Rebirth of Chinese Entertainment, the Diary of a 95 Flower

Chapter 121 Father's Decline Was Silent

The motorcycle throttle is turned on, and the cold air blows against my face.

Yang Chaoyue shuddered.

It's much colder than inside the car in Jiangyang.

She raised her hand to cover her father's ears, which were red from the cold wind.

She hugged her father's hunched back.

I wanted to ask how my father's back was doing, but my voice was blown away by the wind as soon as I opened my mouth, and I couldn't hear it at all.

Unlike in Yang Ge's car, where it's easy to talk no matter how fast he drives and you can hear him clearly even with the windows closed.

But she still preferred to ride on her father's motorcycle.

I'll take this opportunity to sit here as many times as possible.

On the back of my father's motorcycle, I never got carsick, and I could smell the salty alkali of Wanggang Village.

It's a smell you can't find anywhere else, the smell of home.

Before I started primary school, my family didn't have a motorcycle; my father rode a bicycle with a crossbar.

It wasn't the Phoenix Forever brand; it was some random brand, I can't remember exactly, but it was cheap.

My father didn't let me sit on the front bar, afraid I'd fall off.

He only allowed himself to sit in the back seat, and several times his slippers got caught in the wheels.

The motorcycle was bought when I was in elementary school. It wasn't the Suzuki I have now, and I can't remember what brand it was. At first, I sat on the gas tank in front of my dad's motorcycle. Back then, my arms were short, and my dad didn't feel comfortable letting me sit on the back seat.

Later, when I grew taller and my arms became longer, I was able to sit in the front and block my father's view, so I was allowed to sit in the back.

I was able to hug my father's waist; back then, his temples weren't yet gray.

As I grew older, I could sit in the back seat and rest my chin on my father's shoulder, so I could see the road clearly.

That year, my father and mother separated.

I was young and naive then, and I didn't know what divorce meant. I thought my mother would come back.

Now, I'm sitting on the back of my dad's motorcycle. Even though he's wearing a helmet, the top of his head only reaches the tip of my nose.

I remember last year, Dad was a little taller.

Did I grow taller?
Suddenly realizing something, Yang Chaoyue covered Yang Shimin's ears, which were icy cold from the wind, even tighter.

I didn't grow taller; it's my dad who got shorter.

In the words of the elderly, their height has shrunk.

My spine is more curved.

My own growth is etched in my memory, while my father's aging has happened silently.

Jiang Yang drove alone, following Yang Chaoyue and his daughter in front.

The Corolla drove from the national highway onto the county road.

After passing a cement wall, the river water was clear, and the reeds were withered and fallen.

On both sides are field ridges, where salt-tolerant winter wheat grows sparsely.

The red paint on the iron sign for Wanggang Village at the village entrance has peeled off.

Abandoned fishing boats lay across the roadside, serving as garbage cans.

The 3-meter-wide cement road is cracked in many places.

Salted fish were drying in the cement yard.

Looking around, Jiang Yang saw that most of the houses in Wanggang Village were red brick bungalows mixed with unfinished cement houses, and the courtyard walls were mostly made of fishing nets and straw.

Yang Chaoyue's family is the third household on the west side, and their iron gate is painted blue.

There was a crooked willow tree by the entrance, with red ribbons tied to it and rusty milk crates nailed to its trunk.

"Brother Yang, we're at my house."

Yang Shimin pushed open the door and entered the courtyard, picked up a broom to sweep away the dust, and used the well to draw water.

Yang Chaoyue approached Jiang Yang's parked car and said, "Brother Yang, I just talked to my dad about signing the contract. He might be a few days late going to Shanghai. He's busy with the maintenance of transformer distribution boxes in the surrounding villages and upgrading old lines."

“It’s okay, we don’t have to go. We’ve already brought the agreement. I’ll discuss it with Director Wang. Signing it here is just as good. We just need to provide your ID card and household registration book to prove that your father is your father.”

Jiang Yang added, "Does your dad have a copy of his ID? Film crews usually need to register them, go look for it. I'll call Director Wang first."

After parking the car, Jiang Yang called Wang Jun, but couldn't get through.

Wang Jun must be busy.

He sent a WeChat message explaining the situation.

The roar of a motorcycle revving its engine came from the cement road at the village entrance. Turning my head, I saw that it wasn't a motorcycle coming, but a seven or eight-year-old boy with a buzz cut riding a bicycle. His legs were too short, so he couldn't pedal all the way down the pedals while sitting on the seat, and he was leaning forward on the pedals.

As for the roaring sound, it was the sound of a crushed mineral water bottle being placed between the front wheel and the brake lever, constantly squeezing and rubbing against the wheel spokes.

