Chapter 15: Telling Jokes

Huang Guolun was still preoccupied with thoughts of Bai Yao when Zhao Jing suddenly asked about how things were progressing with Zhao Yan, pulling him back to the present.

After a moment’s consideration, he answered truthfully, “Your sister is a wonderful person, really well-suited to be a friend. But for us to go further... I think it would be difficult.”

Zhao Jing was direct: “You’re not interested in my sister?”

“It’s not about whether I’m interested or not. We've only just met; we’re not even at the stage of really knowing each other. But I always feel your sister is a bit of a literary soul, a dreamer, not quite grounded in reality. She needs someone who matches her perfectly in every way to find happiness. Someone like me—a middle-aged man with family responsibilities—would be better off as just a friend.”

This was honestly how Huang Guolun felt. If it weren’t for Huang Tao, he might have considered getting closer to Zhao Yan, since in many ways, they were quite alike. They both had their principles, and their aspirations seemed compatible.

If it were just the two of them, they might have led a rather artistic, bohemian life.

But with Huang Tao, things were different.

Now, when choosing a partner, Huang Guolun had to put Huang Tao first. He needed to find a woman who would take responsibility for his son.

Zhao Jing agreed wholeheartedly, sighing, “Yeah, that’s exactly how she is. Totally unrealistic, always fantasizing about a romantic life, like something out of a fairy tale. But real life isn’t a fairy tale—if anything, it’s the dark version of a fairy tale. She cries all the time watching TV dramas and reading novels, even the worst ones move her to tears. She’s so melodramatic!”

“That’s not melodrama, it’s kindness,” Huang Guolun said.

“No, she’s just too naive, too easily moved. Can you believe she's twenty-seven and still as innocent as a little girl? She watches talent shows and believes all those obviously fabricated backstories and gets deeply touched by them. I’m amazed by her, honestly.”

Huang Guolun smiled but didn’t comment further.

“She’s been waiting for happiness for years and still hasn’t found it. I’m really afraid she’ll just keep wasting her time. My aunt and the others are so anxious for her. Mr. Huang, if you know any reliable men, don’t forget to introduce them to my sister—help her resolve her lifelong issue. I think only marriage will bring her out of her fairy-tale delusion.”

“I’ll see what I can do. But I don’t think your sister likes being set up by others. As long as she’s responsible for herself, let her walk her own path. Others getting involved will only add to her troubles.”

“You really do understand my sister,” Zhao Jing said, tilting her head to glance at Huang Guolun. Then, on a sudden impulse, she asked, “What do you think of me?”

“What do I think of you?”

“Do you think there’s a chance for us?”

Leaning toward him, Zhao Jing boldly posed the question.

The question made Huang Guolun’s old heart skip a beat, a flicker of something strange passing through him.

But he quickly composed himself, mentally dousing his own thoughts with cold water. “Don’t tease me. Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“He’s already my ex, thanks to you.”

“What?” Huang Guolun frowned helplessly, feeling a cold sweat coming on.

“Haha, I’m just kidding! Look how nervous you got. I actually don’t have a boyfriend at all. Since graduation, I haven’t dated anyone. I tell people I have a boyfriend just to avoid unnecessary trouble—I don’t like guys buzzing around me like bees.”

“Oh,” Huang Guolun nodded, understanding.

“Don’t just say ‘oh.’ Do we have a chance or not? If so, I’d like to try dating an older man.”

“There’s no chance. Give up on that idea. I’m not looking for romance right now. I just want to find a sensible woman to build a family with.”

“But marriage and family should be based on love, right? If you don’t love each other, how can you be happy together?”

“You’re not wrong, but my goal is to find a woman about my age—no more than three years’ difference either way. I can’t handle much younger women. You’ll understand when you have kids: people like me can’t afford to play at love.”

Huang Guolun’s rejection was unequivocal. Zhao Jing was a little disappointed. “Alright, I was just saying. I just think you’re an interesting guy, and I feel lucky to have met someone like you as a friend.”

