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A sharp knock swept over the front yard， pierced through the thick wooden door of the living room and successfully made its way into the innermost cubicle， luckily， that was my place. I was waken up.
I ruffled my hair irritably， kicking the quilt off my body. In a daze， I heard the front-gate open， followed by a rustling conversation. I stifled my simmering anger for so long， as long as about three minutes I supposed， and finally heard the gate close. I sat up， my toes feeling for the slippers on the rough concrete.
“Who the hell that is！” I murmured.
As I walked out of my little world， I bumped into my dad coming back from the front yard. Unlike me， his face shone with happiness， which definitely made me more unhappy.
“Who’s that？” I threw out patiently.
“You don’t know her，” he said flatly.
“Then， who？”
“One of my regular customers.”
“For what？”
“Ordering a new pair of wedding shoes for her daughter.”
I knew my father was famous in our village for his exquisite skills in making shoes. But I still didn’t understand why people came to him before dawn. “How much time left this time？” I forced myself to focus on something else.
“Well， six days.” He stood akimbo.
“What？ Only six days？ Didn’t she know that it would take at least half a month to make a pair by hand？” I was thoroughly incensed by such an unreasonable request.
Yet strangely， my father didn’t seem to be in a hurry at all. He merely patted me on the shoulder， “It’s okay. It’s just slightly tight. I can make it.”
I was sure he would be up earlier than the cock for the next few days. Mixed emotions gradually swelled in my heart. “Good， then do it well.” I signed.
A mighty force tugged at my feet， tending to pull me out of the house. I submitted to that force， and walked to the gate without looking back.
“Where are you going？” Father’s full and powerful voice came through my back.
“Hanging around for a while.” I raised my hand and waved it over my head.
He didn’t ask more.
Hardly had I stepped out of the gate， when a rumbling pickup truck passed me. I recognized that the driver， a middle-aged man， was the person who took charge of dumping the public trash can. He hummed a tune， and his upper body shook merrily.
I grinned contemptuously. What was so good about living this cookie-cutter life and facing stinky crap every day？
I had the same doubts about my father， and even my grandfather， too. They both inherited their father’s skills and spent their whole life here， an out-of-the-way village， making shoes day and night. As the only son in my family， I knew my destiny was born to be like theirs. But I was never willing to reconcile myself to this dull and aimless life. I picked up a stone on the ground， the biggest one in my sight， and threw it towards the end of the field with all my strength. It drew a big arc， and became a bright spot in the air as it met the newly-born sunlight. But in the blink of an eye， it disappeared.
Although I was a hundred percent sure that it was impossible to find where it had landed， I still stood on my tiptoe， craning my neck and looking from side to side.
Suddenly， the grandeur of the field struck me. Heronsbills radiated with gorgeous colors and they each carried the posture of a king， with their head held high. They eclipsed all the wildflowers that surrounded them， owing to their conspicuous flamboyance. Not to mention those weeds， how could they contend against heronsbills with only the monotonous green？
Facing this field， I set my ambition， “Ten years from now， I won’t be stitching in my yard. I’ll be sipping coffee in my office.”
I took a detour home， along the right side of which there lay a stream whose current came out of the mountains. I never liked its soft sound because I felt it had been moaning about nothing， spineless and spiritless. Admittedly， every time I saw it， I thought myself was pretty awesome.
By the time I arrived home， father was busy working in the yard， easy and masterly. His chiseled profile and intent manner dazzled in the sun. For a moment， to my surprise， I could smell heronsbills in the air， an impressive aroma， though I was no longer in the fields. I guessed， years ago， my mother must have married him just because she had passed by the gate. But if I were a girl， I would never spend my whole life with a cobbler.
“Would you please do me a favor after you finish your breakfast？” His eyes sent me a sincere invitation.
“Sorry， dad. I’ve got homework to do.” I avoided his eyes and firmly refused.
I noticed a flash of disappointment in his eyes. But soon he smiled， “Study is much more important. Go ahead！”
Besides nodding， I found no better way to respond.
During the next 3 years， I hardly ever touched any shoes. There was waking， there was sleeping， and then there was studying.
It was beyond question that being admitted by the university in the big city would take incredible efforts on the part of village students.
Endless exercises were both complicated and changeable， unlike making shoes， there was no fixed process. Frustration and desperation devoured me when my ranking dropped out of the top 3. There were countless nights when I awoke from dreams with sweat trickling down my forehead. Sometimes， I would even cry hysterically until my dad rushed in and shook me awake.
