Compared to the tension of the preparation period, these three days of exams seemed remarkably ordinary. If there was any difference, it was that the parents of the exam candidates in the family quarters now had legitimate reasons to leave work early.

On the first evening, the three mothers agreed to buy groceries and prepare a feast. The head nurse of the emergency department, Song’s mother, stated, “The minced meat eggplant in the cafeteria is really good, I can never get that same taste.”

The highest-ranking vice president, Jing’s mother, chimed in, “I heard the new chef almost participated in state banquets, that’s what he said – just almost.”

The chief physician of gynecology, Chen’s mother, urged, “Let’s hurry up and buy everything so we can cook, and finally have a chance to rest.”

Her words hit the mark. The three hurriedly finished their shopping and returned to their respective homes.

The next evening, the three happened to meet at the hospital entrance. Jing’s mother sighed with genuine feeling, “How nice if the exams lasted ten days or half a month, these days are more relaxing than annual leave.”

The other two mothers nodded repeatedly, almost wanting to submit this suggestion anonymously to the Education Bureau right away.

Apart from being certain students’ parents, more often they were healers. The daily stream of people through Third Hospital was a microcosm of life full of pain, anxiety, and tears – there was the joy of new life, the helplessness of being powerless, and the sadness of parting. For them, who were used to and familiar with these scenes, life couldn’t be evaluated merely as long or short; it was complex, ever-changing, and full of unpredictable variables. Exams were certainly important, but compared to their children’s lives that were just beginning to unfold, each of the three mothers had their own more important measure in mind.

For Jing’s mother, the keyword was “dream” – the initial dream that Jing Qichi persisted in pursuing with passion;

For Chen’s mother, it was “health” – that Huan’er would grow up smoothly and safely, with a healthy body and good appetite;

And Song’s mother only wished for her son to have the happiness appropriate for his age. Song Cong was too smart, to the extent that everyone’s attention meant he could only do smart things – being first place meant no mistakes were allowed.

For these most ordinary mothers, these were their most ordinary wishes.

From turning in the last English exam paper until the scores came out, Chen Huan’er’s heart was in constant turmoil. One moment she felt the exam went well and she had filled in the answer sheet neatly, the next moment she remembered that she might have mixed up the dynasties in the last big question in history, but couldn’t recall which emperor she had written about. In this agonizing uncertainty, she finally received her results – she had reached Tian Zhong’s scoreline but was just two points short of the public funding threshold.

This meant she could enter through school choice, and the school choice fee, as she had heard from Song Cong, was thirty thousand.

Thirty thousand. One multiple-choice question, one word, or just one misspelling.

That was their value – thirty thousand.

Her parents were exceptionally satisfied with this result. Effort would always be rewarded, sweat would bear fruit, and all those practice papers weren’t done in vain – they said many, many things, but all information pointed to one conclusion: she must go.

But Chen Huan’er couldn’t bear it. Her family was far from wealthy, and she knew better than anyone what her mother looked like after standing through seven or eight hours of surgery. She was also clear about the high-pressure exercises her father was experiencing while shouldering important responsibilities.

Just a little bit short.

And yet her parents would have to bear the heavy school choice fee for that little bit.

Heaven knows how angry, how regretful, how upset Chen Huan’er was.

Song Cong had gone from first in the grade to first in the whole city, appearing in the newspaper. He said she should still go – having made the score line and being within their means, why not go? Jing Qichi’s academic scores were far above other specialty students; he said of course she should go – could she bear to leave them behind? Qi Qi had just hit the public funding line exactly; she said the tutoring classes she had taken since childhood added up to who knows how many thirties of thousands – just consider it making up for tuition fees.

Dream-like Tian Zhong, dream-like new life, everything was within reach.

Chen Huan’er wandered around Experimental Middle School across from the hospital – this was the choice that would save thirty thousand. She stood at the school gate trying to brainwash herself: the school’s ranking wasn’t bad either, the campus was pretty enough, and most importantly, it was close to home – just a ten-minute walk to the family quarters.

She steeled herself to make the decision and went home to lay it out to her mother.

Unexpectedly, Chen’s mother wouldn’t give an inch on this matter. “No, your father and I agree – you must go to Tian Zhong.”

Chen Huan’er’s rebellious spirit flared up, “I won’t go!”

“You’re going whether you want to or not!” Chen’s mother was unprecedentedly assertive, “Even if I have to anesthetize you, I’ll send you there.”

“Am I the one going to school or are you!”

“Don’t try that with me, you’re underage so you have to listen to me!”

Chen Huan’er twisted up and wouldn’t speak. She rarely argued with her parents, precisely because the family was very democratic – there were almost no instances where her parents would use their authority to force her to do something.

Times had changed.

Chen’s mother waved her hand impatiently, “Don’t worry about money. Education is a long-term investment, with Tian Zhong as a platform, your path will be broader.”

Huan’er remained silent. She couldn’t yet understand her mother’s wisdom and considerations, but even so, she knew they were far beyond her own.

