During dinner, Wu Zhengguo and Song Changjiang drank Moutai and were in high spirits, eventually turning the conversation to their official application to build the Wuning Road overpass.
A section of Wuning Road was crossed by a railway right through the city's main traffic artery, causing great inconvenience to pedestrians and motorists alike, as well as frequent accidents, including a few cases of people lying on the tracks to commit suicide in recent years.
That was why Wu Zhengguo had constantly submitted reports trying to get the local authorities to build an overpass, both to do something practical for the people and to eliminate the railway's safety hazards.
However, the local authorities had always been lukewarm about building the overpass, endlessly commissioning studies and reviews.
Wu Zhengguo had submitted several reports and even personally sought out the city leaders in charge of the portfolio, but nothing ever came of it, leaving him deeply distressed.
Wu Hua recalled that an overpass on Wuning Road was indeed built eventually, but only after a major safety accident, and not until 1999.
Right now, no matter how hard they pushed, it probably wouldn't do any good.
Soon Wu Hua's attention was drawn back to the Moutai. The aroma of the liquor was so intoxicating that it stirred up the dormant drinker inside him.
In his past life, Wu Hua had turned to alcohol out of depression, completely ruining his life; in this lifetime, he would certainly not repeat that mistake.
Still, a little good wine did no harm.
This Moutai was a collector's edition that had been aged for many years—miss this village and there wouldn't be another shop like it!
Wu Hua calculated in his mind: how could he manage a sip? After all, he was still a student; if he directly asked for a drink, his parents certainly wouldn't agree.
Wu Hua turned his mind and said to Song Xinmei's mother, "Aunt Chen, this wine smells so good. Is it sweet?"
"Ha-ha!" The adults all laughed. "You silly boy," they said, "this wine smells fragrant, but it tastes spicy, not sweet at all."
"I don't believe it. Let me have a taste," Wu Hua said with feigned innocence.
Wang Shufen said, "Nonsense, how can a child drink alcohol?"
"I'm not a child anymore. I'm eighteen years old and already a college student!" Wu Hua hurriedly explained, though in his mother's eyes, he was still a child who could never grow up.
Just as Wu Zhengguo was about to say something, Song Changjiang spoke up first: "Hey, what's wrong with a young man having a sip of wine? Once he enters society, he'll have to drink sooner or later. Let the boy get some practice!"
With that, he proactively poured a small cup for Wu Hua and said, "Here! Fellow Wu, congratulations on qualifying for the city math competition. Uncle Song will toast with you."
Seeing that Song Changjiang had said as much, Wu Zhengguo couldn't say anything else and tacitly consented.
Wu Hua picked up his wine glass and clinked it against Song Changjiang's, then took a deep sniff. The unique, rich aroma of the Moutai refreshed his mind and spirit; in the future, even with money, one might not necessarily be able to buy such aged, out-of-print Moutai.
He took a shallow sip. The lingering sauce-like fragrance was rich and mellow, and then he downed the rest of the wine in the small cup in one gulp, a wave of heat shooting straight down his throat.
He unconsciously let out a breath.
Everyone was watching Wu Hua drink, because they all knew that a child drinking 52-proof baijiu for the first time certainly wouldn't be able to handle it—coughing from the burn and spitting it out would be considered doing well.
To everyone's surprise, Wu Hua drank it down in a single gulp, and there wasn't the slightest expression of discomfort on his face.
"Good! Like father, like son! This boy will definitely be a talent when he grows up! A comrade who can hold his liquor is worth nurturing!" Song Changjiang slapped the table in admiration.
As he spoke, he reached to pour Wu Hua another drink, but this time Wang Shufen firmly refused. While the boy was still growing, he couldn't get dead drunk; he still had to study when they got back!
Song Changjiang didn't insist further, turning to Wu Hua with a cheerful smile and saying, "Xiaohua, it's not that Uncle Song won't let you drink. Once you graduate, Uncle Song will treat you properly!"
"Thank you, Uncle Song. Just a little was enough; this liquor is so fiery." Wu Hua certainly wasn't planning to trade toasts with the elders right now; he just wanted a taste and knew when to quit while he was ahead.
"I want a taste too!" Song Xinmei, who always strived to be the best at everything, refused to be left out. She didn't want Wu Hua to outdo her again and demanded a sip of the Moutai as well.
"This..." Song Changjiang froze.
Wu Zhengguo seized the moment and poured Song Xinmei a shallow, meager half-cup, saying, "Got to treat everyone equally. Let your little tiger cub have a taste too."
Chen Juan smiled and shook her head. No one knew her daughter better than a mother; she knew her competitive child had been provoked and simply hated losing.
"Just a tiny sip, mind you. If it doesn't taste good, spit it out," Chen Juan consented in the end.
Song Xinmei took the glass, raised it to Wu Zhengguo, and said, "Uncle Wu, a toast to you."
With that, she imitated Wu Hua and drank it down in one go, instantly breaking into a violent cough from the burning heat. Her little face flushed red, and she almost coughed up tears.
Wang Shufen anxiously patted Song Xinmei on the back in distress, scolding, "You big old men are something else, letting a young girl drink like this! Look at how badly it choked the child!"
"My fault, my fault, I didn't think it through," Wu Zhengguo hurriedly apologized. This was the future daughter-in-law in his wife's eyes, after all; he couldn't afford to offend her.
After a bout of coughing, Song Xinmei recovered, and the two families happily resumed drinking and eating. However, Song Xinmei shot another fierce glare at Wu Hua; she hadn't beaten him this time either, and it made her hopping mad.
Wu Hua remained completely unfazed. His eyes were fixed on that very cup—the cup he had just drank from, which had then been refilled and handed to Song Xinmei...
Wasn't this an indirect kiss? Oh my, he really hit the jackpot this time!
***
Time passed. Song Xinmei continuously hired private tutors to cram for the math olympiad, throwing herself entirely into preparations for the municipal selection trials for the global competition.
Wu Hua also settled down to catch up on his various subjects. English was no problem for him—after all, he was someone who had taken the IELTS exam, so a simple review was enough—but math, physics, chemistry, and Chinese required intensive catch-up work.
There were no shortcuts to studying; the only way forward was through step-by-step effort.
During this period, Wu Hua also kept an eye on the Wuning Road overpass matter. He subtly asked his father about it a few times, but it still looked just like his past life, with no prospect of any breakthrough.
Wu Hua desperately wanted to help, but he was just a newly enrolled college student, and the scope of what he could do was extremely limited.
However, an opportunity soon arose. Before the end of class, their homeroom teacher, Teacher Zhang, pulled out a copy of the Wuhu Daily, which featured a call for essays directed at college students across the province titled *The Future of Wuhu in My Eyes*.
He told any interested students they were welcome to participate, and anyone wanting to enter could come up to copy the mailing address.
The essay competition had quite a high profile, jointly sponsored by the Provincial Education Department and the Provincial Party Committee's Propaganda Department.
Ordinarily, Wu Hua wouldn't have been interested in such an essay contest, feeling it was far too childish, but when he saw that the top three prize-winning works would be published in the Wuhu Daily, a flash of inspiration suddenly struck him.
In the 1990s, newspapers were still the mainstream news media, subscribed to by every government office. Furthermore, the Wuhu Daily was a provincial-level publication that provincial and municipal leaders were required to read, and most people looked through it every day.
If he could write about the Wuning Road overpass problem in the form of an essay and get it published in the Wuhu Daily, it might perhaps be of some help to his father's work.
One had to know that the power of public opinion could not be underestimated—something that had been amply verified in the future.