Lin Ze stood in a shallow pit, holding the parchment on which the runes were imprinted in his hand. The forest behind him was so quiet that it seemed like someone had pressed pause.
There were no birds chirping, no insects chirping, and even the rustle of the wind through the branches and leaves disappeared.
He looked around. The dark green glimmer just now was gone, and the cracks in the bark of the trees were clean, as if nothing had happened.
Something is wrong, very wrong.
He took a step back and stepped on the stone pillar with his heels.
The slime on the surface of the stone pillar disappeared, and the densely packed inscriptions also disappeared.
Those twisted, airtight branches also disappeared, replaced by the familiar poplars and sycamores, with straight trunks and even spacing.
The soft and putrid soil underfoot turned into a smooth cement road with cracks and thin weeds growing in the cracks.
A sidewalk appeared in front of him.
Lin Ze stood on the same spot and turned around.
The left side turned into a row of storefronts facing the street. Some of the rolling shutter doors were open and some were half-open.
To the right is an iron railing wall. Inside the wall is a five-story residential building. The exterior wall is painted with faded beige paint.
The sycamore tree spread its branches and leaves overhead, and the light from the street lamp leaked through the gaps in the leaves, casting fragmented shadows on the ground.
He knew this place.
The first house he rented in his previous life was on this street. It was on the fourth floor. The window faced north and the lighting was terrible. Fortunately, the rent was cheap.
There is a convenience store downstairs, and the clerk is a fat guy wearing glasses. Every time Lin Ze works overtime until midnight and goes back to buy instant noodles, the guy will give him an extra piece of ham.
"Lin Ze!"
Hearing someone calling him from behind, Lin Ze turned around.
Two people were standing under the streetlight on the street corner.
Those were... his parents...
My father was wearing a gray jacket that had been washed countless times, with the collar open and his hands in his trouser pockets.
Mother was wrapped in a dark red scarf, with one end of the scarf draped over her shoulders and the other end hanging down on her chest.
The two stood together, one tall and one short, and the light of the street lamp stretched their shadows long and cast them on the cement ground.
Lin Ze's feet seemed to be pinned by something, and his breathing became rapid.
His mother waved to him. "Zeze, what are you doing standing around? Come here."
His voice was exactly the same as in his memory, with a slight Southern accent at the end, and he used to raise the end of it when calling him.
His father didn't speak, just looked at him with a faint smile on his lips.
"Why are you dressed like this?" His mother took two steps closer, looked him up and down, then reached out and tugged at his robe.
"Did you play games with others until midnight again and come out without changing your clothes?"
Lin Ze opened his mouth, his throat felt like a ball of cotton was stuffed, and he couldn't speak.
"Let's go home for dinner." His mother took his arm naturally and dragged him toward the residential building.
His father followed behind, his footsteps unhurried and slow.
Lin Ze was dragged for a few steps and passed by the entrance of a convenience store. The lights were on. The fat guy behind the cashier was looking down at his phone. When the sensor door opened, he looked up and nodded at him.
Everything is correct.
The color of the scarf, the frayed edges on the cuffs of the jacket, the missing corner of the convenience store sign, the branching position of the sycamore tree on the street corner, and even the faint smell of food in the air.
His mother held his hand, and her hand was warm.
His father was behind, coughing occasionally, the kind of dry cough that comes from smoking too much.
"Your dad has been coughing again recently, but he doesn't listen even if I ask him to stop coughing." His mother complained to him in a low voice.
Lin Ze's nose felt sour.
"Yeah." He replied.
"Well, what? Every time I tell you, you always say yes. You and your father have the same virtues."
His mother slapped him on the arm, not lightly nor hard.
Go upstairs.
The corridor lights are voice-activated. They turn on when you stamp your foot, stay on for more than ten seconds and then turn off.
After walking up the fourth flight of stairs for a long time, there was a pile of pickled cabbage jars from the neighbor's house at the corner, and the smell was overwhelming.
