"Old man, I told you to stop being so arrogant. Your arms can't lift your thighs. Have you forgotten the lesson that night? You are tired of living. Where is your son? Your son is still young. What should you do if he is killed? If you don't move, we will move...
"
…
Yan listened carefully to the fierce quarrel in her hometown and walked quietly over. In the attic, her mother seemed to finally breathe a sigh of relief when she saw her coming back.
All the sundries had been packed into several large cardboard boxes, and the wind blew in through the broken glass windows.
The mother and daughter looked at this familiar place. Looking around, they saw that this small island was surrounded by high-rise buildings. In the middle, the real estate developer planned to build a high-end hotel apartment. Every day of delay, the real estate developer would lose money.
One day, therefore, if Lao Zhangtou doesn't move away, the "Flying Tigers" will definitely get into trouble.
The text message ringtone on her mobile phone rang. She took it out and looked at it. Her mother casually asked: "Who sent the text message?"
"Sent from Huang Xiaojue, wishing us a Merry Christmas. Oh, if he hadn't said it, I wouldn't have remembered that today is Christmas."
"Huang Xiaojue sends you text messages every day?"
"Forget it, I basically send one every day."
Mother Yan was thoughtful: "How is Huang Xiaojue doing in Beijing?"
"I heard that my job is pretty good and I have been promoted to department manager."
"Xixi, you are not young anymore. Huang Xiaojue is actually a very good kid with a bright future. If I hadn't dragged you down..."
"Mom, Huang Xiaojue and I are just ordinary friends."
The conversation ended here. They were carefully carrying the largest cardboard boxes, and their mother only held a small glove box. This was all they had. Because they moved frequently, apart from daily necessities, they rarely accumulated extra things.
When the taxi passed through the city center, Yan Xixian saw the overwhelming billboards, the bustling pedestrians surrounding the square, chocolates, flowers, Santa Claus, brightly dressed couples, fashionable girls holding roses, etc.
The dream of love... and another text message from Huang Xiaojue: Xixi, I miss you so much, I will come back to spend the Spring Festival with you.
Spring Festival is really too far away.
Just like this cold winter, she couldn't survive one more day.
She deleted the text message and did not reply.
…
My mother asked: "Xixi, the new house you are looking for won't be too expensive, right? It's better to find something cheaper. We have to make long-term plans..."
She smiled bitterly. How could she have any long-term plans? Just like these text messages from Huang Xiaojue, she couldn't eat or wear them. She couldn't even turn them into a steaming cup of milk tea on this cold day...
Young men, what can they do for us? Love? Romance? Sweet words? What happens after that? Still hungry, empty-handed, looking at the world with depression?
