Chapter 22: The Long Wait

The days that followed were spent in a long, anxious wait.

Shortly after the exam, the school handed out a booklet containing the answers to the university entrance test. Yet so many of the questions felt unfamiliar to me—I could not recall how I had answered them at the time, so I simply chose not to look. Now, I had plenty of time; I could read whatever I wished, play whatever I desired. I could immerse myself in martial arts novels or indulge in television dramas. But the hunger for stories and shows was nothing compared to the fervor I had felt before the exam.

I remember once, when both my parents were at work and I had no classes in the afternoon, I stayed home to do homework. After finishing, I furtively switched on the television. A serial drama was airing, and I was instantly captivated by its plot. With my parents still at work, I figured they would not return so early, so I sat glued to the screen, watching several episodes in a row.

Suddenly, I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock! Panic-stricken, I hurriedly switched off the television, pulled out the plug, and rushed back to my desk.

The door opened—it was my father returning home. Apparently, his afternoon classes had ended, and with nothing pressing, he decided to come back early. I was terrified he would discover what I’d done, and sure enough, my fears were not unfounded. Whether my guilty demeanor betrayed me or he’d heard the television before entering, I do not know. He strode over to the TV, reached out, and touched its casing—it was warm!

I was doomed; I had overlooked this detail. Who could have guessed that he would check the temperature of the television? My father was very angry. He lectured me for over twenty minutes, saying things along the lines of, “You’re in your final year now—everyone else is working hard. Once you get into university, you can watch as much TV as you like.” After that, I never dared to secretly watch television at home again.

Ah, recalling it still makes my heart ache.

Later, I figured my father must have learned this trick from his colleagues at school. Many teachers had children at home—some of whom were my classmates. Clearly, after classes, the teachers exchanged tips and experiences among themselves.

Alas, how hard it was for us...

The drama I watched in secret that day—I can no longer remember its name, nor who starred in it. There was no internet or mobile phones then; television was the only entertainment. If you missed an episode, unless you caught a rerun, you would never see it again. It was merely an ordinary romance series, unlikely to be broadcast again. Unlike classics such as “Journey to the West,” which were replayed countless times every year, there was no comparison.

The story followed a pair of young lovers: the boy came from a scholarly, well-off family, while the girl’s circumstances were impoverished. In defiance of his mother’s opposition, the couple married. Afterward, the mother-in-law was harsh and critical, and the girl endured in silence, while the boy found himself caught in the middle, torn between them. Looking back, it seems a clichéd tale, but in those days, such plotlines never failed to move the audience to tears.

Years later, I remain curious about the ending: did their love falter, ending in divorce, or did the mother-in-law finally accept her daughter-in-law, allowing the family to live happily together? There’s no way to know. Perhaps this is one of life’s regrets.