Light in the Cement Box

Lao Ma felt this place was a bit like a huge, cold cement box. He hadn't thought that way when they first bought it. Back then, the sales lady's words were sweet as honey. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, shining on the exquisite little model houses on the sand table, bright and full of hope. One million one hundred ninety thousand yuan. It emptied half a lifetime's savings and saddled them with a thirty-year mortgage, but Lao Ma and his wife, Ma Sao, felt it was worth it! For their son's future schooling, for a stable nest for their old age, for putting down roots in this big city – this cement box was their "home," their tangible, heavy future.

But only four years later, that future was like the spider plant on the balcony they'd forgotten to water, its leaves yellowish and listless. The news came from their neighbor, Lao Wang. Lao Wang smoked half a pack of cigarettes downstairs before he managed to get the words out clearly: "Lao Ma, did you see? Our building, the asking price... four hundred thousand..."

Four hundred thousand? Lao Ma's ears buzzed as if a large blowfly had flown in. He subconsciously cleaned his ear, looking at Lao Wang's long,苦瓜脸 (bitter melon face), wanting to laugh but feeling his throat tighten. One million one hundred ninety thousand, four years, turned into four hundred thousand? This was more thrilling than a rollercoaster; it was a direct plummet from the mountain peak into a mud pit.

Ma Sao was in the kitchen sorting chives, planning to make dumplings. Hearing the commotion, she shuffled out in her slippers, her hair loosely tied back with a rubber band, a smudge of flour still on her face. "What's all the shouting? Lao Wang's here? Come in, sit down."

Lao Wang waved his hand, smiling bitterly. "Sister-in-law, I can't sit. My heart feels too heavy."

Seeing the situation, Ma Sao's heart also skipped a beat. "What's wrong?"

Lao Wang repeated the "four hundred thousand." The chives in Ma Sao's hand scattered onto the floor with a clatter, green and widespread. She stood there愣 (愣 stunned), staring blankly at the ground. After a long moment, as if sleepwalking, she bent down to pick them up, muttering, "作孽啊 (What sin have we committed)... what kind of mess is this..."

The room fell silent instantly, only the inaccurate quartz clock on the wall ticked away, "tick-tock, tick-tock," as if counting the seconds of this absurd reality. Lao Ma walked to the window, gazing at the identical building opposite. Gray walls, rows of dark, empty window openings, like numb faces. Once it looked new and grand, now it just felt oppressive, cold. The occupancy rate here wasn't high; many apartments were empty. Wind whistled mournfully through the buildings, like someone crying.

"I told you back then," Ma Sao's voice, tinged with tears, began to ramble, "I said don't buy so far out, the location's bad, too remote! You wouldn't listen, insisted it had development potential... Potential? Is the potential just to fall?"

Lao Ma didn't say anything. What could he say? Back then, he had truly believed those planning maps, believed the nonsense about the "new city core." Who doesn't want their life to get better and better? Who doesn't want to give their child a better starting point? Was he wrong? It seemed not. But reality was like a ruthless slap in the face, leaving him dizzy and disoriented.

That evening, the dumplings didn't get made. Ma Sao had little appetite. Their son, Xiao Bao, picked at his food for a bit and went back to his room to do homework. Lao Ma opened a bottle of Erguotou, poured himself drinks, accompanying it with a plate of peanuts. The liquor was fiery, making him cough, bringing tears to his eyes. He looked at the thick stack of purchase contracts and loan documents on the table. The black ink on white paper, once proof of hope, now seemed like an indenture contract, binding him, and binding this family. A hole of over a million yuan, how could they fill it? Even if they sold now, they'd still owe the bank a mountain of debt. This cement box hadn't brought them stability; instead, it had become a huge, inescapable burden.

He thought of the characters penned by Mr. Lu Xun, those small figures struggling, numb, even heading towards destruction in the torrent of the times. He felt a bit like them, insignificant, powerless, pushed around by an invisible hand, unable to control his own fate. But he wasn't Ah Q; he couldn't achieve spiritual victory. This loss was too concrete, too heavy, crushing the air out of him.

Drinking late into the night, Lao Ma got a little drunk. He swayed onto the balcony, the night wind cool against his face. He looked at the glittering lights of the distant city; that prosperous area seemed like another world. He suddenly remembered that when they first moved in, he had specifically planted a rose bush on the balcony. Now, that rose bush had also died, leaving only a few bare thorns.

He leaned on the cold railing, looking down. The residential complex was quiet, only a few dim streetlights illuminated the empty ground. A strange thought suddenly occurred to him: This house, this cement box, would it just collapse one day? Like those paper pavilions, looking decent enough, but falling apart in a storm.

The next day, Lao Ma got up as usual, washed up, and prepared to go to work. He was an employee at a small company, the job neither good nor bad, the pay neither much nor little. Life had to go on, the loan payments had to be made. Ma Sao silently prepared his breakfast. Neither spoke, but both understood the weight in the other's heart.

Before leaving, Lao Ma habitually straightened his collar, looking at himself in the mirror on the door. The person in the mirror seemed to have more white hair, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were deeper, and his gaze held an unspeakable weariness. He sighed, pushed open the door, and walked out.

In the corridor, he ran into Lao Wang, who was also heading to work. Their eyes met. Lao Wang forced a smile uglier than crying. "Lao Ma, off to work?"

"Yeah, work," Lao Ma nodded.

"Sigh," Lao Wang also sighed. "What else can we do? Life has to go on, right?"

Yes, life has to go on. Lao Ma thought, his steps heavy as he walked towards the elevator. The elevator door slid open slowly, revealing an empty space. The cold metal walls reflected his blurred figure. This cement box had trapped most of his life savings, and it had trapped his hope. But the light, perhaps it was still there? He looked at the downward arrow on the elevator button, feeling empty inside, wondering when this downward journey would end. Or perhaps, there was no end, only a continuous sense of weightless falling, accompanying life in this cement box, forever. He suddenly felt like an insect trapped in a box, looking bright on the outside, but inside only endless darkness and struggle. He shivered and pressed the close button. With a click, the door shut, sealing off everything outside, and sealing off that little bit of light that might exist, or perhaps had already been extinguished.