Wende‘s List

Spring in Beiping, the wind still so unruly, swirling willow catkins and dust, finding its way straight down your collar. The Ma family's old window, patched with layers of paper, still couldn't block that strange 'whuuu whuuu' moan. Inside, though, it was nothing like the weather outside – stiflingly hot, like freshly steamed buns.

Old Mrs. Ma sat on the edge of the kang, telling her prayer beads, but her mouth wasn't idle: "Wende, check again. Perhaps the connection is slow, it hasn't loaded yet?" Her eyes, though clouded with age, were alarmingly bright now, fixed intently on her son's old computer, treasured like the apple of his eye.

Wende's father, Ma Laoshuan, squatted on the threshold, puffing ba-da, ba-da on his dry pipe, the swirling smoke alternately hiding and revealing his old, deeply lined face. He didn't speak, but his tightly furrowed brow carried more weight than any words.

"Mom, don't worry," Wende's voice was a bit breathless, like he'd just run eight hundred meters. "The university's network, it's always like this. Let's wait a bit longer, maybe they're slow inputting the results." He knew perfectly well, clear as day in his heart, that his name, Ma Wende, simply wasn't on that list. Those exams – didn't he know exactly how he’d fared? It was a disaster, like icicles crashing down from the winter eaves – they look intimidating hanging there, but shatter completely upon hitting the ground.

But how could he tell his parents? His elderly parents had wished upon stars, waited endlessly, just hoping he could get into graduate school, leap out of this narrow hutong, and bring glory to the old Ma family name. Which of the neighbors didn't greet him with "Wende's got prospects! A university student, and aiming even higher!"? If he failed the exam... Wende didn't dare to imagine it. The ensuing gossip, the sheer volume of spittle, could drown him.

The old lady started chattering again: "You know, if this works out, we'll have to treat the neighbors to a proper meal. Your Third Uncle already said, at 'Tongheju', he'll reserve a table..."

"Ahem! Ahem!" Old Shuan coughed abruptly, cutting his wife off. "It's not even certain yet, what's all this planning for!" He shot his son a fierce glare, a look carrying both expectation and warning.

Wende's heart trembled. He looked at his mother's face, full of hope, at his father's anxiety hidden behind forced composure, and felt a lump like cotton blocking his throat. An idea surfaced, as if prompted by mischievous spirits. Eerie, truly eerie, it felt like it had grown legs, crawled out from some neglected corner of his mind, and instantly took over his thoughts.

He cleared his throat, suddenly slapped his thigh, and forced an expression of ecstatic joy onto his face: "Got it! Mom! Dad! I found it! I got in! I got in!"

The room fell instantly, frighteningly silent; even the sound of the wind outside seemed to vanish. The prayer beads slipped from the old lady's hand with a 'pa-da' onto the kang. Old Shuan forgot to take the pipe stem from his mouth, only letting out an 'Aiyo!' when the ash burned his hand.

"Re... Really?" The old lady's voice trembled uncontrollably, like a leaf in the autumn wind.

"Really! The admission notice will arrive in a couple of days!" Wende craned his neck, his voice raised high and bright, as if trying to push down his guilt. He didn't dare meet his parents' eyes, quickly rattling off a score – a score so high he wouldn't even dare to dream of achieving it.

The following days felt like an early Spring Festival in the Ma household. The old lady told everyone she met, her voice resonant, the wrinkles on her face smoothed out into broad smiles. Old Shuan also straightened his back; even puffing on his pipe seemed more vigorous. Neighbors flocked to offer congratulations, one bringing a jin of pastries, another two bottles of good liquor. The festive warmth inside the small room felt intense enough to blow the roof off. Wende, surrounded, listening to the compliments, wore a smile, but inside felt like he was clutching a block of ice, cold to the core. He felt like a marionette, manipulated by the strings of his lie, performing an absurd drama on a celebratory stage.

But ultimately, paper can't wrap up fire. As the days ticked by, that admission notice 'arriving in a couple of days' remained unseen, not even a shadow of it. The old lady began to mutter; Old Shuan's brow locked itself tight again.

"Wende, maybe... maybe we should go to the university and inquire?" Old Shuan finally ventured, tentatively.

