Chapitre 36: Hello, My Fair Lady Part 2
Éditeur: Nyoi-Bo Studio
Yang Yan was not a professional tour guide. Her introduction was not planned or organized; she simply said whatever popped into her mind. But Tang En did not care about these things. He did not have the intention of increasing his knowledge of this university. The only reason he willingly followed the inadequate tour guide everywhere, and had made the pointless trip in the first place, was because she was Yang Yan, the girl whom he had once had a crush on for three years.
When they arrived at a statue, Yang Yan pointed to the barefooted bronze statue holding a bunch of fresh flowers in its hands and said to Twain, "This is D. H. Lawrence. He wrote 'Lady Chatterley's Lover', 'Sons and Lovers', and other novels. He is a local famous literary figure in Nottingham, even possibly as famous as Byron."
"Huh?" Tang En looked puzzled and had absolutely no idea how influential this Lawrence was. But he knew Byron. When he was in high school, he had occasionally heard one or two verses from his poems. It was normal that a high school student might know of Byron. However, the novels of D. H. Lawrence (David Herbert Lawrence) at Tang En's high school might still be described as capitalism's fantasies.
When she realized that this man knew nothing of the figure who made Nottingham renowned in the world, Yang Yan's "presumptuous" fault emerged again. "Sir, are you not from Nottingham?"
"Why do you say that?"
Tang En actually wanted to say, "No! I'm not! I'm from China, and I'm your classmate ..."
"I'm from Eastwood, northwest of Nottingham…."
Yang Yan looked at him with her eyes wide open. "Sir, are you joking? Even a six-year-old boy from Eastwood knows who Lawrence is."
"Who?"
"The most controversial and unique writer in the 20th century British literature. Even now, the novels he wrote are still disdained by the mainstream literary circles in the United Kingdom. They refuse to accept and admit his works."
"Why?"
"Because his novels all depict the life of the mining class, and ridiculed and mocked the wealthy aristocracy. The class differences were very strong. The British literary circles considered Lawrence to be a sex writer, and considered what he wrote to be left-wing literature. In addition, his novel 'Lady Chatterley's Lover' was banned for decades in flagrant violation of the prevailing social mores."
"Violation of social mores?" Tang En found this reason somewhat incomprehensible.
"Well…" Yang Yan bit her lip and replied, "It was the explicit description of sex and pornography…" She felt that it was inappropriate to talk about such matters in front of a stranger, so she turned the conversation back on track. "Do you know that Lawrence was from your hometown, Eastwood?"
Tang En knew he had made a fool of himself, so he face-palmed himself, not knowing what to say. Suddenly, he was saved by the bell. A group of Chinese exchange students, clad in bright red Tang suit jackets, approached them and shouted Yang Yan's name.
"Yang Yan, Yang Yan!"
Yang Yan looked back and greeted them with a bright smile on her face.
"Happy Spring Festival, everyone!"
"Happy Spring Festival to you too!"
"Gong Xi Fa Cai, may you have a prosperous New Year and achieve academic success! Ha ha!"
A group of dark-haired Chinese people were laughing together, and Tang En already felt somewhat unfamiliar amidst their conversation, yet it was such a familiar language that he stood in amazement.
Spring Festival? Is it already the Spring Festival today?
Yang Yan remembered that there was someone behind her, so she turned to Twain and said in English, "Happy Spring Festival! Today is our traditional Chinese festival, just like your Christmas…" Then she repeated slowly in Chinese, "Chun Jie Kuai Le! Gong Xi Fa Cai!"
Tang En opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to follow her words. In the end, he decided not say them aloud.
Of course, I know what the Spring Festival means: family reunion, Chinese New Year's Eve family dinner, ringing in the new year, Chinese New Year TV special, being together with my parents and relatives, having dumplings on the 15th of the first lunar month, the wish to have an abundance every year ...
Homesickness irresistibly welled up in Tang En's mind, and was made stronger when he saw Yang Yan's smiling face especially.
He lowered his head and took out his small notepad from his pocket to quickly write down his phone number and English name, then handed it to Yang Yan. He said, "Miss Yang Yan? I admire your knowledge very much, and I have been an admirer of the Chinese culture for a long time. I always hoped to learn Chinese and about the Chinese culture. If you don't mind, I would like to invite you to be my Chinese teacher. This is my number. Once you've thought about it clearly, you can give me a call. I have some urgent business to attend to and I need to leave now. Thank you very much for being my tour guide, thank you very much! Goodbye, and I also wish you a Happy Spring Festival!"
After a barrage of words, Tang En turned around and hurried away from this place filled with the festive atmosphere and group of people.
Yang Yan held the note in her hand. She had not had time to respond. At this time, her friends next to her came closer.
"What's going on? Who's that man?"
"I think he looks like a young Al Pacino, so handsome!" Someone was becoming smitten.
Yang Yan glanced at her friend, "I don't think ..." Then she looked down at the note in her hand and slowly read the English name scrawled on it, "Tony… Tony Twain?"
A guy shouted when he heard this name.
"Tony Twain? What's he doing here?"
"Do you know him, Liu Wei?" Yang Yan asked that guy.
The guy passed her a newspaper with a big photograph on it: Against the backdrop of a raging red tide, a man clad in black pumped his fist and shouted.
"Him," the guy said to Yang Yan while pointing to the man clad in black in the image. "That's Tony Twain. The Nottingham Forest manager."
Yang Yan stared at this image for a long time, and then asked a question that made shocked the guy. "What's Nottingham Forest?"
The guy jumped up angrily, but did not know how to explain the Forest team's brilliant achievements and the status in this city to the girl who had never watched football, nor understood it. In the end, he just said, "In short, Nottingham Forest is the most successful football club in this city and has a glorious history. Tony Twain is a professional football manager. That's all you need to know."
