Chapter Four: The Light of Fireflies

Lin Nan racked his brains, trying to recall everything he’d learned about electricity in his physics textbook, and then replied a little uncertainly, “Because they’re connected in parallel with the other lights, so if one breaks the other’s voltage becomes unstable, or maybe there’s a loose connection?”

Lin Lang smiled inwardly—what a textbook answer.

He laughed, but made no comment on whether it was right or wrong. Instead, he continued, “Well, why don’t you try fixing these two bulbs yourself? When I was your age, any time something broke at home, I was always the one to fix it!”

Lin Nan grinned and asked, “When you were my age, did you even have electrical appliances at home?”

As soon as he finished speaking, Lin Nan left the room to look for tools, clearly accepting Lin Lang’s challenge.

Lin Lang said nothing, but his heart was full of delight. His son was starting to talk back—a good sign. Perhaps soon, he would no longer seem like a stern authority figure, but instead become a friend, someone Lin Nan could speak to about anything.

Soon, Lin Nan brought over a rather tall wooden chair, placing it under the bulb that wouldn’t light. He also carried a brand new bulb from the living room drawer.

The faulty bulb was fixed to the ceiling, with a wire running visibly alongside it, through the corner of the wall and down to the switch. Many old rural houses are built this way, with the wiring exposed rather than hidden in the walls, making faults more common.

Lin Lang stood nearby, watching as Lin Nan positioned the chair directly below the bulb, then went to switch it off before turning to glance at his father.

Their eyes met, and Lin Lang instinctively moved to steady the chair while Lin Nan nimbly climbed up. At thirteen, Lin Nan was already about 175 centimeters tall—just a shade shorter than Lin Lang’s 178, and tall enough to reach the bulb.

This was Lin Nan’s first time “fixing a lightbulb.” He tentatively touched the glass—cold to the touch, confirming it was indeed dead and causing an open circuit.

He tried pulling it downward, first softly, then with more force, but it didn’t budge. He paused to examine the fixture, soon spotting the threaded socket.

With a twist of his eyes, Lin Nan grasped the glass and began turning it counterclockwise. The bulb loosened after several turns and came free.

Back on the floor, he held the bulb up and inspected it, discovering the tungsten filament inside was snapped—no wonder it didn’t work.

He remembered that in such cases, simply replacing the bulb should suffice, though he wasn’t entirely sure—this was his first attempt. He cast a questioning look at Lin Lang, but his father’s face remained impassive, offering no help. After a brief hesitation, Lin Nan decided to trust his own judgment.

He took the new bulb, climbed back up, and carefully screwed it in clockwise until it wouldn’t turn anymore.

Hopping down, he hurried to the switch, flicked it on, and gazed hopefully at the ceiling.

A flash, then another, and finally a steady, bright yellow light glowed, cutting through the deepening dusk of late autumn.

Lin Nan broke into a delighted grin—there was a unique joy in accomplishing something with his own hands.

Lin Lang smiled as well. Perhaps this was all the inspiration his son needed for physics.

He walked to the table, picked up the broken bulb, and beckoned Lin Nan over.

After choosing his words carefully, Lin Lang began, “Look here: the outside is a transparent glass shell, designed to reduce glare from the filament and protect our eyes. If you look closely, you’ll see the inside is sometimes frosted or coated, to diffuse the light evenly for better illumination. To increase brightness in one direction, an aluminum reflector layer is sometimes added. And those colorful bulbs you see? They’re simply made with tinted glass. The principle is the same: the tungsten filament inside is heated by electricity until it glows, but the effect changes depending on the glass.”

“Inside, you’ll find the molybdenum support, nickel electrodes, pillars, glass support, base, screw base, and the inert gases—nitrogen, argon…”

“Each component has its own irreplaceable function. Take the molybdenum support, for example…”

He went on for a full twenty minutes, until his mouth was dry. Clearly, the lessons he’d prepared in his previous life as a teacher had not been forgotten.

Lin Nan stood astonished, unable to snap out of it. His worldview felt transformed. To think a humble lightbulb—something so ordinary—contained so much knowledge. Although he couldn’t grasp every detail, he got the general idea.

He was shocked, and curious: since when had his father become so learned?

But above all, he was filled with admiration and longing. Wouldn’t it be amazing if he could one day explain things so confidently?

Lin Lang’s lesson was meant as guidance, to spark Lin Nan’s curiosity. He wanted his son to find joy in learning—not just in rote calculation, but in deep understanding. For instance, when facing a physics problem about cars and power, one should be able to picture a car, its engine, and all its workings. If you understand the underlying principles, the question becomes as simple as two plus two.