When the boy saw Jiang Yang looking over, he leaned forward even more, stared straight ahead, and steadily performed a drift, then rode off in the opposite direction.

The water bottle stuck between the front wheel and the brake lever made the wheel spokes rattle even louder.

Jiang Yang grew up in the city and couldn't understand this kind of entertainment in the village, but he was greatly impressed: "The kids in Chaoyue Village are all talented from a young age. They ride ordinary bicycles with the feeling of wild and energetic teenagers, successfully solving the problem of bicycles not disturbing the people."

Yang Chaoyue went back into the house and prepared all the original and photocopies of his and his father's ID cards, as well as their household registration books.

Jiang Yang opened the car door and saw Yang Chaoyue coming out of his courtyard, holding several red ribbons in his hand, walking quickly towards him: "Everything's ready, Brother Yang, let me show you something fun."

Yang Chaoyue pointed to the crooked willow tree in front of his house.
Jiang Yang looked up and saw many red ribbons tied to the willow trees, most of which had faded.

Each strip of cloth had words written in black ink.

Is it a Christmas tree?

"What Christmas tree? That's a prayer tree."

Yang Chaoyue explained, "It's a local custom in my hometown. The villagers here don't celebrate Christmas or Christmas Eve. Those are holidays that city people celebrate, and the people in my hometown don't understand them."

In my hometown, willow trees are considered auspicious.

Because of its vigorous vitality, it symbolizes a thriving career.

The leaves are shaped like coins, symbolizing wealth.

Therefore, by tying red ribbons to willow trees, local villagers pray for good fortune and the fulfillment of their wishes.

Just as Yang Chaoyue was about to hand the strip of cloth to Jiang Yang, he suddenly heard a familiar voice, a genuine Wanggang Village accent: "Yueyue!"

Jiang Yang looked in the direction of the sound and saw a middle-aged woman with short hair wearing a maroon synthetic fiber cotton-padded jacket and a hand-knitted sweater underneath.

The nasolabial folds are very deep.

With a bamboo basket slung over his shoulder, he had just returned from collecting dried salted fish at the cement yard. He squinted at us and, revealing a gap in his teeth, asked, "Is that Yueyue?"

"Wang Niang, let's collect the salted fish." Yang Chaoyue said with a smile.

I recognized my neighbor from my hometown at a glance.

Loud voice, warm-hearted.

“Brother Yang, this is my next-door neighbor, Aunt Wang. In our village, calling an aunt ‘mother’ sounds more affectionate. The house with the electric cable and satellite dish on the roof is Aunt Wang’s house. Most of the villagers here are surnamed Wang; my father and I are among the minority,” Yang Chaoyue explained to Jiang Yang.

"Wow, that's really Ge Yueyue!"

Aunt Wang's squinting eyes widened, and she slapped her thigh, exclaiming with delight, "Why did you come home so early this year? You've grown even more beautiful!"

Her gaze shifted between Yang Chaoyue, Jiang Yang, and the silver Corolla behind them.

Aunt Wang jogged over, grabbed a handful of salted fish from the bamboo basket, and stuffed it into Jiang Yang's arms: "Is this one from the city, young man?"

Jiang Yang understood the four words "young man from the city".

Knowing that the person was talking about him, he smiled and nodded: "Yes."

Fearing the other person wouldn't understand my Mandarin, I didn't say much.

It seems I'll have to teach Zhao Jinmai the Yancheng dialect in the future, otherwise, if Yang Chaoyue curses at me in Yancheng dialect behind my back one day, I won't even understand it.

Jiang Yang took the salted fish, went back to the car, grabbed a handful of candy from the glove compartment, added two packs of Red Nanjing cigarettes, and gave them to Aunt Wang.

"Yueyue, your son is quite handsome, just like a young Aaron Kwok, but even more outstanding in stature!"

Aunt Wang praised him generously.

Without the careful wording of the workplace, in the village, affection is measured entirely by the volume of one's voice.

They don't understand the current trend of young, handsome men, and their aesthetic sense is still stuck in the early 20th century, the era of the Four Heavenly Kings.

There are photos of Fan Bingbing on the wall calendar at home.

Aunt Wang chuckled through her gap-toothed grin and asked earnestly in her loud voice, "When are we going to the wedding?"

In the past, in the village, I would listen to the adults talk about who had brought their partner home and when they were going to have a wedding banquet. I listened with great interest and a smile.

Now someone is bringing up this topic with me.

Yang Chaoyue was somewhat at a loss.

I used to love listening to adults gossip, but now I've become the subject of gossip myself:
"No, no, I just came back to take care of something, and I'll be leaving soon."

Before I knew it, I had become an adult in the eyes of the villagers.

Suddenly I developed social anxiety.

Very uncomfortable.

(End of this chapter)