“Besides, you’re worried about the cost,” Chen’s mother’s anger dissipated as she teased, “that’s like looking down on your father and me.”

The head of the household showed her true colors, turning the tables completely.

Compliance was Chen Huan’er’s only choice. But for a very, very long time, those two points would continue to weigh heavily on her mind.

After the big decision was settled, Huan’er packed a few clothes and returned to her old home in Sishui. The house was administratively in an even lower-level village town, but Sishui was so small that it took only a quarter of an hour to walk from there to the most prosperous shopping street in the county. This bright three-room single-story house had witnessed her birth and growth and had also witnessed all the joys and sorrows of her youth. In Chinese class, the teacher taught Lu Xun’s “Hometown,” focusing analysis on the ending’s discussion of hope and paths, but the cruel and grand historical background couldn’t move Chen Huan’er – rather, the description at the beginning almost brought her to tears.

“But when I try to recall his beauty and describe his good points, I can find neither image nor words. It seems that was all there was.”

Sishui was exactly like this for her. She couldn’t say what was good about it, but when she was sad, only this house, this courtyard could put her heart at ease.

Her grandparents didn’t know about Tian Zhong; the information they received was that their granddaughter had worked hard for a year and got into the best school in the city. Her parents would not mention the thirty thousand school choice fee – perhaps at an even younger age than her, they had learned to share joy but not worry. This seemed like an innate ability, no different from walking or talking – at a certain stage, it came naturally, like water flowing into channels.

She wouldn’t mention it either. By then, Chen Huan’er already knew that the smaller the place, the greater the impact of thirty thousand.

She didn’t want to go online, didn’t want to read, and didn’t want to contact old classmates – her former deskmate, her best friend, hadn’t gotten into the county’s top high school. Huan’er tried to call and comfort her, but couldn’t get through several times. Later, she heard from her grandmother who had met the friend’s mother that the class had already held a lively graduation party, and her deskmate would be attending a technical school in another area. No one had notified her to attend – Chen Huan’er was no longer one of them.

At fifteen, life began to show diverging paths, with new friends and new environments, while once-close companions and gentle years all became mere images in memory.

The scene of crying and bidding farewell to teachers and classmates before transferring schools seemed like just yesterday. What made Huan’er sad was her feeling that someday in the future, she would forget even their names.

Growing up came with a price. Because people would, with time and without notice, undergo an indiscriminate screening process, like an hourglass – by the time you realized it, the part that had sunk had become scattered sand that couldn’t be pieced back together.

Life in the countryside was peaceful and leisurely. Every day she followed her grandparents, either planting vegetables and weeding, learning about strange and wonderful herbs, or visiting neighbors, gaining a group of elderly friends who had seen all sorts of life. Under the blazing sun, casually waving a plantain leaf fan, summer seemed endless. If there was anything special to mention, there was one night when Huan’er suddenly developed a fever. The elderly couple didn’t dare use medicine carelessly, and judging by themselves that it was probably just a chill from bathing and nothing serious, grandmother picked some coriander roots from the yard to make a medicinal drink for Huan’er. She sweated during the night, and by noon the next day was bouncing around again. When her father called the next day for his usual check-in, the elderly couple accidentally let it slip, and were immediately given a “severe criticism”: “Fever must be treated at the clinic, always using folk remedies – what if something goes wrong!”

Grandmother was unconvinced, “What are you saying, would I deliberately try to harm my granddaughter?”

“Mom, if you’re going to be like this, I’ll have Lina come pick her up tomorrow.”

Grandfather, hearing the seriousness, agreed submissively, “No need to pick her up, she’s fine. We’ll be careful next time, just don’t tell her mother.”

Chen Huan’er was secretly amused on the side. She had been weak since childhood, and her grandparents’ various folk remedies had all been rejected by her mother who studied traditional Chinese medicine. The principles and effects had been argued crystal clear, with orders given that allowed no room for counterargument. Amateur players encountering a national representative – the elderly couple had run into this barrier many times and knew the taste of complete defeat well.

Before she could finish being amused, her father ordered, “Must watch her exercise, it’s hot outside, let her punch the sandbag inside.”

Exercise again – her ears had grown calluses from hearing it. She considered herself long past childhood, but in her father’s eyes, Chen Huan’er was always weak. She had an unfilial wish that had never been fulfilled: someday she had to give old Chen a backthrow.

Grandfather immediately promised, “We’ll hang up the sandbag tomorrow, we’ll watch her practice.”

Grandmother added, “No need to wait till tomorrow, we’ll hang it up as soon as we get off the phone.”

Huan’er clutched her chest in despair – who said old people were muddleheaded? With this shrewdness, even scam callers would have to yield three parts.

For the following week, her father didn’t call again. The world-attention-grabbing Olympics were about to open – perhaps on Chang’an Street, perhaps outside the Bird’s Nest, or perhaps in some unknown corner of that prosperous city she had barely visited – Chen Huan’er didn’t know where, but she was certain that among the thousands of armed police officers on duty, there was one stern and serious face that belonged to her father.