Huang Guolun smiled and nodded, trying to keep quiet so as not to give Zhao Jing the wrong idea.

They drove in silence for a while.

Unable to bear the awkward silence, Zhao Jing broke it: “Mr. Huang, when you talk about your son and music, you’re always so animated, your eyes light up. At other times, you prefer to stay silent and act cool—is that right?”

Huang Guolun replied helplessly, “I’m not trying to act cool. I just don’t like forcing conversation when I don’t know what to say, that’s all.”

“Can you tell jokes?”

“Hm?”

“When there’s nothing to say, telling a joke is a good way to break the ice,” Zhao Jing said, as if imparting the secrets of social interaction. “Why don’t I tell you a joke about Yao Ming and Little Four?”

“Sure, go ahead. I’m listening.”

Before she even started, Zhao Jing was already giggling. After a good laugh, she said, “This is from a recent Little Four series I heard—it’s hilarious. So, Guo Xiaosi and Yao Ming go to a business event, and because the hotel is short on rooms, they have to share. That night, Little Four sees Yao Ming lying on a five-meter-long, five-meter-wide Simmons bed and envies him, saying, ‘Your bed is so nice, not like my cold, hard board.’ Yao Ming comforts him: ‘Stop overthinking and just sleep, I’ll tuck you in.’ With that, Yao Ming closes the pencil case... Haha! Pencil case!”

Huang Guolun forced a smile to go along with her.

“Not funny? I think it’s hilarious! There are so many stories about Little Four and Yao Ming. Every time I hear them, I laugh so hard. Of course, I don’t mean any offense—don’t misunderstand. I just find them funny.”

Huang Guolun was speechless, thinking, isn’t this exactly offensive?

“There’s another funny one: Little Four musters all his strength, leaps up, and lands a furious punch on Yao Ming’s knee. Haha! On his knee.” Zhao Jing laughed to herself again.

Huang Guolun felt a wave of dismay—the generation gap between him and young people like Zhao Jing seemed to be widening by the day.

Before Huang Tao, he hadn’t felt it so keenly. But after becoming a single father, he truly felt more and more out of touch with the uninhibited ways of young people like Zhao Jing.

“Mr. Huang, I’ve told you two jokes, now it’s your turn,” Zhao Jing said, obviously just making conversation. For someone like her, who was usually surrounded by boys trying to amuse her, being forced to find topics herself meant Huang Guolun had really managed something.

Taking advantage of a red light, Huang Guolun thought for a moment and said, “I’m not great at telling jokes. There’s an old one—I’m not sure if you’ve heard it—about Armstrong.”

“The Tour de France champion Armstrong?”

“No, even older—the first man to walk on the moon, astronaut Armstrong.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard it. Tell me.”

“Armstrong famously said, ‘That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.’ But when he returned to the lunar module, he said something odd: ‘Good luck, Mr. Gorsky.’ ”

Zhao Jing listened intently, trying to find the punchline.

“Most people never heard what Armstrong said afterward. NASA staff thought nothing of it—maybe he meant a Soviet astronaut. But after searching, neither the Soviets nor NASA had anyone named Gorsky. For years, people asked Armstrong what he meant by ‘Good luck, Mr. Gorsky,’ but he always just smiled and stayed silent.

Finally, on July 5, 1995, in Tampa Bay, Florida, a reporter brought up this twenty-six-year-old question again, and Armstrong finally answered. Mr. Gorsky had recently passed away, so Armstrong felt he could explain.

When he was a child, one day he and his friend were playing baseball in the yard. His friend hit the ball near the window of the Gorsky couple next door. As Armstrong bent to pick up the ball, he overheard them arguing. Mrs. Gorsky was shouting, ‘You want to sleep with me? Dream on! Not until the neighbor’s kid walks on the moon!’ ”

Huang Guolun finished the story, laughing at its wit.

This time, Zhao Jing was the one left awkward. “Well, I suppose that counts as a joke. I thought you were about to give me a lesson in space exploration.”

“I really don’t know how to tell jokes. In that sense, I’m just like my son. He’s a real character, always saying amusing things and doing the silliest things.”

