Suddenly opening his eyes, Lu Weimin felt his heart pounding as if it had just undergone intense exercise, the blood pumped from his heart quickly flowing to every part of his body. Cold sweat drenched his back, but his limbs felt cold.
He tried hard to control his wandering consciousness.
His gaze finally settled on the old ceiling, where a single incandescent bulb hung in the middle.
This ceiling without a drop ceiling seemed very familiar, yet it had been too long since he had seen it. The old red-brick building with the Soviet-style design, weren't the dormitories in Factory 195 all like this?
Why am I here? Could it be that the car accident didn't injure me?
Impossible. The blood foam at Ye Man's lips and the large clots of blood she later spat out, as well as the shattered ribs in his own chest, were still vividly clear to him. After a brief few seconds of blurred consciousness, he couldn't remember anything else.
Lu Weimin groaned, subconsciously rubbing his temples, feeling dizzy and his thoughts sluggish, as if he had been in a deep sleep for a long time, his body feeling numb.
He always felt something was off, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Suddenly, he noticed that his hands seemed to have changed.
He rubbed his eyes and looked at his palms, which were so smooth and full. Looking at his arms, he saw his biceps bulging as he flexed. Lu Weimin was stunned.
What's going on? Biceps? How many years have they been gone? At least ten years.
He subconsciously touched his abdomen, which was flat and elastic, with visible muscle blocks. The excess fat from years of overeating and mahjong had vanished without a trace.
Lu Weimin was greatly alarmed. What's happening? Could a car accident and a hospital stay have caused such a dramatic change in his body?
With a whoosh, he sat up and looked around. He wasn't wearing his usual Prada shirt but a simple, old round-necked undershirt. What's going on?
The faint aroma of stir-fried green peppers and fermented black beans lingered in his nostrils. How long had it been since he last smelled this familiar scent?
Since his mother passed away three years ago, Lu Weimin hadn't smelled this aroma again. His second sister could make fermented black beans, but it wasn't as good as his mother's. Lu Weimin could never forget the fermented black beans his mother made.
What's going on today? Is it an illusion? An illusion caused by the severe injuries from the car accident? It doesn't seem like it. Lu Weimin pinched his left bicep hard with his right hand, and the intense pain made him realize this wasn't an illusion but a real situation.
Adapting to the indoor light, Lu Weimin carefully observed his surroundings.
Yes, everything here was so familiar. He had lived in this room for three years.
During his three years of high school before college, he spent every night on this bed, and the old round-necked undershirt he was wearing was one of his father's old undershirts that he used as pajamas.
His mouth tasted bitter and foul, a sign of drinking too much the night before. Subconsciously, he got out of bed, walked barefoot to the square table, and picked up the large teacup, gulping down the cold tea in one go.
At this moment, his mind seemed to become more alert, but Lu Weimin still didn't understand what had happened.
The French plane trees outside the window shaded the residential area's roads, and cicadas were chirping loudly. A few retired women were chatting under the trees, and a familiar, slender figure on a bicycle passed by the window. Who was that?
Lu Weimin tried hard to recall and suddenly remembered. Wasn't that Mr. Mo?
His high school homeroom teacher.
When he was in junior high in his hometown of Nantang, his English foundation was poor. It wasn't until he came to the 195 Factory School for high school that he realized the gap. This homeroom teacher was very kind to him and gave him a lot of help, significantly improving his English level over the three years of high school, which played a crucial role in his admission to Lingnan University.
Mr. Mo? How many years has it been since I last saw him? Eight or ten years? In his memory, he had met him once at a city education system meeting when he was the director of the Longtai County Education Bureau. At that time, Mr. Mo was about to retire. Why does he look younger today than the last time I saw him?
As if suddenly realizing something, Lu Weimin looked around in shock. Yes, isn't this my old home?
But... Lu Weimin's gaze fell on the rough calendar on the wall, a page that had just been torn off.
July 8, 1990! Sunday! The rough calendar clearly showed the red characters.
This was his father's habit, tearing off a page of the calendar every morning and writing down the things to do for the day.
This habit also influenced him. Although he didn't keep a diary, he learned from his father to write down the most important tasks of the day, usually no more than three, which was said to be the most efficient way to work. This habit had accompanied him for over twenty years, but what was going on?
Why would the calendar show a date from twenty-one years ago?!
Lu Weimin could not believe his eyes or his consciousness, but he could not deny his feelings, the sense of relaxation and the indescribable familiarity.
Lu Weimin sat on the bed, immersed in this strange atmosphere. He didn't dare to go out, afraid of what he might face. Was it overwhelming joy, confusion, or a false hope? He really didn't know how he would feel.
As Lu Weimin was caught between hesitation and confusion, a series of light footsteps came from outside the door. Such familiar footsteps, only existing in his memory, made him somewhat disbelieving.
The door creaked open, and his mother's familiar figure appeared at the doorway, holding a basket with some scallions, celery, and a piece of pork. "Sanzi, you're awake? Who did you drink so much with last night? Your body is your own. You might not feel it when you're young, but you will when you're old. Drink more water!"
"Mom, it's fine, just this once. I'm okay," Lu Weimin's voice was low, and seeing his mother's concerned eyes, a warm current surged in his chest, making his eyes moist.
Mother sighed softly and put down the basket. "Sanzi, I know you're upset. Your father didn't sleep well last night either. He went out early this morning. Our family can only do so much. Your father can't put his pride aside, so don't blame him."
Lu Weimin took a deep breath. July 7, 1990, the 53rd anniversary of the Marco Polo Bridge Incident. He remembered it very clearly.
It wasn't because of the 53rd anniversary of the Marco Polo Bridge Incident, but because the news of his assignment back to his hometown, Nantang, had been confirmed.
Half a month ago, at the 195 Factory Party Committee meeting, the original agreement to allow him to join the factory was rejected. They only accepted children of dual-employee families, and he was a half-employee family child, with his household registration not in the factory. Thus, he was refused entry on the grounds that this precedent could not be set.
All his previous efforts had been in vain, and his hopes had turned into illusions.
Because of this, he had to return to his hometown, Nantang County in Liyang Region, and due to the lack of prior work, he would be assigned to the most remote Dongpi Township.