Wende's heart sank violently, as if dropped from a great height. "Go... go inquire about what? They send out all the notices uniformly, what's the hurry?" He kept up a brave front, but his palms were slick with cold sweat.

"But the second son of Mrs. Zhang next door, he took his exam later than you, and he's already received his..." Suspicion bloomed in the old lady's eyes, spreading like ink.

It couldn't be avoided. Dragging it out further, the snowball of lies would only grow larger, bound to crash down on him eventually. Wende gritted his teeth, steeled himself: "Fine! Let's go! Then you can finally set your minds at ease!" He even had a desperate, reckless thought: perhaps being exposed publicly would actually be a kind of liberation?

The next day, the family of three dressed themselves neatly, as if going to an important banquet. Old Shuan specifically changed into the blue cloth jacket he kept pressed at the bottom of his trunk, and the old lady also wore a newly made outfit. Wende followed behind, his feet heavy as if filled with lead.

The university admissions office, with its bright windows and clean desks, formed a stark contrast to their small room at home. The staff members in white shirts wore impassive expressions, like precise machines.

Old Shuan rubbed his hands together, approaching with an obsequious smile: "Comrade, we're inquiring about Ma Wende's postgraduate admission notice..."

The young staff member didn't look up, fingers tapping rapidly across the keyboard. "Ma Wende? Which school?"

Wende murmured the name of the school, his voice as faint as a mosquito's buzz.

"Nobody by that name." The staff member's reply was curt and decisive, like a knife cut.

"No... nobody by that name?" The old lady's voice suddenly turned sharp. "Impossible! Our Wende definitely got in! His score was so high!"

"Are you certain you haven't mistaken the name?" The staff member looked up, showing a hint of impatience. "There is no such name in the system. The admission list was finalized some time ago."

"Check again, properly! Could you have made a mistake?" Old Shuan grew agitated too, his voice rising despite himself. His weathered face flushed deep red.

"I told you, the name isn't here!" The staff member frowned. "Every year, there are people who get it wrong. You should go back and verify your information."

"We didn't get it wrong!" The old lady surged towards the counter, slamming her hand on it. "My son told me himself! He got in! You... did you people lose our Wende's name!" As she spoke, tears began to stream down her face, her voice catching with sobs.

The surrounding people turned to look, pointing and whispering. Wende felt his face flush hot; he wished he could find a crack in the floor to vanish into. He saw his father's lips quivering, his mother's body trembling, their gazes shifting from initial disbelief to horror, and finally, to utter despair and... shame.

"Mom... Dad..." Wende finally couldn't bear it any longer; his legs buckled, and he almost collapsed onto the floor. "I... I didn't get in... The score, I made it up..."

The moment the words were out, the entire hall seemed to freeze. The old lady's sobbing ceased abruptly. She stared at her son as if seeing a stranger, her eyes empty. Old Shuan whipped around, raising his hand as if to strike, but it paused in mid-air before falling helplessly to his side. His previously straight back suddenly slumped, and he seemed to age ten years in an instant.

"You... you..." Old Shuan pointed at Wende, his lips working, but no words came out. It was a form of despair more heart-wrenching than any scolding or blow.

The staff member shook his head and picked up the phone: "Security? We have people causing a disturbance in the Admissions Office..."

The journey back felt much longer than the journey there. Nobody spoke, only the indifferent spring wind continued to gust and howl. At the entrance to the hutong, several old neighbors were chatting while sunning themselves. Seeing the dejected state of the family of three, they all fell silent, stunned. Those inquiring glances felt like needles pricking the Ma family's skin.

That festive warmth in their home had completely vanished. The room now felt as cold as an ice cellar. The old lady sat on the kang, not crying, not raging, just staring numbly out the window. Old Shuan was squatting on the threshold again, smoking one pipe after another of dry tobacco, the acrid smoke filling the tiny room.

Wende stood in the middle of the room, like a criminal awaiting judgment. He knew that the brief spring, built upon a lie, had ended. How were they to face the days ahead? He didn't know. He only felt as if he had transformed into a beetle, pinned to a vast, invisible notice board – one inscribed not with glory, but with shame and absurdity. Outside the window, the Beiping wind still moaned, sounding like mockery, yet also, perhaps, like a sigh.