Lying soberly in bed， I could clearly feel the anxiety and loneliness in my brain and a powerful force against my chest which was about to squeeze my heart out. I suffocated in the sheer darkness and struggled to get out， but there was no way. The more I tried to throw off the shackles， the tighter they became.
Nonetheless， I convinced myself that there was a price to pay to leave for good. The first rays of sunshine in the morning were like adrenaline injected into my bloodstream， with which I could temporarily shield the overnight pain and plunge into mechanical training.
Fortunately， I achieved my first goal. When I said goodbye to my father at the railway station， he was neither happy nor sad. He just told me to take good care of myself and hoped that everything would go well.
The train pulled into the station with so long a roar that I wasn’t able to catch what dad said at the end. All I could see was his jaws detaching and attaching. Yet time was pressing， I had no chance to let him repeat again. And I took it for granted that it was also parting greeting.
I heaved up the luggage in a hurry， carried it on my back， and dashed straight to the platform without looking back. I was well aware that my soul had wandered among the high-rise buildings of the city. So was my father.
Staring at the fading scenery through the window， I realized that what I had seen， heard， and owned for 18 years would drift away like mist in an instant. I was going to turn over a new leaf the moment the train arrived the destination.
Life in university did not bring me the liberation and satisfaction I had expected. Instead， pressure and indignation overwhelmed me.
I was studying whereas my classmates were sleeping， or playing games， or dining out together. However， I was still left behind. I exhausted all my efforts to attempt to catch up with them， but all in vain.
They ate two meat dishes and one vegetable dish as the standard without frowning， which was already a luxurious feast for me. But strangely enough， they rarely emptied their plates.
They unpacked express parcels almost every day. The joy and content on their faces as they cut through the scotch tape with a razor blade tickled my heart like a cat’s paw. But peculiarly enough， certain stuff was left under the bed to suck up the dust since bought. They were like eagles at the top of a pyramid overlooking spectacular scenery， while I was like a snail with a lumbersome shell staggering every step of the way.
I felt something was going to explode inside me， powerful and devastating. I was about to be torn into pieces. My feet could barely hold the weight of my body， and the sense of fall penetrated me.
I slapped myself in the mirror， “Don’t forget what you’re endeavoring to chase.”
Thankfully， I weathered through 4 years of university and became a regular 9-to-5er.
The house I rent was far away from the company， and it took about one and a half hours by bus. Every morning， the smell of fried dough sticks and steamed buns mixed with the smell of sweat filled the whole carriage. And thanks to the jouncy bus in the stop-and-go waves of congestion， I was constantly on the verge of vomiting.
There were times that my chest and back were pressed together by the crowd， so that I couldn’t stand any more and simply got off the bus early.
I stepped out onto the sidewalk and straightened my wrinkled white shirt. I took a deep breath， trying to flush the greasy smell out of my lungs. However， all I breathed in was the stench of car exhaust. In addition， I even felt some fine particles in my nasal cavity， which made me cough uncontrollably.
The screech of brakes， the roar of engines and the beep of horns constituted a disgusting trio. All of a sudden， I came to realize that the quiet stream in my village was rather fascinating.
Time flew， I had been working in this obscure company for almost 2 years. But the work assigned to me was still insignificant， which would be done by those three-year-olds. Sometimes I was asked to copy and bind documents， sometimes to serve tea in the meeting room， and sometimes to record the information into the network system based on the text version.
I did complain to the manager many times that I didn’t get the treatment I deserved. Yet he always hemmed and hawed.
Yes， I understood. I wasn’t as polished and smart and sophisticated as those city kids. Although I was really not convinced at the beginning， gradually， I acknowledged that they could easily do what I wasn’t able to do indeed.
Nevertheless， I got used to keeping up appearance to cover up my predicament.
As a matter of fact， for most of the time， I didn’t know what I was up to. But seriously， every day when I got home， I felt so tired that I fall straight into bed. The bedroom was spacious， unlike my cubicle which could barely fit a simple wooden bed. However， I still couldn’t figure out what the bare place was for after living here for a long time. After all， the only thing I needed in the bedroom was a good night’s sleep.
I was about to fall asleep when my cell phone rang. I rubbed my eyes and squinted at the bright screen. It was my father.
“How’s everything going？” As soon as I got through， his voice came over.
“As usual， neither good nor bad.” I answered honestly.
“Have you had dinner yet？”
“No， I just got off work. Don’t worry， I’ll cook some noodles right away.”
