Cheers!

At the age of 26, the bewildering twists of life came in the form of a phone call. It was around 8:50 AM, and I was carefully backing into a parking spot downstairs at work, checking the rearview mirror from side to side. A college classmate I hadn’t heard from in months called out of nowhere and got straight to the point: “Please come to my wedding this weekend at a hotel outside the Third Ring Road.” My car was still creeping backward, getting closer and closer to the wall, the backup beeping growing more and more urgent — I was about to crash. My mind went blank. On a sweltering August morning, the car nearly hit the wall, a classmate suddenly announced his wedding, and I forgot to hit the brakes.

“Shotgun weddings are our class’s fine tradition — everyone should carry it on!” Zhang Erwa took a sip of baijiu, deliberately furrowing his brows toward the bridge of his nose like an old man in his seventies or eighties, as if he’d just had some profound revelation from the liquor. After a moment of brewing, he delivered this line with great relish, sending the whole table into fits of laughter. Shotgun weddings were indeed our class’s “fine tradition.” It’s called “fine” because if the woman is already pregnant, the mother-in-law doesn’t impose so many conditions and demands, making it easier for the man to propose. It’s called a “tradition” because several newlywed classmates showed visibly pregnant bellies just a month or two after their weddings — anyone with eyes could tell.

Each person has their own happiness, and I don’t want to judge whether this is right or wrong by conventional morality.

Some time later, another classmate’s wedding was approaching — not exactly sudden, since we’d already met his wife a year before. Zhang Erwa asked me how much to put in the red envelope. I wanted to give a generous amount, but this year I’d been running a monthly deficit, so I reluctantly chose the minimum. Zhang Erwa wanted to give more, but after hearing my amount, he matched it. At our age, things are awkward — the time when we most want to be free-spirited, unbound, and roaming at will is also the time when we’re poorest and most helpless. A small red envelope, but it carries our good intentions. I asked Zhang Erwa if he was getting married soon too, so we could prepare our gift money together. He said no. I urged him to hurry up and practice our “fine tradition” and nip his future mother-in-law’s growing material ambitions in the bud.

This classmate held his wedding banquet in the county town in October. I went a day early to help him organize things. One year in college, his father fell seriously ill. The family went deeply into debt and still couldn’t save him. After his father passed away, the loss of a loved one and the financial burden weighed heavily on him — it was a devastating blow. Looking back on that period, he was doing door-to-door tutoring every single day. Self-reliance was his only option.

He planned both weddings entirely by himself — where to hold them, how much per table, who to invite, how many cars to arrange. He handled every detail alone. Even on the day of the wedding, he was constantly on the phone making arrangements while on the way to pick up the bride.

I noticed he had hired only a videographer and forgotten to hire a photographer. It would be a lifelong regret not to capture some of life’s most important moments. Fortunately, I brought my DSLR and volunteered to fill the gap.

There was a moment during the wedding for sincere confessions, and he cried facing his bride. I quietly wiped away tears on the side too — I couldn’t tell if it was from being moved, from excitement at my friend’s marriage, or from the feeling that life is just so hard — how much suffering and hardship must one walk through before reaching happiness.

At the banquet, I raised a glass and drained it in one gulp!