Letter from Heaven No. 2

  "Give me the key."

  Wang San Ye tapped his fingers on the old village chief's desk, not caring about the village chief's expression as if he had seen the King of Hell. His tone was as aggressive as ever, and he didn't put this incompetent village chief in his eyes at all.

  The old village chief was also confused, his mind racing in circles, thinking: You haven't come back for four years, and as soon as you return, you ask me for the key. Where would I get a key to give you?

  It can be imagined that the village chief still doesn't want to offend this plague god, and quickly solving the problem and sending him away is the right way.

  "You..." The old village chief swallowed his saliva: "Wh...what key?"

  "My house key." Wang San Ye plopped himself down on the worn-out sofa, looking around at the decorations in the village chief's office and whistling in amazement: "You've made quite a change here, even installed air conditioning."

  "Wait... wait, Ah... Ah Jian. Second Uncle told you that this air conditioner was sent over after Teacher Mei left, the school has one and I have one too, take a look..."

  "Shut up, I'm impatient and it's hard for me to listen. Give me my house key."

  Wang Jian stood up, too lazy to waste any words on this old fool. With his kind of character, it's not like there's anything in the village that would tempt him. Even if the village was rich and prosperous, this old man wouldn't dare to stick his hand in, let alone the fact that the old women from the east and west sides of the village, who didn't have any tricks up their sleeves, but if anyone cheated them out of a single grain of rice, they would make a big fuss, drink medicine, and hang themselves. With this old man's physique, those few old ladies could eat him alive with just three or two mouths.

  When the old village chief saw him holding the key, he naturally didn't dare to slack off. When Wang San Ye left, his family's gate was wide open. If some unscrupulous little brat had gone in and messed around or stolen something, Wang San Ye would have been furious when he returned. So at that time, the old village chief secretly guessed the divine intention and took the initiative to lock up the old wooden house, also wrapping the bedding and clothes inside with plastic paper. Later, when it grew moldy, there would be another commotion.

  However, it has been four years since then, and the old man had almost forgotten about this matter. Suddenly, he was asked by this little overlord when he came back, and for a while, he really didn't react in time, and almost peed his pants.

  "Ah..." Wang Jian, the third master of the Wang family, saw the old village chief's disheveled appearance and scratched his head in puzzlement: "Am I really that unlucky? Do I look like a plague god to you?"

  Come on! How can it be? You're like a plague god or something! You're the living embodiment of a plague god, you know that? You have no idea, these past four years have been like a gentle breeze and green riverside for everyone else.

  "Alright, since I didn't say anything." Wang San Ye rummaged through his tattered bag and pulled out a fairly decent-looking radio and three stacks of red banknotes, which he tossed onto the village chief's desk. He then turned around to leave, but just as he reached the door, he suddenly turned back with a sly smile: "The radio is for you, this 30,000 yuan is for Ah Ying's university tuition, if I find out your son embezzled this money and didn't let Ah Ying attend school, I'll make sure he can't sit comfortably for the rest of his life."

  The old man heard this, and sweat broke out on his forehead. Ah Ying was her granddaughter, six or seven years younger than Wang Jian, who had been following Wang Jian's ass since she was a child, and no one could control her except Wang Jian. On the day Wang Jian left, 12- or 13-year-old Ah Ying still wanted to follow her third brother, throwing pots and pans, but was later beaten by Wang Jian with a bamboo stick and became obedient. This summer, Ah Ying graduated from high school, originally thinking that after finishing high school, she would send her out to find a job, earn some money to support the family, and then find a good husband for her when the time came.

  Now, the three men suddenly came back and said such a thing, which shattered the village chief's long-planned beautiful dream. After all, Ah Ying is pretty and clever, and a big hotel in the town has already agreed to let Ah Ying become the manager when the time comes, with a monthly salary of 2,000 yuan, not to mention commissions. In this broken place, a monthly income of 2,000 yuan is a good job that can't be found even with a lantern.

  "What's the point of putting on that face? You've never had any culture your whole life, and yet you still want to ruin Ah Ying, huh?" Wang San Ye looked at the village chief's expression and became displeased. He pointed at the village chief's nose and started scolding: "I'm telling you, I only have one younger sister, so think carefully about what you're doing."

  After finishing his harsh words, Wang San Ye snatched the key from the village chief's hand and tossed him a pack of partially smoked Fuyongwang cigarettes: "I'm doing this for her own good. Once I've taken what I need, I'll leave, so don't bother inviting me to dinner."

  As he spoke, Wang San also didn't care about the village chief who seemed to have something to say, and pushed open the door to walk towards his own house. Along the way, the cries of "Third Brother, Third Brother" were endless. And this village chief looked at the three hundred thousand yuan on the table, for the first time feeling that this RMB was so dazzling and ugly, it was simply like the paper money burned for the dead.

  Is Wang Jian rich? No.

  These thirty thousand yuan were earned by Wang Jian over four years of university, delivering newspapers, delivering milk, distributing flyers, carrying mineral water, collecting scraps, repairing bicycles, selling lamb skewers, roasting sweet potatoes, popping popcorn, and working part-time in a furniture factory during summer and winter breaks. Although he attended a tuition-free normal school, that only exempted him from tuition fees, but other expenses such as books, accommodation, and miscellaneous fees were still not small, let alone the fact that Wang Jian also had to eat.

