socalfunplaces Chapter 135
Chapter 135
In May, the locust flowers bloom in Beichuan.
Several old locust trees in the neighborhood were covered with clusters of white blossoms, their fragrance so strong it was almost cloying. The scent drifted in through the window, mingling with the ozone odor emanating from the computer inside. Lin Feng was writing code with the window open when a gust of wind blew in, sending locust petals drifting in and landing on the keyboard—small, white, like grains of rice.
He reached out and brushed it away, then continued knocking.
CodeLight's registered users are increasing. After the column article in Computer Weekly was published, remittance slips came in every day, sometimes more than a dozen a day, sometimes three or five. He bought a special notebook to keep track of the accounts, a red hardcover notebook with "CodeLight User Registration Book" written on the cover in ballpoint pen.
Every evening after dinner, he would sit at his desk and meticulously record each of the day's remittance slips—name, address, amount, registration code. Then he would write a reply, pack it onto a floppy disk, seal it, and affix stamps. Cheng Yuxin would help him, one reading the addresses and the other writing the envelopes; their teamwork grew increasingly seamless, like two skilled workers on an assembly line.
Cheng Yuxin read the addresses softly, but she pronounced each word clearly. Sometimes, when Lin Feng listened to her read those unfamiliar place names—Qiqihar in Heilongjiang, Mianyang in Sichuan, Wuxi in Jiangsu, XJWLMQ—he felt that the world was truly vast, and his software was traveling to places he didn't know through these green metal mailboxes.
"Lin Feng," Cheng Yuxin said, head down, affixing stamps, "do you still want to publish your 'GG' stamp?"
Lin Feng thought for a moment.
"Climb. Climb three more times."
CodeLight's registered version has been on sale for almost two months, with over two hundred registered users and revenue of over four thousand yuan. Adding the money from floppy disk sales, the money in the metal box has already exceeded five thousand yuan.
Cheng Yuxin had counted them for him once; they were stacked on the table in piles, including ten-yuan notes, five-yuan notes, and quite a few one-yuan and two-yuan coins. She patiently smoothed each bill out, sorted them by denomination, and tied them together with rubber bands. "Five thousand three hundred and twenty-six yuan and eighty cents," she announced, her eyes bright and childlike.
Lin Feng stared at the number, feeling his heart pound as steadily as a ball bouncing on the ground. Five thousand yuan was a considerable sum in those days, but what he wanted was far more than that. He didn't want money; he wanted freedom—the freedom to do what he wanted.
During this period, Coach Zhang Weiguo from the sports school called twice more. The first time was to ask Lin Feng how his decision was going, and Lin Feng said he was still considering it. The second time was to ask if Lin Feng wanted to give it a try, since there was a training camp for the provincial youth team next month. Lin Feng said he would think about it some more.
He knew he would have to make a decision sooner or later, but not now.
Many significant events occurred in the basketball world in May.
Meanwhile, in the US, the NBA playoffs were in full swing. The Chicago Bulls had won 72 games in the regular season, setting a record—a record that the Warriors wouldn't break for another twenty years. Lin Feng was eating breakfast when he read this news in *Sports Weekly*. Cheng Yuxin had fried two eggs for him; the yolks were half-cooked, and when you poked them with chopsticks, the golden liquid slowly oozed out and seeped into the rice.
Cheng Yuxin asked him what he was looking at, and he turned the newspaper over to show her the front page. Cheng Yuxin only glanced at it and then stopped looking, saying that she didn't understand the NBA, only that there was a guy named Jordan who was very good.
"They are very powerful," Lin Feng said, "but not the most powerful."