Mother took out the key and opened the door. She turned the door lock twice before unlocking it. As soon as the door was opened, the lights in the living room were on, the news was playing on the TV with the volume turned on very low, and there was a pot sitting on the kitchen stove, which was steaming.
"Go wash your hands first." His mother took off her scarf and put it on the back of the chair.
Lin Ze stood in the entrance hall and looked down at the shoe cabinet. On it were his slippers. They were still the same pair of blue plastic slippers that he had worn for several years. The soles were worn down to only a thin layer.
He bent down to change his shoes, moving very slowly.
There are two dishes on the coffee table, one with fried meat with green peppers and one with tomatoes and eggs. The lid of the rice cooker is half-closed, and the steam of the rice is coming out from the cracks.
These are two of his favorite dishes.
His mother brought out another bowl of soup from the kitchen, with seaweed and egg drop sprinkled with chopped green onions.
"Eat." His mother served him a bowl of rice and handed the chopsticks to his hand.
Lin Ze held the bowl and picked out a piece of green pepper.
Chewed twice.
It's still that familiar smell.
His dad sat across from him, opened a bottle of beer, and poured himself a glass. The foam overflowed from the lip of the cup, and he took a sip with his mouth.
"How is work lately?" his dad asked.
"It's okay."
"It's okay."
The conversation was very brief, just like in memory.
In other words, everything here was exactly the same as in his memory, which made him wonder, had he had a time-travel dream and now he woke up?
Lin Ze lowered his head to pick up the rice, took two bites, and picked up another chopstick of tomatoes and eggs.
The tomatoes are fried very well, and the eggs are covered in juice, very sweet, and the fried tomatoes bring out the sweetness of the tomatoes themselves.
He ate most of the bowl of rice and felt warm in his stomach.
My mother is chattering beside me, the neighbor's dog next door barks in the middle of the night, Auntie Zhang's son downstairs has been admitted to the civil service, and the breakfast shop at the entrance of the community will close next month.
It's all trivial.
It's all a living human world.
Lin Ze Put the bowl down and put the chopsticks on the edge of the bowl.
"Mom."
"Huh?"
"I'm full."
"That's all?" Mother frowned.
"Eat more, your thin chin will look sharp."
"No."
"Then have another bowl of soup."
Lin Ze didn't move.
He looked at his mother and his father opposite, holding a beer glass.
The light in the living room was very warm, illuminating the outlines of the two people clearly.
There are a few white hairs on my mother's temples, and two deep wrinkles on her forehead.
"I have to go." Lin Ze said.
Mother's chopsticks stopped in mid-air.
"Go? Where?"
"Go back."
"Where are you going? Isn't this your home?" His mother put down her chopsticks and looked at him with a puzzled look on her face.
"No, this is not." Lin Ze stood up.
The chair legs scraped softly on the floor.
His father put down his beer glass and looked up at him. The faint smile on his lips was still there, but there was something inexplicable in his eyes.
"You kid, what are you talking about?" The mother reached out and pulled his sleeve.
Lin Ze took a step back and avoided the mother's outstretched hand.
"Actually, I like all of this, but... my mother never adds sugar when making tomatoes and eggs." He said.
Mother's hand suddenly stopped.
"She has high blood sugar. She never buys sugar at home and only puts salt in her tomatoes and eggs."
The living room fell into silence for a moment.
The news on the TV was still broadcasting, and the announcer's voice was unhurried and his words were clear and clear.
"Moreover, my mother's scarf was knitted by herself. There is an extra row knitted on the left side where the stitches are narrowed. When she wears it, that end always turns up."
"My dad has been smoking for thirty years and he can't help but cough up phlegm."
His dad was sitting across from him, still holding the beer glass in his hand, and most of the foam had dissipated.
"These are my memories, but... you didn't really read all my memories..."
"You are mistaken..."
The two plates of food on the dinner table were still steaming.
The mother's hand still maintained its outstretched posture.
Father was still holding up the unfinished glass of beer.
The picture on the TV has been paused.
Everything is frozen in the moment.
Lin Ze opened the door, smiled, and stepped out decisively.