“Noodles only？”
“Not really， there’s some lettuce in the fridge.”
“We made rice dumplings with preserved meat today. Would you like a bite？” He grinned from ear to ear after saying that.
In the past， I would have laughed with him. But today， I was stunned. My mind went blank. I felt an electric current running from my heart to the base of my tongue.
“Yes， dad. Save some for me.” I said sincerely， word for word.
He seemed to have sensed a difference， “Are you stressed out lately？”
After a silence， I answered， “No one ever put pressure on me. If there was， it was me myself.”
Dad was silent for a moment as well. Then he replied earnestly， “My child， let go of yourself. We must learn to accept ourselves.”
“But only cowards do that.” I still thought I was right.
“We live for ambition， but not for desire.”
When I heard that， I sat up. A weird feeling started taking over in the pit of my stomach.
Bluntly， he pointed out what had tormented me for the past 9 years. It turned out that he had always looked through me. My sense of superiority was completely gone. Instead， I was dwarfed by him.
“Do you still remember what I said to you at the railway station？” he continued.
“Take care of myself？” That was all I remembered.
“Not that one. The last sentence， I suppose.”
“Em...sorry dad，” I realized that I had missed the last one， “say it again please.”
“Come back when you’re tired.”
All the cells in my body were boiling. I knew exactly they were cheering as if they had been waiting for these words for so long a time.
This time， I didn’t hesitate for a second， “Tomorrow， I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Great. There’s half a pair left for you to make.”
We hung up laughing. I hadn’t had such a good laugh for years.
The next day， I enjoyed steaming feast brimming over with strong affection from my parents in our cute yard， and had the best sleep full of sweet dreams in my little world. I felt alive.
Then I went to the field with heronsbills. They were still standing there， imperiously and garishly. Wildflowers with soft yellow and weeds with bright green were also standing there， affably and prettily.
I took a detour again to visit the stream. It was still so clear and quiet. But this time， I did feel the power that came from its calm， which made it run steadfastly.
On the day when my foolish ambition was due， I happened to be in the yard stitching the shoes. Unexpectedly， a girl knocked at our half-open gate， with a bashful grin on her face， “Hi， I just passed by when I smelt the faint scent of wildflowers and weeds. Can I come in and have a look？”
“Sure， please.” My heart was faster than my mouth.
I ruffled my hair irritably， kicking the quilt off my body. In a daze， I heard the front-gate open， followed by a rustling conversation. I stifled my simmering anger for so long， as long as about three minutes I supposed， and finally heard the gate close. I sat up， my toes feeling for the slippers on the rough concrete.
“Who the hell that is！” I murmured.
As I walked out of my little world， I bumped into my dad coming back from the front yard. Unlike me， his face shone with happiness， which definitely made me more unhappy.
“Who’s that？” I threw out patiently.
“You don’t know her，” he said flatly.
“Then， who？”
“One of my regular customers.”
“For what？”
“Ordering a new pair of wedding shoes for her daughter.”
I knew my father was famous in our village for his exquisite skills in making shoes. But I still didn’t understand why people came to him before dawn. “How much time left this time？” I forced myself to focus on something else.
“Well， six days.” He stood akimbo.
“What？ Only six days？ Didn’t she know that it would take at least half a month to make a pair by hand？” I was thoroughly incensed by such an unreasonable request.
Yet strangely， my father didn’t seem to be in a hurry at all. He merely patted me on the shoulder， “It’s okay. It’s just slightly tight. I can make it.”
I was sure he would be up earlier than the cock for the next few days. Mixed emotions gradually swelled in my heart. “Good， then do it well.” I signed.
A mighty force tugged at my feet， tending to pull me out of the house. I submitted to that force， and walked to the gate without looking back.
“Where are you going？” Father’s full and powerful voice came through my back.
“Hanging around for a while.” I raised my hand and waved it over my head.
He didn’t ask more.
Hardly had I stepped out of the gate， when a rumbling pickup truck passed me. I recognized that the driver， a middle-aged man， was the person who took charge of dumping the public trash can. He hummed a tune， and his upper body shook merrily.
I grinned contemptuously. What was so good about living this cookie-cutter life and facing stinky crap every day？
I had the same doubts about my father， and even my grandfather， too. They both inherited their father’s skills and spent their whole life here， an out-of-the-way village， making shoes day and night. As the only son in my family， I knew my destiny was born to be like theirs. But I was never willing to reconcile myself to this dull and aimless life. I picked up a stone on the ground， the biggest one in my sight， and threw it towards the end of the field with all my strength. It drew a big arc， and became a bright spot in the air as it met the newly-born sunlight. But in the blink of an eye， it disappeared.
