Chapter 68: Early Departure

Lei’er and Pan’er tried their best to sit through the lectures from their fathers and uncles, but eventually gave up and hollered for some other kids their age to join them in a game of “paper packet smackdown.”

Everyone brought their own folded paper packets, and they took turns trying to flip each other’s packet over. If you flipped it, it was yours.

The older kids crowded around, slapping their packets with loud pah pah pah sounds. The little ones ringed them, watching intently, trying to learn the technique.

Li Weihan turned his head and noticed that his grandson, Little Yuanhou, wasn’t joining the commotion. Instead, the boy sat quietly, a book open on his lap, reading with concentration.

Li Weihan leaned over and glanced at the page. To his eyes, the text looked like a swarm of tadpoles—tight-packed, tiny scribbles. He frowned in concern.

“Little Yuanhou, can you even read that?”

“Grandpa, I couldn’t at first. But now I can.”

Li Zhuiyuan hadn’t brought a magnifying glass, but he didn’t need one anymore. He’d gotten used to the tiny font. More accurately, he’d trained his brain not to parse every stroke in minute detail, but to grasp the overall impression of a character. That alone was enough to recognize it.

It had taken him a while to understand the point. He only realized the author’s intent after memorizing the text quickly using a magnifying glass: the tiny print was meant to hone the reader’s “eye.”

Not physical eyesight, but the kind of perceptual sensitivity that shapes understanding—seeing the shape of things, rather than dissecting their parts.

Li Zhuiyuan had finally glimpsed a breakthrough. The eighth volume of the Comprehensive Treatise on Yin-Yang Physiognomy hinged on one critical leap: moving from the concrete to the abstract. First, through brute memorization and calculations, he’d internalized the concepts. Then, by sheer accumulation, they began to transmute—science tipping into metaphysics.

Now, the dozens of memorized noses, mouths, eyebrows, ears, and the countless faces they built were starting to distort and fuse in his mind.

He was still at the early stages, but he’d found the path. Eventually, one singular face would remain in his mind, and every time he needed to read someone, he would mentally press their real face into that template.

“Be careful not to strain your eyes,” Li Weihan murmured before letting him be.

He looked at his studious grandson, then at Lei’er and Pan’er hollering over their paper packets.

Life was a circle, he thought. It reminded him of his daughter and those four disappointing sons—how could kids from the same nest produce both a phoenix and four field hens?

Now, he had the feeling history was repeating itself in the grandkids’ generation.

Uncle Sanjiang once said, half-drunk, that the Li family tombs must have caught fire when Lihou was born. He figured they’d probably need to catch fire again when Little Yuanhou sat for college entrance exams.

Not far off, the college students had also been assigned tasks as part of their internship. Youthful energy ran high. They didn’t rush to bed. Instead, they gathered under a single bulb in the courtyard, opened snacks, and started a tea party.

Xue Liangliang noticed Li Zhuiyuan and walked over with an oil-paper-wrapped meat floss bun, placing it in front of the boy.

Li Zhuiyuan looked up and smiled. “Thank you, brother.”

“Hey, little guy, are you from around here?”

He was working river jobs too, covered in grime, but something about the boy’s dress and demeanor didn’t fit the countryside. It was the unrestrained, self-possessed ease that stood out.

“Yeah, I’m from here. I’m Li Zhuiyuan. That’s my grandpa, and those are my uncles.”

“I’m Xue Liangliang. You’re in elementary school, right? What grade?”

“Third grade.”

Li Zhuiyuan nodded. It was sometimes hard to explain to outsiders what grade he was in. His class advanced automatically once students reached a certain age.

At one point, the old professors nearly collapsed from mutual torment, and a few younger teachers had to step in. Things quickly escalated—everyone scratching everyone else harder than before.

Later, he learned those younger teachers were actually his seniors from the same program.

“Study hard and aim for college.”

“I will, brother.”

From the tea party, someone shouted, “Xue Liangliang, you’re up next!”

“Coming!”

Xue Liangliang returned to his seat.

Li Zhuiyuan glanced at the huddle of college students. It was a familiar scene—back at school, he often saw older students strumming guitars and reading poems on the campus lawn, their long hair hiding their eyes.

