I tutored the daughter of a billionaire.

I entered a university in Guangzhou in 2009, and many people can probably guess the name of the school. Many people familiar with Guangzhou know that there aren't many universities there; the only decent one is the one I attended. The rest are colleges or senior citizen universities—I won't go into the details of those. I originally planned to apply to Sun Yat-sen University, but unfortunately, I didn't get in. However, fate was kind to me, as my wish to leave the province was fulfilled.

Guangzhou, a city overflowing with RMB. This is what a former fellow townsman told me when I came to Guangzhou. You don't know how little money you have until you've been to Guangzhou. Many people started their careers there, gradually accumulating wealth and reaching the pinnacle of success. Getting into a university in Guangzhou did give me a little thrill. During the waiting period before school started, my mind was filled with unrealistic fantasies: working part-time in Guangzhou, staying in Guangzhou after graduation, and unexpectedly being noticed by a boss and becoming the CEO of a group. After all, I was just a kid who hadn't experienced the trials and tribulations of society; how wonderful it would be if my imagination were reality.
The difference between fantasy and reality is that you can imagine it, and no one can stop you. In the world of the mentally ill, there is no pain, no talk of being a mortgage slave or a car slave. They lock themselves in their own mental fortresses; there is no pain there, only everything they want.
Without the blows of society, that's a fairy tale. Except for writers, no one can survive in the secular world because of their fantasies. Most people are destined to watch their own fantasy bubbles burst one by one. They see that the so-called ideal of equal personality is just a laughable pretext in books. The greatest pain for a person is nothing more than the things they yearn for day and night, things they always thought were facts, shattering unexpectedly, so completely, without pause, without relief, without the transitional words of a TV drama.
In mid-September, aside from the sweltering heat, there was already the coolness of autumn. I boarded the train from the county town to Guangzhou. It was a through train; by the time my father and I squeezed inside, we found there was no room left to stand. My father desperately held up two bundles with both hands, struggling to move forward. I stood dumbfounded at the entrance, carrying a large tote bag in both hands. Watching my father's unsteady gait and awkward movements, a small surge of vanity rose within me; I had an urge to escape him. He reminded me of poverty and contempt! I don't know when the concept of being looked down upon for being poor entered my mind.
A plump middle-aged man next to me deliberately stomped his foot on me, "Why aren't you moving forward? Such a big bag, you're trying to crush someone!" I gritted my teeth, not daring to argue with him. My father turned around with difficulty, the bag shifting slightly with his body. Someone next to him gave the bag a disgusted shove. "Come on, it might be easier up ahead."
I reluctantly moved, only to find that every step was incredibly difficult. A slight misstep could earn me a glare. After struggling through several carriages, the situation hadn't improved; my father was clearly exhausted. I stood close to him in the aisle, the smell in the carriage making me dizzy. My dad said with concern, "How about I buy you a sleeper berth?" I shook my head, "Never mind."
He patted my shoulder, "You keep an eye on my things, I'll go check."
Watching his back as he struggled to walk, a sudden pang of heartache struck me. My eyes blurred. My dad had toiled for me most of his life, and today, having just achieved some success, I was already finding his old-fashioned and unrefined ways annoying. What right did the pressures and burdens of life on this train carriage have to be refined? Some were lying on the floor, some squatting by the toilet door, some leaning weakly against the tables, some so exhausted they lay directly in the aisle. Their living conditions had forced them to abandon any semblance of dignity.
Everyone has vanity; who wouldn't want to lie in a comfortable sleeper berth? But the reality is, after today, is there no tomorrow? Two sleeper berths meant more than half a month's salary for my father, who worked in a small county. His salary wasn't for train travel. He also had to support his sister's middle school expenses, the family's daily necessities, and the affairs of relatives and friends. Saving a sleeper berth could mean half a month or a month's worth of family expenses.
Dad, those past events and your love moved me and made me proud. Today, I forget the past, forget Dad's achievements, and feel resentment towards him. Memories suddenly flood back. I even remember the time I was moved to tears by Dad. Dad likes to have a little drink; drunk people are most likely to express their inner feelings directly. That Saturday, it was drizzling. Dad called; he was going to a friend's house in the county town and asked if I wanted to come. Although I'm not an introverted person, I don't like to participate in groups that aren't my type; it just makes me feel uncomfortable. Dad laughed and said, "I was thinking of having a nice meal with you, but since you don't want to go, then forget it."

Just as I was about to hang up, Dad asked again, "Isn't this afternoon Sunday? I can come pick you up after school."
I wanted to go home too, but unfortunately, school was on Sunday, so I had to hold off. After hearing this, Dad sighed and said, "Why are you so strict? Okay, I won't come to see you this afternoon."

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I tutored the daughter of a billionaire.

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