Although I was a hundred percent sure that it was impossible to find where it had landed， I still stood on my tiptoe， craning my neck and looking from side to side.
Suddenly， the grandeur of the field struck me. Heronsbills radiated with gorgeous colors and they each carried the posture of a king， with their head held high. They eclipsed all the wildflowers that surrounded them， owing to their conspicuous flamboyance. Not to mention those weeds， how could they contend against heronsbills with only the monotonous green？
Facing this field， I set my ambition， “Ten years from now， I won’t be stitching in my yard. I’ll be sipping coffee in my office.”
I took a detour home， along the right side of which there lay a stream whose current came out of the mountains. I never liked its soft sound because I felt it had been moaning about nothing， spineless and spiritless. Admittedly， every time I saw it， I thought myself was pretty awesome.
By the time I arrived home， father was busy working in the yard， easy and masterly. His chiseled profile and intent manner dazzled in the sun. For a moment， to my surprise， I could smell heronsbills in the air， an impressive aroma， though I was no longer in the fields. I guessed， years ago， my mother must have married him just because she had passed by the gate. But if I were a girl， I would never spend my whole life with a cobbler.
“Would you please do me a favor after you finish your breakfast？” His eyes sent me a sincere invitation.
“Sorry， dad. I’ve got homework to do.” I avoided his eyes and firmly refused.
I noticed a flash of disappointment in his eyes. But soon he smiled， “Study is much more important. Go ahead！”
Besides nodding， I found no better way to respond.
During the next 3 years， I hardly ever touched any shoes. There was waking， there was sleeping， and then there was studying.
It was beyond question that being admitted by the university in the big city would take incredible efforts on the part of village students.
Endless exercises were both complicated and changeable， unlike making shoes， there was no fixed process. Frustration and desperation devoured me when my ranking dropped out of the top 3. There were countless nights when I awoke from dreams with sweat trickling down my forehead. Sometimes， I would even cry hysterically until my dad rushed in and shook me awake.
Lying soberly in bed， I could clearly feel the anxiety and loneliness in my brain and a powerful force against my chest which was about to squeeze my heart out. I suffocated in the sheer darkness and struggled to get out， but there was no way. The more I tried to throw off the shackles， the tighter they became.
Nonetheless， I convinced myself that there was a price to pay to leave for good. The first rays of sunshine in the morning were like adrenaline injected into my bloodstream， with which I could temporarily shield the overnight pain and plunge into mechanical training.
Fortunately， I achieved my first goal. When I said goodbye to my father at the railway station， he was neither happy nor sad. He just told me to take good care of myself and hoped that everything would go well.
The train pulled into the station with so long a roar that I wasn’t able to catch what dad said at the end. All I could see was his jaws detaching and attaching. Yet time was pressing， I had no chance to let him repeat again. And I took it for granted that it was also parting greeting.
I heaved up the luggage in a hurry， carried it on my back， and dashed straight to the platform without looking back. I was well aware that my soul had wandered among the high-rise buildings of the city. So was my father.
Staring at the fading scenery through the window， I realized that what I had seen， heard， and owned for 18 years would drift away like mist in an instant. I was going to turn over a new leaf the moment the train arrived the destination.
Life in university did not bring me the liberation and satisfaction I had expected. Instead， pressure and indignation overwhelmed me.
I was studying whereas my classmates were sleeping， or playing games， or dining out together. However， I was still left behind. I exhausted all my efforts to attempt to catch up with them， but all in vain.
They ate two meat dishes and one vegetable dish as the standard without frowning， which was already a luxurious feast for me. But strangely enough， they rarely emptied their plates.
They unpacked express parcels almost every day. The joy and content on their faces as they cut through the scotch tape with a razor blade tickled my heart like a cat’s paw. But peculiarly enough， certain stuff was left under the bed to suck up the dust since bought. They were like eagles at the top of a pyramid overlooking spectacular scenery， while I was like a snail with a lumbersome shell staggering every step of the way.
I felt something was going to explode inside me， powerful and devastating. I was about to be torn into pieces. My feet could barely hold the weight of my body， and the sense of fall penetrated me.
I slapped myself in the mirror， “Don’t forget what you’re endeavoring to chase.”
Thankfully， I weathered through 4 years of university and became a regular 9-to-5er.