Tonight’s topic was “future aspirations,” assigned by the supervising teacher.

Currently speaking was Zhao Hequan, who had worked with Xue Liangliang during the day. He was finishing his speech:

“America—a land where even the air smells sweeter.

My future is in America!

My girlfriend and I are applying for grad school there. We’ll stay in that land of freedom and dreams, and there, we’ll realize our life’s purpose!”

The lightbulb glinted off his eyes. He looked rapt, almost devout.

When he finished, the students applauded and cheered.

At the time, Western fever—especially the American dream—was sweeping across China’s intellectual youth. Post-reform China’s material disparity and Western pop culture were battering their confidence.

Going to America, staying in America—far from taboo, it was politically correct.

Even the supervising teacher didn’t find it odd. Many of their own professors had been sent abroad and simply stayed.

“I hope all of you get the chance to find your life’s meaning in America. My girlfriend and I look forward to seeing you again across the ocean.”

Li Zhuiyuan looked up at Zhao Hequan. He didn’t bother with the Theory of Fate Structure and Projection, just ran a simple physiognomic scan using Comprehensive Treatise on Yin-Yang Physiognomy.

The result was sparse and rough, but Zhao Hequan’s features were textbook:

[Romance ill-fated. Lifelong loneliness.]

Li Zhuiyuan frowned. But… he seemed genuinely happy with his girlfriend. Was his reading off again?

Zhao stepped down. Xue Liangliang went up.

Li Zhuiyuan handed the meat floss bun to Lei’er, who had returned after losing all his paper packets and was now sulking beside him.

Then he closed his book and rested his chin in his palm. He wanted to listen closely to what this older brother would say about his future.

Xue Liangliang stepped forward. He didn’t lift his head. Calm, unexcited, his silhouette was haloed by the bulb behind him, like the morning sun.

“My future is in the Great Southwest.

I study water management. The Great Southwest, with its rich river systems, is where I want to apply what I’ve learned.

Its geology isn’t ideal for nuclear power plants, but it holds immense promise for hydropower. The nation will surely invest heavily there. And energy is the cornerstone of industrialization.

I believe hydropower in the Southwest will not only meet local needs but supply the entire country.

This is a great cause. To dedicate my life to it is my honor.”

Some students exchanged confused looks. It felt like an alien had joined their group.

Those who knew him just chuckled—they were used to his ways.

But nearby villagers listening in gave hearty shouts of “Good!”

The most embarrassed was Zhao Hequan. He couldn’t help but mutter snidely:

“Oh come on, drop the act. If you had the chance to go to America, you’d take it. Hell, you’d go to Japan or Korea too.”

Xue Liangliang replied, “If it’s for studying, why wouldn’t I?”

“Ha! See? There’s the truth. And once you’re there, you wouldn’t come back. You don’t get it. The gap between us and them—it’s unbridgeable.”

Xue shook his head. “We’ll catch up. Under its leadership, we’ve made great strides. The future will only get brighter.”

“But they’re not standing still while you grow! Even if they don’t move for a hundred years, you’ll never catch up!”

Xue shook his head again. “Impossible. This world runs on material reality. Unless fusion power becomes viable, the global market is finite. As we grow, this won’t be a chase—it’ll be a shift.”

Zhao frowned. He didn’t get it. Nor did the others. Even the supervising teacher looked puzzled.

“Xue Liangliang, what are you even saying? Aren’t we the backward ones trying to catch up?”

“We are—but it’s not a chase. The better we do, the stronger our industry, the more of the market we seize. Eventually, they won’t wait for us—they’ll retreat. They’ll meet us halfway.

I believe in fifty years, we’ll surpass Japan and South Korea in total GDP.”

Everyone stared like he’d grown a second head. Even the teacher had to stifle a laugh.

But Xue Liangliang went on:

“Strange, isn’t it?

But someday, our shipbuilding output will exceed Korea’s. Our auto industry will top Japan’s. Once they lose that industrial edge, won’t they decline?

As for staying abroad—sure, the lifestyle might be great. But that’s not for me. I want to work where I’m needed.”

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