“Like what?”

“For example, he always tells me that human potential can be tapped. Give him twenty pounds of bricks and he can’t lift them, but give him twenty pounds of ice cream and he’ll pick it up and run off. I have no idea where he learned these clever tricks.”

“Your son is definitely more interesting than you! Haha.”

“Isn’t he, though?”

Talking about Huang Tao, Huang Guolun loosened up. “I remember last Spring Festival, this kid was being naughty with firecrackers. He always wanted to find a cigarette box or a plastic bottle—he liked blowing things up. One time I lost sight of him for a second, and he ran off to blow up the latrine in a public restroom. There was a huge bang, and a man burst out, pants barely pulled up, covered in filth, absolutely furious. He grabbed Tao, stared at him for a while, and instead of hitting him, just gritted his teeth and said, ‘Kid, if you weren’t covered in crap yourself, I’d beat you to death!’ ”

“Haha, little Tao is hilarious! Actually, I was naughty enough to blow up an outhouse when I was a kid, but never as crazy as that.”

With stories of Huang Tao, the atmosphere in the car finally eased.

For the rest of the drive, Huang Guolun and Zhao Jing shared stories about Huang Tao. Though Huang Guolun’s tone was full of exasperation and complaints, it was obvious to anyone that he loved his son deeply—otherwise, he wouldn’t remember every little thing Tao had ever done.

After hearing so many of Huang Tao’s stories, and recalling the scene at the park when the boy put on such a show, Zhao Jing grew seriously fond of the little guy.

She even thought, if only there were a boy like him around her—she’d definitely chase after him!

By the time he dropped Zhao Jing off at home, it was nearly eleven.

Using her foot injury as an excuse, Zhao Jing asked Huang Guolun to help her upstairs—hoping he would come in, get to know the place, and make future visits easier.

But Huang Guolun was still thinking about Bai Yao and didn’t go up. After Zhao Jing insisted they add each other on WeChat, he turned his car around and left Zhujiang Emperor Residence, heading straight for the Boat Bar to find Bai Yao.

When he arrived, it was almost eleven-thirty.

The opening act by White Night Walk was long over.

At that moment, a band called Toxic Corpses was playing on stage.

Even from the name, you could guess how bloodthirsty and twisted their style was.

The band had a particularly frenzied style—classic industrial metal. Judged purely as industrial metal, their songs were fairly enjoyable.

But the lead singer always wore a mysteriously greasy expression that was deeply off-putting.

Huang Guolun asked the bartender about White Night Walk and learned the young band had already packed up and left. He decided not to stay at the bar.

The next day was Saturday. As usual, Huang Guolun drove his mother and Huang Tao to the hot spring villa in the northern suburbs to spend the weekend as a family.

After dinner that evening, around eight, Huang Guolun thought about driving back into the city to find Bai Yao at the Boat Bar.

The bartender had said Bai Yao performed there every Friday and Saturday night.

But just as he was about to leave, his brother, Huang Guokun, pulled him back.

Guokun wore his hair slicked back like a movie star, always had a cigar in hand, and spoke with a commanding, big-brotherly air: “Where are you off to at this hour?”

“I’m just going out.”

“Something up?”

“Not really. Why, do you need me for something?”

“Our company just finished shooting a web movie—‘Biochemical Era.’ I’ve got the rough cut here, soundtrack and everything. If you’re not busy, help me take a look, give me your thoughts.”

“I don’t know anything about movies. Let Mom watch it—she knows films.”

“No way. She can’t handle this kind of zombie apocalypse movie—she’ll just criticize it wildly. I need you to help me. Don’t worry about the rest, just listen to the soundtrack. I spent a fortune hiring a professional music team, but it just doesn’t feel powerful enough. Tell me where it falls short. If it’s not right, I’ll have them redo it tonight.”

From the look of it, this was urgent. Huang Guolun had to set aside thoughts of Bai Yao for the time being. He could look for her another day; tonight, he would help Guokun with the film.