My father came home with a smile on his face and a letter in his hand. I read it, it's very ordinary, and the envelope has the seal of Hangzhou University. To be honest, only this chapter is particularly bright and beautiful. The main content of the letter was that I had been admitted to the Chinese Language and Literature major in the Department of Chinese, and that I would report to the school on September 1 with some kind of ID.

The mother looked at the letter repeatedly in surprise, and smiled like her father, very sweet and satisfied, "I knew that our family Xiaoxu would definitely be able to be admitted, no problem, thanks to the fact that I burned several soft-shelled turtles for you to eat before the college entrance examination." ”

Now that I think about it, I did eat several soft-shelled turtles before the college entrance examination, and I think there may be three or four, which directly caused me to feel bored when I saw soft-shelled turtles in the future.

At this point, there is not much to say. My parents saw that I had little joy or surprise on my face, and they couldn't help but worry about my mental state. I tried to squeeze out a smile of surprise, but I couldn't hide my confusion and boredom.

All this is what I know, what is the meaning, and what is the gratification. I knew I was going to go to that boring university, spend four years in the library and among pickles, and to make matters worse, I had to retake those boring courses, including English Level 4 and Dialectical Materialist Thought.

I try to remember what made me happy in college, but all I remember is the faces of a few girls and their thighs. I still remember dancing and yogurt, and the praise that two or three teachers gave me.

I went back to my little room and sat at the head of my bed to think about my current situation. Many people want to go back to the past, and all the circumstances that come back now, I have encountered now, but this is not what I want. Do it all over again, and who knows if it's going to be better or worse than me 19 years later? And, what about my son? Am I going to repeat this time completely, meeting my wife and giving birth to an identical son?

I had two options, or try to keep track of the past until I was 37 and until that night, and it was just a matter of replaying a song. Another option is to completely change your life, and by the time you turn 37 it will be completely different, maybe a different song, with a completely different melody and completely different lyrics.

I'll choose the first one, at least for now.

I got up bored again, trying to find some books to read, no phone and computer, but at least there should be physical books. There are quite a few books on the shelves, and I remember nineteen years later I only read books from my phone and computer, and there were almost no physical books to read. But now it is different, there is a collection of Chekhov's novels, there is a complete set of Lu Xun's collections and Neruda's poetry collections. Wait a minute, Neruda? Did I start reading his poetry in high school?

So, I've been writing poetry since high school. I flipped through the book of poems and saw a postcard that read, "When we meet again in ten years, will you still remember me?" ”

What does this mean? I took a look at the payment, and it was a very handsome name: Zhao Xiaoxuan. Is it Xiao Xuan? I remember this girl, to be precise, she was my middle school classmate, thin, with big eyes, very delicate, and used to borrow class notes from her to copy. In my memory, this girl worked very hard and copied her class notes meticulously, but she was not smart and her grades were average. Did she get into college? I have the impression that she seems to be reading the University of Electricity.

I tried hard to recall Xiao Xuan's deeds, and then found that the part of my memory about her was really extremely vague. Maybe I received a postcard from her before the college entrance examination, and people at that time liked to give each other beautiful postcards when they graduated.

Then I remembered that her family lived on Qingchun Road, about a 10-minute walk from here, and lived in one of those old-fashioned red brick houses.

I decided to check her out because I remembered that of all my high school classmates, she was the closest to me.

Perhaps the most impressive thing about Zhao Xiaoxuan in my mind is that one year on the thirtieth day of the Chinese New Year's Eve, I walked with her through the streets full of firecrackers, we walked hand in hand in the fog of the gunpowder-filled night, she was still wearing a big red down jacket, long hair, beautiful face, bright eyes, and I don't remember anything else. Why hold her hand, why do we go out in the Chinese New Year's Eve, walk on the smoky streets, where are we going that day? I can't remember all of this.

It's like an old vinyl love song, you may only remember a certain lyric and a melody, but the whole song is completely forgotten.

As I walked out of the dormitory, I was greeted by the summer sun shining on my face, and the morning breeze was slightly cool, giving it a very pleasant feeling. Our dormitory building is completely surrounded by plane trees, full of plane trees, and the courtyard is a narrow open space with a very small flower bed. A girl in a white dress is riding a pink bicycle, staggering around the cramped clearing. She greeted me, "Good morning, Brother Xiaoxu!"

I was speechless because I didn't remember who she was, so I smiled and nodded at her, as if the head teacher was nodding to his students.

When I walked out of the big iron gate of the dormitory compound, I suddenly found that there were many middle-aged women standing on the street in front of the door, and they didn't look like locals. "My God, haven't food stamps been abolished in 1990?

I walked on Qingchun Road, all the way to Daxue Road, I remember that Xiao Xuan's house was at the intersection of Daxue Road, maybe in an alley. Soon after turning from Qingchun Road to Daxue Road, there are two lanes, which seem to be the second lane. Fifty meters from that alley, there are several dilapidated three-story brick houses. I believe that Zhao Xiaoxuan lives here. I've been to her house and her father has some precious old books that impress me. What are those books? I remember that her father was a Chinese teacher, and once he told me that those old books were from the Commercial Publishing House during the Republic of China, which were very precious and were left by Xiao Xuan's maternal grandfather.

I stood in front of the cement gate of the red brick house for a while, and I really couldn't remember which room on which floor Xiao Xuan lived in. So I thought about it for a while, walked in the door, and saw an old grandmother making briquettes, so I stepped forward and asked her: "Hello grandma, may I ask if Zhao Xiaoxuan lives here." ”