Chapter 3 — They Teach Me To Grow Up By Abandoning Me

The phone reboot took exactly three minutes. Those three minutes were enough for my life to run through an entire flashback. Network connection. WeChat notifications immediately rushed in. Luc Vien immediately sent eight messages:

“Are you dead?”

“Why did you suddenly hang up the phone?”

“Damn, that didn't really happen, did it?”

“Don't scare me.”

“Well, your phone probably ran out of battery.”

"Look for me when you're online, I'll send you the money later."

The last message was sent five minutes ago. I hastily replied:

"It's me, it's me, it's me!!! My phone ran out of battery! Quickly transfer money!!!"

Message sent successfully. This time there is no more gray exclamation mark. I waited thirty seconds. Luc Vien did not answer. I guess I really fell asleep again. I spammed a dozen more urging messages, all of which "saw but didn't reply". This guy is exactly like "opening the coffin lid and coming back to life for a second, then lying down and closing the lid himself".. Forget it, don't rely on him anymore. I continued scrolling through messages. Then saw a WeChat message from “Mom”. Sending time: 6:03 am. That's when I was still sleeping. My finger trembled once and then clicked open.

"Daughter, don't panic, I'm talking about this. Your father insisted on going to participate in some cycling activity. In the middle of the night, he received a call and frantically packed his things. I couldn't stop him. I followed him, afraid something would happen to him outside. You're a big boy, go home on your own. I'll send you 200 yuan for the car later. Love you moah moah."

There is also a kiss icon on the back. I stared at the screen for ten seconds. Read and reread each word.

“Your father insisted on going to some kind of cycling activity.”

“I can't stop it.”

"You're a big boy, come home on your own."

“Mom sent me 200 yuan for the car fare.”

I took a deep breath. So the truth of the matter is - My father got mad in the middle of the night and wanted to go cycling. My mother didn't say a word and immediately followed. Then he conveniently left me at the hotel, in a city more than 1,200 km away from home.

“I'm grown up.”

I lowered my head and looked at the number again — 200 yuan. From here, it's already 285 yuan to take the hard-seat train home. You mean you want me to follow the train and crawl back, right? But oh well, at least I still have money. I immediately opened my WeChat wallet to check. Balance: 47.32 yuan. Transfer history: none. So where is the 200 yuan? I pulled back the chat, there was no lucky money or money transfer. I immediately texted back:

"Mom! Where's the 200? I haven't received it yet! Where are you? Where did dad go? When will you two be back?"

Message sent. One minute later. But no answer. Five more minutes later. Finally, my mother texted back a sentence:

“Oh, the banking app is locked, wait for me to research a bit.”

Not anymore after that. I sent more than a dozen more messages. All were viewed and then ignored. This time there is no need to turn off the computer. Which is to decline the call. Just one word: Absolutely amazing. By this time I completely understood everything. My father, a fifty-five-year-old retired worker, couldn't read any damn cycling activities in the group chat. His blood boiled and he immediately registered on the spot, dragging my mother away in the middle of the night. What about my mother? Her choice was to follow her husband, not to stay with her daughter who was unemployed, penniless, and didn't even have an ID card. And the other 200 yuan for the car fare — With the level of understanding my mother, I dare to bet the account Her bank is not locked at all. She simply doesn't want to move. Because in her mind she had definitely already calculated a problem: Transfer 200 yuan, her daughter will immediately buy a ticket home. If you don't change, your daughter will be forced to think for herself. But in the process of thinking that way... Maybe I will become more "mature". That's my mother. Ms. Trieu Tue Phuong. It's not that she doesn't love me. Just the way she loves others... A bit strange. I sat on the sofa in the lobby, clutching the phone in my hand. Outside the window, bright yellow sunshine, tourists dragged suitcases back and forth, laughing and chatting. And I sat there, my entire body totaled less than 50 yuan. Not having ID means — I can't take the train. Can't fly. Can't rent a hotel. Even the internet cafe cannot be accessed. In this city, I am almost invisible. And it's only eight o'clock in the morning. There are four hours left until check-out time. Tieu Luu's voice rang out from the reception desk.

“So how do you plan to deal with today's room fee?”

I turned my head to look at him. His expression remained calm as before. But I noticed that next to the computer there was a newly purchased glass of milk tea. People still go to work normally, drink milk tea normally. And I am at the brink of survival. I stood up and walked over.

“You are Tieu Luu, right?”

“Can I negotiate with you a bit?”

“You just say it.”

"Now it's true that I couldn't pay for today's room. But this isn't my fault — it's because my parents left without paying in full. Can you guys contact them? They should have had a phone number when they registered, right?"

Tieu Luu typed a few times on the keyboard:

“We have tried to contact, but the registered phone number cannot be called.”

Of course I can't call.

"Let's do this, can you... let me wait here? Wait until I contact my family and ask them to transfer money from far away?"

Tieu Luu looked at the manager. The manager walked over, still with that professional smile.

“Girl, according to the rules, if the room fee is not paid before twelve o'clock, we will…”

“Call the police, right?”

The manager's smile stopped.

"It's not that bad. But we need you to provide a guarantee, or..."

“Can I write a promissory note?”

The moment I said that sentence, I heard a very soft "puff" sound behind me. It's Ms. Vuong. She was standing next to the sofa, holding a glass of soy milk, openly listening to the conversation. And that "phew" sound clearly means: Is there still someone writing debt notes in this era? My ears are so hot that I could probably fry an egg.

"Girl, IOU..." the manager considered the words for a moment, "we're not comfortable accepting this kind of thing. How about this - if you can solve it before noon, we can be a little more flexible."