"Dad, I've told you ten thousand times, it's no use! These things are a dime a dozen now. People have grown numb, and no one cares anymore..."
"Bullshit! I refuse to believe there's truly no justice left in this world!"
The son lost his patience. "Dad, do you want us to end up like Tang Fuzhen, tying gasoline canisters to ourselves and burning to death? Let me tell you, the media won't pay attention unless someone dies, and even then, they might not care. Just give it up! I'm not about to maim myself and die for this. Besides, what's so good about living here? We're woken by the sound of cars in the morning and fall asleep to them at night. I'm done! If this keeps up, we'll be dead before we see a dime..."
"Old man, stop being so pig-headed! You can't fight City Hall. Have you forgotten the lesson we learned that night? Maybe you've had enough of living, but what about our son? He's still young! What if they kill him? If you won't move, we will..."
Yan Xixi listened to the fierce argument raging in the old neighboring family's home. She quietly walked past, heading up to the attic. There, her mother seemed to finally breathe a sigh of relief upon seeing her return.
All their belongings had been packed into several large cardboard boxes. Wind howled through the decrepit glass windows.
The mother and daughter gazed at this familiar place. As far as the eye could see, towering high-rises surrounded their small, isolated building, a tiny island in a concrete sea. The property developer planned to build a luxury apartment hotel right in the center of this redeveloped area. Every day they stayed cost the developer money, so if Old Man Zhang didn't move out soon, the "Flying Tigers Team" would undoubtedly resort to harsh measures.
Her mobile phone chimed with an incoming text message. She took it out and glanced at it. Her mother casually asked, "Who sent that message?"
"It's from Huang Xiaojue, wishing us a Merry Christmas. Heh, if he hadn't said anything, I would've completely forgotten it was Christmas today."
"Does Huang Xiaojue text you every day?"
"Pretty much. Usually one a day."
Yan Xixi's mother said thoughtfully, "How's Huang Xiaojue doing in North City?"
"Rumor has it he's doing well at work; he's already been promoted to department manager."
"Xixi, you're not getting any younger. That boy, Huang Xiaojue, he's really a good kid, and he has good prospects. If I weren't holding you back…"
"Mom, Huang Xiaojue and I are just ordinary friends."
The conversation ended there. Xixi hefted the largest cardboard boxes, while her mother carried only a small container of miscellaneous items. This was all they owned. Since they moved so frequently, they seldom accumulated anything beyond the bare necessities.
As the taxi passed through the city center, Yan Xixi saw billboards that seemed to paper the sky. The vast square thronged with a bustling crowd. Chocolates, flowers, Santa Clauses, brightly dressed couples, fashionable girls clutching bouquets of roses, dreams of love... And then, another text message arrived from Huang Xiaojue: Xixi, I miss you so much. I'll come back and spend Spring Festival with you.
Spring Festival... it seemed so terribly far away.
Just like this brutal winter; she felt she couldn't endure even one more day of it.
She deleted the message without replying.
Her mother asked, "Xixi, the new place you found isn't too expensive, is it? It would be better to find something cheaper; we need to make long-term plans..."
She gave a bitter laugh. What long-term plans could they even make? Huang Xiaojue's text messages were just like that—they couldn't be eaten or worn, nor could they transform into a cup of steaming hot milk tea on such a cold day...
Young men... what can they really do for us? Love? Romance? Sweet nothings? And after all that? Are we still left starving, empty-handed, watching this grim world with a sense of desolation?