  But he knew that 30,000 yuan was almost the cost of a meal for the wealthy officials and celebrities in the city, but for his impoverished county, 30,000 yuan was a huge sum of money that a family of three could not earn in five years. Let alone the village chief being an official, families would have some surplus, but that was only true for villages with good policies. This place... The village chief still had to work in the fields at the right time, and apart from getting an extra 300 yuan subsidy every month, there was really nothing else to gain. So he was really afraid that the old man would send Ah Ying out to work and get married early, which would truly ruin the young girl.

  Soon, Wang Jian, who was lost in thought, arrived at the house where he had lived since childhood. The front gate was locked tightly, with a layer of rust on the lock. The originally bright red couplets had become mottled and faded. The red bricks and green tiles were still the same, but time was indeed a sharp thing - just four years had passed, and the house already looked dilapidated.

  Wang Jian stood outside the house, took a deep breath, and for a moment, he seemed to still see Old Wood sitting on the rocking chair by the door frame, smiling and eating watermelon while telling himself stories about the mountain spirits.

  "Old man, I'm back."

  Wang Jian shouted out as he used to on Sundays when he was in high school, towards the old wooden bench where his grandfather often sat. Although no one would respond to him again and no one would bring him a bowl of cool green bean soup, he suddenly felt more at ease in his heart.

  He clenched his teeth and held back the tears that had welled up in his eyes, furrowed his brow tightly, then laboriously unlocked the door with the key in his hand.

  "Creak..."

  The old door hinge made a harsh creaking sound, and the light from outside shone into the room. Wang Jian looked up at the portrait opposite the door and smiled, then stepped inside and casually patted the dusty bamboo rocking chair.

  He didn't say much, but walked straight to the kitchen, took out the cheap purple sand pot from the cupboard, and washed it thoroughly with water from the well in the backyard. These movements were very familiar and smooth, and during the spare time while boiling water, he also slightly cleaned up the front hall, took out energy-saving light bulbs from his bag to replace them, and gave the old wooden stick three cigarettes.

  "It's been a long time since I've had tea at home." Wang Jian sat in front of the Eight Immortals table, his chin on the tabletop, looking at the old wooden chair: "Old man, you said you wanted to hold your grandson, but before your grandson was born, you left, you're too unfair."

  He was talking to himself, muttering and grumbling, sometimes complaining, sometimes smiling foolishly. After a while, he suddenly slapped his forehead: "Ah, I remember! I've been wanting to ask you something. Tell me, why did I suffer so much in the winter and summer training, but you won't let me use it? What's the point of my practicing? To be honest, you've been muddle-headed all your life, what have you achieved? I just can't figure it out. I asked you before, what does the character 'jian' in my name Wang Jian mean. You told me that even if it's buried underground, it should still stand upright. But there are too many things that I find unacceptable, how can I tolerate them?"

  Wang Jian's last few words were almost squeezed out with his teeth clenched, one word at a time, powerful and sonorous.

  "You've always told me since I was a kid, that when a man lies down he's a bridge and when he stands up he's a mountain. But you won't let me be this bridge or that mountain, what am I supposed to do?"

  He said, his hair and eyebrows standing on end, his eyes almost spitting fire, his expression solemn and stern: "Old man, I came today to tell you. I'm not going to be a coward anymore. If I die, so what? At worst, I'll go down with you. Wang Jian was born with a worthless life anyway."

  As soon as he finished speaking, the old wooden memorial tablet with a portrait suddenly and inexplicably fell to the ground with a loud crash, shattering the glass in the frame.

  Wang Jian was taken aback, then fell silent for a moment, and suddenly laughed out loud: "Old man, what's wrong with you? I didn't follow your orders, and you're sulking at me? You're not young anymore, don't be so childish. Can't you just go along with me this once?"

  He reluctantly squatted down to pick up the scattered glass fragments, then carefully wiped away the dust that had stained the photo, and then bent over again to pick up the fallen nameplate.

  But as soon as he touched the wooden plaque, he felt something was off! Why? The old woodcarver's craftsmanship was passed down from Lu Ban, and that's a big deal. Wang Jian and his brother Wang San had been following the old woodcarver since they were young, learning from him, although not formally. By the time they were 14 or 15 years old, they had already learned most of the old woodcarver's skills, except for one thing - making those small wooden horses that could move on their own.

  So he immediately determined that there was a mechanism hidden in the wooden plaque. This kind of thing doesn't exist in other families, only Old Wood has it. It's likely that Old Wood knew he was going to die soon and specially made himself a high-quality pear wood plaque with a hollow inside. If not for the old carpenter who had handled wood for decades, no one would have noticed that there was moisture in the weight of this plaque.

  And even if they knew, no one would care about a few taels more or less on a plaque. But except for Wang Jian, because he understood Lao Mu Tou, the old man's character was as straightforward as his name, and no matter what he did, he would never deceive others, this difference of a few taels would be enough to make Lao Mu Tou angry for two days without eating. Moreover, he wouldn't deceive others, nor would he deceive himself, so if the weight of the plaque wasn't right, there must be some trickery involved.

  The mechanism of the old wooden lock is very ingenious, with the seams fitting perfectly into the wood grain. After reassembling it, it won't loosen or make any noise without special techniques, and it can't be disassembled except by brute force. Moreover, this plaque has been painted, making it even more indistinguishable from a solid wooden board from the outside.

  Wang Jianxin said, 'Old man, old man, how old are you? You're still playing tricks on me like this. What if I really hadn't seen it?'

  He easily opened the wooden plaque, and a letter and a small booklet fell out. Wang Jian lowered his head to pick up the two things from the ground, and then put the plaque back on the table, using the light from the lamp above his head to see that the envelope was written in regular script with six large characters:

  "My son Wang Jian respectfully writes"