Because then, you’re not just solving problems—you’re describing everyday life.

Of course, not everyone could be Newton or Einstein, but Lin Lang was confident he could make Lin Nan’s studies meaningful, helping him see both the purpose and the joy of learning.

Lifelong learning should be a habit, not a chore.

He watched Lin Nan holding the broken bulb up to his eyes, as if about to smash it. Lin Lang quickly said, “I’ll go fix the other light. Your task is done for today. If you want to break that bulb to see if there’s any gas inside, I suggest you do the experiment outside in the yard.”

With that, he carried the chair to the next room. Lin Nan didn’t actually smash the bulb, but followed his father to see what was wrong with the other one.

In the blink of an eye, Lin Lang had fixed the flickering bulb. Lin Nan barely saw what he did—just a few quick motions and it was done.

Curious, Lin Nan asked, “Dad, what was wrong with this one? Was it unstable voltage, or a loose connection? Was it different from the other one?”

Lin Lang muttered, “Dad’s talked enough for one day. I’m tired. You can look it up on the computer at home.”

Lin Nan was a little disappointed, but when he heard “computer,” his spirits lifted. In ninth grade, his parents rarely let him use the computer anymore, afraid he’d get hooked on games.

Lin Lang noticed the change in his son’s expression, and guessed his thoughts. He added, “Tomorrow, I’ll play games with you!”

Lin Nan was delighted. Play is every child’s nature.

The autumn nights were falling earlier now. Lin Lang checked his watch—5:33. It was almost completely dark outside, and Ye Xinlan had returned home.

Seeing Lin Nan’s happy face, she asked with a smile, “Nan Nan, what did you do with your dad this afternoon? You look so happy.”

Lin Nan replied, “Lightbulbs.”

Ye Xinlan asked, “What?”

…

The last rays of sunset reflected across the vast expanse of Clear Water Lake and spilled into the courtyards of Lin Family Bay, lighting up the red tiles of Lin Lang’s house.

From a distance, it almost seemed as if the sun were sinking directly into the far side of the lake, disappearing completely below the horizon, until not a trace remained and night truly fell.

Dinner that night was much like lunch—fragrant rice porridge with crispy bits, a never-tiring delight.

After the meal, Lin Lang walked to the gate, gazing at the night sky. The brightest stars were just starting to twinkle like diamonds on black velvet.

He saw Ye Xinlan step out from the kitchen after washing the dishes, and called out to his wife and son, “Come on! I’m taking you somewhere fun—as Nan Nan’s thirteenth birthday present!”

He led them toward the back hill. Ye Xinlan seemed to guess their destination, a look of hopeful shyness on her face, while Lin Nan was still in the dark.

When they finally crossed the small hill, Lin Nan witnessed a scene he’d only ever seen in movies.

Lin Lang turned to Ye Xinlan with a smile, “We’re in luck tonight.”

Below them lay patchwork fields, sparkling with countless “lightbulbs” twinkling on and off.

Lin Nan shouted with excitement, “Fireflies! So many fireflies!”

The fields were alive with their glow, like strings of colored lights strewn across the land, or like a crowd of innocent children, dancing and cheering with joy.

Lin Nan dashed down into the field, leaping into the midst of the fireflies, jumping and spinning with them.

Lin Lang took Ye Xinlan’s hand and, step by step, joined the fireflies, spreading his arms as if to fly among them.

Watching his son’s exuberant leaps, Lin Lang swallowed back the lecture he’d prepared on the chemistry of firefly light. Knowledge was everywhere, but such a gathering of fireflies was a rare sight indeed.

He chose a different topic, and called out loudly to Lin Nan, “Son, this is where I confessed my love to your mother!”

Lin Nan stopped in his tracks, glanced at his bold father, then at his bashful mother, and shouted back, “Dad, you’re so romantic!”

A moment later, Lin Lang shouted even louder, “Wife, I love you! Son, I love you!”

And Lin Nan responded in kind, “Dad, I love you too! Mom, I love you too!”

…

In the glow of the fireflies, two voices—one man, one boy—rang out, wild and unrestrained, while a graceful woman stood nearby, taking in the show. To their surprise, she soon joined in the madness.

Across the empty mountains, three voices echoed, wild with happiness and joy.

Beneath the firefly lights, Lin Nan cherished this thirteenth birthday gift.