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The Static Admission Letter

· 7 min read
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Wang Fang felt that the past dozen years or so were like a compressed biscuit, all the flavor, nutrition, and expectation tightly pressed upon her son Xiao Jun's soon-to-be-revealed Gaokao score. To be precise, they were pressed upon the two words: "Peking University."

She lived in an old residential complex in a third-tier city in the south. Her husband was a mid-level technician in a state-owned enterprise, his life uneventful. As for Wang Fang, ever since her son started middle school, she had quit her job as a supermarket cashier to become a full-time "study companion." Though called "accompanying studies," it was more like being the chief engineer of a project named "Xiao Jun's Sprint for Peking University Plan."

This plan consumed most of the family's savings and all of Wang Fang's mental energy. Xiao Jun's every minute was precisely calculated: the alarm clock at 6:30 AM, the desk lamp turned off at 11:30 PM, the time in between crammed with exercises for every subject, tutoring classes, and Wang Fang's brand of "lovingly prepared nourishing soup." Neighbors would sometimes joke, "Wang Fang, you're not raising a son, you're launching a satellite!" Wang Fang would just smile, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes hiding an unquestionable resolve. In her view, this wasn't just her son's future; it was the family's only path to upward mobility, her entire bet against her midlife crisis and the mediocrity of life.

Xiao Jun was a quiet, reserved child. He didn't complain about the pressure like other kids, nor did he show off like the top students. He just quietly did his exercises, quietly ate his meals, and quietly left a thin silhouette under the lamplight late at night. Wang Fang sometimes felt a flicker of unease; her son's silence was like an impenetrable shell. She longed to hear his thoughts, his dreams, even his complaints. But Xiao Jun always just nodded and said, "Got it, Mom," then buried his head back in his books. This quietness made Wang Fang feel that her meticulously designed "sprint plan" was like operating on a black box – the outcome unknown, the process lacking interaction.

On the day the scores were released, the atmosphere at home was as heavy as if a storm was about to break. Wang Fang's palms were sweaty as she refreshed the webpage over and over. Xiao Jun sat in his room, the door closed. Wang Fang wanted to knock several times but pulled her hand back each time. She was afraid of disturbing him, and even more afraid of seeing potential disappointment on his face.

Suddenly, the air in the living room seemed to freeze. The webpage finally loaded. A string of numbers popped up, followed by two bright red words – "Peking University."

Wang Fang's pupils dilated abruptly, her breathing stopped, and her entire being seemed to hit the pause button. She wanted to scream, to jump up, to rush into the room and hug her son, to call all her relatives and friends. But she didn't. She just remained frozen there, maintaining the posture of clicking the mouse, her eyes glued to the screen as if those two words might disappear at any moment. Time seemed to stop flowing for her; all surrounding sounds – the car horns outside the window, the dripping kitchen faucet, even her own heartbeat – became distant and blurry.

Xiao Jun emerged at some point and stood quietly behind her. He looked at his mother's back, the back that had stooped for him, no longer young, now resembling a weathered stone statue.

"Mom," he said softly, "I... I got in."

His voice was calm, perhaps even carrying a hint of imperceptible exhaustion, as if he had just completed a long and arduous task.

Wang Fang's body trembled slightly, but she still hadn't "come alive." Her brain seemed unable to process this information. This goal she had obsessed over day and night, fought for through countless days and nights, was achieved just like that? Like a spinning top that had been whipped for over a decade and suddenly stopped, the immense inertia was followed by a blank emptiness. The "Peking University dream" that had propped up her entire life, in the moment of its realization, paradoxically made her feel an unprecedented sense of weightlessness.

She slowly, extremely slowly, turned her head to look at her son. There was no ecstasy on Xiao Jun's face, only a pallor that comes after shedding a heavy burden. Mother and son looked at each other, a strange silence filling the air, as if joy was blocked by an invisible membrane.

"Oh... so you got in," Wang Fang's voice was dry, like rusty gears turning. She tried to smile, but her lips only twitched slightly.

In the following days, the home was like a prepared stage, performing the play "Celebrating Admission to Peking University." Relatives came, neighbors visited; congratulations and praise were endless. Wang Fang tried hard to play the role of the "proud mother," socializing, smiling, accepting envious glances. But only she knew that the "static" area deep inside her was quietly expanding.

She looked at the red admission letter; it was like a golden ticket to a new world, shimmering. Yet Wang Fang felt an inexplicable panic. Xiao Jun was about to leave home for that "Peking University" she had never set foot in, the symbol of success and future. And her? Her "project" was over. What next? Life suddenly seemed to have lost its focus and direction. The personal hobbies, social life, even the warmth between husband and wife sacrificed for the "Peking University dream" now turned into a huge emptiness that consumed her.

Xiao Jun remained silent. He started packing his bags methodically. Wang Fang wanted to talk to him about university life, about the future, but found herself at a loss for words. What separated them seemed to be not just the impending physical distance, but something deeper. She suddenly realized that in that long "sprint plan," she had focused on "Peking University," not Xiao Jun the person. She had overlaid her own dream onto her son's. He got into Peking University, fulfilling her expectation, but was he happy? What did he want? She knew nothing.

On the day she sent her son off to the train station, Wang Fang didn't cry. She just stood on the platform, watching the train slowly pull away, Xiao Jun's figure shrinking behind the window. Even after the train disappeared beyond the horizon, she maintained that gazing posture, like on the day she checked the scores, falling once again into a kind of "stillness."

People came and went around her, noisy and bustling. Wang Fang stood there, feeling an unprecedented loneliness. She had won this race waged with her son as the stake, yet it felt like she had lost something else. The city stretched out behind her; countless families were perhaps playing out similar stories. Those quantified, pursued goals, like giant gears, drove people to run, to be anxious, to sacrifice. And when the goal was achieved, the moment the gears stopped turning, what remained was perhaps not just joy, but also an indescribable, Kafkaesque absurdity and blankness.

A gust of wind blew, ruffling the hair on Wang Fang's forehead. She blinked her dry eyes, slowly turned around, and walked into the surging crowd. Her silhouette was no longer that of the determined "chief engineer," but just an ordinary, somewhat desolate middle-aged woman, searching for the next "goal" that could make her start spinning again. And what that goal was, she herself did not know.