The house I rent was far away from the company， and it took about one and a half hours by bus. Every morning， the smell of fried dough sticks and steamed buns mixed with the smell of sweat filled the whole carriage. And thanks to the jouncy bus in the stop-and-go waves of congestion， I was constantly on the verge of vomiting.
There were times that my chest and back were pressed together by the crowd， so that I couldn’t stand any more and simply got off the bus early.
I stepped out onto the sidewalk and straightened my wrinkled white shirt. I took a deep breath， trying to flush the greasy smell out of my lungs. However， all I breathed in was the stench of car exhaust. In addition， I even felt some fine particles in my nasal cavity， which made me cough uncontrollably.
The screech of brakes， the roar of engines and the beep of horns constituted a disgusting trio. All of a sudden， I came to realize that the quiet stream in my village was rather fascinating.
Time flew， I had been working in this obscure company for almost 2 years. But the work assigned to me was still insignificant， which would be done by those three-year-olds. Sometimes I was asked to copy and bind documents， sometimes to serve tea in the meeting room， and sometimes to record the information into the network system based on the text version.
I did complain to the manager many times that I didn’t get the treatment I deserved. Yet he always hemmed and hawed.
Yes， I understood. I wasn’t as polished and smart and sophisticated as those city kids. Although I was really not convinced at the beginning， gradually， I acknowledged that they could easily do what I wasn’t able to do indeed.
Nevertheless， I got used to keeping up appearance to cover up my predicament.
As a matter of fact， for most of the time， I didn’t know what I was up to. But seriously， every day when I got home， I felt so tired that I fall straight into bed. The bedroom was spacious， unlike my cubicle which could barely fit a simple wooden bed. However， I still couldn’t figure out what the bare place was for after living here for a long time. After all， the only thing I needed in the bedroom was a good night’s sleep.
I was about to fall asleep when my cell phone rang. I rubbed my eyes and squinted at the bright screen. It was my father.
“How’s everything going？” As soon as I got through， his voice came over.
“As usual， neither good nor bad.” I answered honestly.
“Have you had dinner yet？”
“No， I just got off work. Don’t worry， I’ll cook some noodles right away.”
“Noodles only？”
“Not really， there’s some lettuce in the fridge.”
“We made rice dumplings with preserved meat today. Would you like a bite？” He grinned from ear to ear after saying that.
In the past， I would have laughed with him. But today， I was stunned. My mind went blank. I felt an electric current running from my heart to the base of my tongue.
“Yes， dad. Save some for me.” I said sincerely， word for word.
He seemed to have sensed a difference， “Are you stressed out lately？”
After a silence， I answered， “No one ever put pressure on me. If there was， it was me myself.”
Dad was silent for a moment as well. Then he replied earnestly， “My child， let go of yourself. We must learn to accept ourselves.”
“But only cowards do that.” I still thought I was right.
“We live for ambition， but not for desire.”
When I heard that， I sat up. A weird feeling started taking over in the pit of my stomach.
Bluntly， he pointed out what had tormented me for the past 9 years. It turned out that he had always looked through me. My sense of superiority was completely gone. Instead， I was dwarfed by him.
“Do you still remember what I said to you at the railway station？” he continued.
“Take care of myself？” That was all I remembered.
“Not that one. The last sentence， I suppose.”
“Em...sorry dad，” I realized that I had missed the last one， “say it again please.”
“Come back when you’re tired.”
All the cells in my body were boiling. I knew exactly they were cheering as if they had been waiting for these words for so long a time.
This time， I didn’t hesitate for a second， “Tomorrow， I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Great. There’s half a pair left for you to make.”
We hung up laughing. I hadn’t had such a good laugh for years.
The next day， I enjoyed steaming feast brimming over with strong affection from my parents in our cute yard， and had the best sleep full of sweet dreams in my little world. I felt alive.
Then I went to the field with heronsbills. They were still standing there， imperiously and garishly. Wildflowers with soft yellow and weeds with bright green were also standing there， affably and prettily.
I took a detour again to visit the stream. It was still so clear and quiet. But this time， I did feel the power that came from its calm， which made it run steadfastly.
On the day when my foolish ambition was due， I happened to be in the yard stitching the shoes. Unexpectedly， a girl knocked at our half-open gate， with a bashful grin on her face， “Hi， I just passed by when I smelt the faint scent of wildflowers and weeds. Can I come in and have a look？”
“Sure， please.” My heart was faster than my mouth.