Fiction: Group 4
New Tales of the Pearl River Delta
Cheung Chuk Shan College, Wong, Wing Hei Carmen - 16, Fiction: Group 4
am Louis. My friends called me Chun. I moved to Shenzhen a year ago.
Back in Shaanxi, my friend Bun was always blabbering about the city as he ruffled his messy hair, about
how getting there is the only way to succeed. I never paid much attention to his talk of city life. I never
thought much of it, knowing it would only make me reminisce over the memories of the event that I
tucked back in my mind. My parents always wanted me to take over the farmland and help with chores.
Deep down, I wanted to get out of this rural town and experienced urban life, actually the life in Hong
Kong, the famous city that Mr. Lam, my mentor at school, came from.
But when I mentioned this idea at 15, things did not go as planned. Hair dampened with sweat from
running home from school, excited and eager to share my “vision”, I barged into the door without
hesitation and the detailed idea flew out of my mouth. Father was sitting at the wooden and tarnished table
we dined at. Mother was dishing out the Bok Choy and Deep Fried Pig Intestine. Their smiles froze. Father
glowered at me. Mother’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Frowning, her deep wrinkles became more
obvious than usual. Father staggered up with barely contained anger and I still blathered on, oblivious to
their response. That’s when he slapped me. My face stung from the impact, burning red. Reeling from the
slap, I saw the clear picture that had all along hid right beneath my eyes. Father’s graying hair and thinning
body. A simple movement required more effort than before. He was holding onto the table corner for
support after his furious outburst. His eyes were creased with lines though they still shone with the same
intensity and determination. Unspoken words flowed through us. And I saw the reason he hit me. He did
not raise me to be a heartless layman who abandoned his origin. Most important of all, I saw his fear of
losing me. Mother was frail. Her thin frame made more fragile by her thinning silver hair. The house was
damp and the little furniture we had was worn and aged. The bok choy that we ate was withered and
yellowish green although they came from our land. Since then, I shoved that idea aside and covered it with
layers of sunken memories . I did not want my parents to feel upset.
Father was old and back pain burdened him, slowing down his work at the fields. I ought to take over the
land one day. They were too poor to send me away anyway. 2 years later, at the National Higher Education
Entrance System, I still applied for Sun Yat-Sen University in Guangzhou, in the hope of being in the
cosmopolitan Pearl River Delta and closer to the metropolitan city of Hong Kong. Even though I knew it
was just a dream that would never come true. Of course I got admitted due to my good performance in the
examination. Yet I knew I could never abandon my parents in this state, not if I wanted my parents to stay
healthy and the farmland to be revitalized. But one day in late August, five months after my graduation from
college, my mother handed me a train ticket. I took it, surprised, shocked to be precise, to see “Sun Yat-
sen University Station” printed as the destination on the ticket “Go,” she said.
“But the farmland …”
“Your dad and I will take care of it,” She held me tight by my shoulders, discreet but visible sadness masked
her wrinkled face, “Go find your life.”
Worried yet eager with anticipation, I took a bumpy train ride for five hours and arrived at Guangzhou.
As soon as I stepped off the train, I felt dazed. People crowded the platform, each moving about with clear
aim in a quick pace. Noises swarmed my ears. What a contrast to hometown. The vibrancy stunned me. In
the crowd, I spotted Bun who moved here a year ago. He looked very different from the old scruffy boy
that I had known since I was a kid. He dyed his hair golden. They were sticking out in all directions. He
wore oversize T-shirts and pants. A metal necklace hung around his neck and his arms were marred with
tattoos. A cigarette in mouth, he smirked at me.
He greeted me with a bear hug, just like we used to, then he proceeded to ruffle my hair and messed up the
hairstyle that mother combed for me unexpectedly that morning. “Welcome to the city, bro!” He draped
his arm over my shoulder, “Finally heeding my advice and leaving the wasteland?” He laughed like this was
a secret joke.
I