"Oh, it turns out that he's also a celebrity." Yang Yan laughed at the guy. "Liu Wei, are you regretting that you did not get his autograph or something?" Then she handed the note to the guy, "This is his signature and phone number."
The guy refused. "I'm not a Forest fan, and I'm not so crazy that I would ask for an autograph first. You keep it. He gave it to you."
The girl next to her chimed in, "Yes, that's right. Did he not want you to be his Chinese teacher? This is a good opportunity!"
"What opportunity?"
"In the beautiful and quiet European campus, you met a polite gentleman, and he asked you to meet up again ... Oh, a solemn gentleman and a beautiful governess! What a romantic story!" The girl, who had been smitten just a while ago, snapped out of her daydream only to become enamored again.
"Ali, have you been reading too many romance novels?" Facing this group of friends whom she had made in the university, Yang Yan could only helplessly smile.
"No, Ali was referring to 'Jane Eyre,'" Another girl said seriously as she held her glasses to her face.
Ali immediately reached her hand out and swooned, "Oh, Rochester! Do you think I don't have a heart and soul just because I'm short and plain? If God had given me a little wealth and beauty, I would have made it hard for you to leave me just as it was hard for me to leave you ..."
Everyone laughed, and Yang Yan also laughed happily along with them. In the midst of their laughter, she looked down at this note, and ultimately decided not to throw it away. Instead, she folded it up and put it in her pocket. She came from a well-off family and did not need to work to earn money for her tuition or to support herself. Besides school, she had plenty of spare time to do her favorite things, such as go shopping with her friends, or find a quiet place to read. But she still wanted to keep this work-related contact number.
Why? She herself was not clear about it either. Maybe it was because his surname sounded like that person's name?
※※※
As Tang En quickly walked through the campus, he searched his mind for this year's calendar. Every start of the new year, he had to check when the Chinese New Year would begin each year.
I remember!
Tang En stopped in his tracks.
February 1st is Chinese New Year's Eve, and February 2nd is the Spring Festival. That's right!
Yesterday was Chinese New Year's Eve, and he had led the team to victory since he coached the First Team. Today was the Spring Festival, the most traditional Chinese festival, and the most important; the Spring Festival!
For the past month, he had felt like his brain had almost short-circuited from his transmigration, and that he had been busy living in this unfamiliar world. He had actually forgotten about this very important matter. How are my parents now? Are they healthy? Will they panic about losing their son? He had never thought too much about his parents, as he was the same person even before he transmigrated. Now he felt that he was being very unfilial.
How many years had he not been home for the Spring Festival? Two or three years, or even longer?
In 2004, he had found a job in Chengdu, just a year after graduating from university. In an effort to remain in the city, he decided not to go back for the Spring Festival. He only made a call home on Chinese New Year's Eve to send his greetings. During the 2005 Spring Festival, he had already had two jobs. Although he received an invitation at the end of an alumni reunion, only a few people still remembered him. The other people were doing very well in their careers and lives, while he had accomplished nothing. Feeling down, he simply decided not to go home and damage his reputation. He would not know what to say when his parents asked him about his work. During the 2006 Spring Festival, he changed jobs again, and still used the phone to send his Chinese New Year's greetings to his parents on the way to Shanghai for business. Then, during the 2007 Spring Festival, his job was stable, and he did not have to travel work, but he simply did not feel like returning home. So, he came up with an excuse to tell his parents why he could not return home that year. As he listened to the exploding Chinese New Year's Eve firecrackers, he called again to send his greetings. He felt that he had been numb to such a traditional festival like the Spring Festival, and that it was all the same to him.
It had to be said that Tang En was not a filial child. Even if he seldom took the initiative to call home to contact his family, he had always kept the words from his heart within him. He had been this way since he was young. He had gotten used to it, and did not feel anything was wrong with it.
But now… in 2003 Nottingham, England, for the first time, he had a strong urge to call home. He wanted to hear his parents' voice, even if it were only a sentence.
He took out his cell phone, searched for his home phone number in his memory, carefully entered the numbers, then stood under a big tree and waited for the call to connect.
After what seemed like an eternity, Tang En finally heard a familiar voice on the other end of the call.
"Hello, who's this?"
This was his mother's voice!
He heard the voice of his mother and heard the sound of the firecrackers and television faintly through the receiver. The television host shouted, "Chinese New Year! Happy Chinese New Year!" For a moment he forgot to speak, for fear that he would not hear the voice coming from that distant world if he spoke. It seemed like all he had to do was take a whiff and he would smell his mother's fragrant cooking. Sweet and sour crispy fish, eight treasure rice, braised pork belly, braised pork knuckle, fish-shaped rice cake, glutinous rice meat dumplings… And how could he forget the homemade waxed sausages and meats? These were more delicious than the damn fish and chips that could only be seasoned with salt and malt vinegar. Tang En's mouth watered.
His mother on the other end of the phone did not hear anyone talking, so she asked a few strange questions again, then finally hung up the phone when she did not receive a reply.
Tang En stirred. He had missed the chance to greet his mother. But he did not have to call again. He was satisfied knowing his parents were still living well, and everything was as usual. If something were to happen to him, his mother's voice would not be so calm. Regardless of who was attached to his body now, as long as he treated his parents well, Tang En was content.
Tang En leaned against the tree trunk, looked up at the blue sky, and let out a long breath.
Although the day had not yet passed, Tang En felt incomparably wonderful. He not only knew his parents were currently doing well, but he had also met the prettiest girl in his class whom he had had a secret crush on in a foreign country—even though she could not recognize him.
His mood was turning for the better after just feeling homesick, so he decided to go somewhere.
Cadeaux
-- Cadeau
reçu État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone