The first thing that caught his eye was a small room of about 7 or 8 square meters. Inside, there was a small bed and a folding table, a cupboard against the wall, and a bookshelf. From the ceiling hung a black electric wire, suspending a lampshade made of frosted glass. This room served as the family’s dining room, as well as Brian Carter’s father’s study and smoking room. Brian Carter’s mother hated smoking, so his father could only smoke here. He often stayed up late reading, and even after he could no longer teach and had to work in the factory, he would still read. To avoid disturbing Brian Carter and his mother’s rest, this small bed became his father’s resting place; if he read too late, he would just sleep here.

At the same time, this was also the living room of Brian Carter’s family. Usually, any visitors could only chat or play chess with his father here; the big room inside was off-limits. Brian Carter’s mother was a clean freak—whenever she was home, she would constantly sweep, mop, wipe the furniture, and make Brian Carter and his father wash their hands. Unless it was someone very close, like her own parents or siblings, she didn’t want anyone entering the bedroom. Otherwise, she’d have to spend half the day cleaning the whole house again. Over time, Brian Carter’s father stopped making trouble for himself and simply chatted with guests in the small outer room. People back then weren’t so particular anyway, and there weren’t any sofas to sit on.

Brian Carter didn’t go into the inner room either. He just opened the door and took a look inside: a big bed, a wardrobe, a five-drawer dresser, a washstand, and a sewing machine—that was it. The whole room had just these few pieces of furniture, making it look quite empty. Opposite the door was a large window, from which you could see most of the area in front of the building. If you pressed your face to the glass, you could even see the street beside the building.

“Sigh... such a hard life!” Brian Carter looked down at the still-drying water stains on the cement floor, knowing that his mother had tidied up the room again before leaving in the morning. He wasn’t sure if she’d wiped the furniture, but the floor had definitely been mopped. So, he decided not to go in and make more work for his mom—there was nothing inside he needed anyway.

On the table was a large cover made from window screen cloth, under which were a stick of fried dough and a bowl of soy milk, clearly left for him by his father. Next to them were two books, a small notebook, and a pencil. The books were old, first-grade elementary school textbooks, but they looked almost new. Brian Carter never understood how those girls could keep their textbooks so clean—didn’t they read them?

The small notebook was handmade by Brian Carter’s father, using test paper. He had a whole box of these, all from student exams he’d graded in the past. One side had questions and students’ handwriting, the other side was blank. Brian Carter’s father cut them into 16mo size and stapled them together to use as scratch paper, and now he’d given one to Brian Carter. Oh, right, there was also a high-tech gadget in Brian Carter’s home: the stapler. In those days, most families didn’t have one or need one, but Brian Carter’s dad had one and let him play with it—just not with the staples.

The pencil was old too, only about the length of a palm, with a hexagonal cross-section and a dark green lacquered surface, faintly decorated with bamboo patterns. Anyone born in the 1970s or 80s would recognize it at a glance: the Chung Hwa pencil!

This was a premium item. Most pencils of that era were unpainted, round, and all natural wood color—you could clearly see how the two half-round wooden strips were glued together. Nowadays, that would be called eco-friendly, but back then it was just because the manufacturing process was simple, the cost was low, and the price was cheap. There were also some pencils with colorful patterns, but the most expensive and professional was this kind of Chung Hwa pencil. It used “HB” to indicate the hardness of the lead—H for hard, B for soft—with an Arabic numeral in front. For example, 4H meant hardness level 4, which was harder than 2H.

Chapter 11: Auditing

While eating breakfast, Brian Carter flipped through the two first-grade textbooks—one for Chinese, one for arithmetic. Both had covers made of slightly thicker, pale yellow paper than regular white paper, printed with three children playing with a drill press, and labeled “Beijing Elementary School Textbook, Arithmetic or Chinese, Volume 9.” Brian Carter had no memory of this at all—not even a little. He couldn’t remember if he’d used this kind of textbook himself.

After flipping a few pages, he saw that the first lesson in the Chinese textbook started with pinyin, and the math book began with learning Arabic numerals. Brian Carter was completely reassured—he could guarantee he knew both of these a hundred percent. If he’d forgotten even this much, he might as well just die and save future college students the embarrassment.

After finishing breakfast, he sat in the room for a while, then deliberately went to the kitchen to check if the family’s coal stove was properly sealed. Only then did he lock the door, tucked the two books and the small notebook under his arm, grabbed the pencil, and headed to school, pondering as he walked: how long should he actually stay at school?