Always Home

If one had to describe Chen Huan'er's current mood in a single sentence—

No, a single sentence wouldn’t suffice.

And just then, of all times, a voice rang out from behind her:

"Give it a rest, who cares about him?"

"Jumping jack, none of his damn business."

"Honestly, I hope he gets hit by bird droppings when he steps out—one lump would be too lenient, better if it lands right on his head or face..."

The voice abruptly cut off, and in Huan'er's line of sight appeared a guy holding his phone, gaping in shock.

Bird this, bird that—bird your damn uncle.

Huan'er mentally rolled her eyes with a 720-degree twist of Olympic-level difficulty, then slowly crouched down to place the cardboard box full of plates and bowls she was carrying onto the ground. Only then did she free up a hand to wipe her right cheek. Sticky, warm, and milky white—it even emitted a fantastically unpleasant odor that lingered stubbornly.

Could things get any worse?

On a scorching summer day, carrying fragile, heavy items on her way to her new home, unfamiliar with the area—yes, even the birds didn’t know her, hence this grand welcoming gift delivered straight to her face.

Hah. Landed on her head and face? Stupid bird, you got the wrong person and the wrong place.

"Uh..." The guy opened his mouth to speak but was met with a face ashen with fury—or rather, ashen with a lingering streak of white—prompting him to cautiously take half a step back before turning to leave.

Chen Huan'er rummaged through her pockets and found only a set of keys. Heaven has eyes—were you waiting for this lump to dry so I could scrape it off with a metal tool?

Frustrated, she kicked the box, then immediately worried about breaking the dishes inside and getting scolded by her mother later. She quickly withdrew her foot and opened the box to check.

At that moment, the guy returned, stopping just half a step away from her. "You... you okay?"

Huan'er huffed and didn’t answer.

"I really wasn’t talking about you," he said, digging through his bag. First, he pulled out a towel, then fished out a water bottle—only to pause awkwardly after unscrewing the cap halfway. A few droplets clung to the bottle’s surface; it was bone dry.

"I... I’ll keep looking," he muttered, bending down to search again.

Only then did Chen Huan'er notice he was wearing a sports jersey, with a large sling bag hanging from his shoulder—he looked like he’d just come back from the field. As for his age—probably around hers.

"This’ll work," he said excitedly, holding up a pain-relief spray.

"I’m not in pain," Huan'er snapped, straightening up and smoothing her hair. What the hell—what kind of mutant species had such efficient digestion?

"I know, that little bit wouldn’t hurt much anyway," he said, shaking the spray bottle. "But at least it’s liquid. This stuff won’t hurt your face—just wipe it off after."

"No thanks." Huan'er didn’t want to engage and bent down to pick up the box again.

He grabbed her arm directly, his expression like he was holding back laughter. "Plus, it masks the smell."

Masks... masks the smell? What kind of nonsense is this?

"Close your eyes," he said, aiming the nozzle at her. Huan'er instinctively shut them.

A cool sensation spread over her right cheek.

Then came the rough friction of fabric—the material wasn’t bad, but his movements were downright aggressive.

Huan'er opened her eyes and took the towel from him, wiping her face before scrubbing at her hair a couple more times.

"That should do it," he said, taking the towel back and glancing between her and the box at her feet. "You new here?"

"Yeah." Huan'er eyed the towel now stuffed into his backpack. "I’ll wash..."

"I live in this complex too. We’ll probably run into each other." He nodded toward the box. "Heavy?"

"Not too bad." Thinking he might offer to help, she quickly added, "I can...""Then take it yourself."

As expected, she had overthought it.

How kind could someone who cursed behind others' backs really be?

"Leaving." He waved backward and jogged away.

She went straight to the bathroom when she got home. Her face was clean, though a few strands of hair still carried traces of white paste. After showering, Huan'er finally texted her mother, "Done."

She didn’t deliberately wait for a reply—if Qian Yisheng had time to spare, she wouldn’t have disappeared halfway through moving.

Looking around, the belongings weren’t excessive—a dozen packed boxes plus three large suitcases. Her mother had long set the moving principle: "Only bring the essentials." Huan'er closed the window, turned on the air conditioner and TV, then leisurely began organizing.

Her new home was in The Third Municipal Hospital's Doctor Family Compound, where most residents were physicians. It was an old, long-established community where every building resembled identical twins—six floors, no elevators, with brick-red exteriors weathered by time. Though even trucks couldn’t enter, it seemed the only viable place to live—her mother had transferred from the county hospital and, through a colleague’s referral, took over this secondhand top-floor apartment, saving a hefty agent fee. It was just a short walk to work, and a single phone call could summon her to assist in the latter half of a surgery. The previous owner had relocated to a major hospital in the capital, leaving all furniture and appliances behind, making it practically a move-in-ready deal. The deeper reason—her mother had confidently declared upon entering that morning—"This place has great feng shui. The previous owner’s son got into Peking University’s medical school."

Chen Huan'er teased, "Shouldn’t medical professionals believe in science?"

"Your mom studied traditional Chinese medicine," Chen Ma replied mysteriously, shaking her head. "We believe in metaphysics."

Xiao Chen had more than once suspected her mother was practicing with a fake license.

In any case, Chen Huan'er’s first major life turning point arrived at fourteen.

Before fourteen, she lived in Sixian County, an utterly forgettable small town under Tianhe City’s jurisdiction. It had no historical significance, no notable figures, no impressive industrial or agricultural output—not even a decent local specialty. Once, while attending a wedding in the city with her father, someone asked about her hometown. Her mischievous dad played charades with the crowd: "The first character is a number, the second is flowing liquid." The middle-aged uncles and aunts present chuckled knowingly, while their children—city kids—debated before declaring, "Uncle, we’ve got it! Five Lakes Four Seas!"

"It’s Sixian," Chen Huan'er corrected smugly.

Back then, she dismissed the city kids’ cluelessness as ignorance, never realizing it was simply because Sixian was a tiny, insignificant place.

Chen Huan'er was born and raised there, attending the county’s best elementary school before testing into the top middle school. She joined the Communist Youth League in the first wave, never fell below the top twenty in her grade, and held class leadership roles since childhood. Barring surprises, she would’ve excelled into the county’s top high school—what came after, she hadn’t yet considered.

Kids raised in happy environments seldom develop a sense of impending doom.

Of course, even the most paranoid wouldn’t expect to be baptized by unidentified flying objects while walking down the street.

"Ugh." At the thought, Huan'er irritably ruffled her hair. What kind of nonsense was this?The television was playing a sports brand commercial—a track and field athlete standing at the starting line, a close-up of his solemn, determined expression, the starting gun firing, and the screen fading to black before revealing the brand logo. Normally, Chen Huan'er wouldn't have paid attention to such things, but she suddenly realized the boy from earlier had been wearing shoes from this very brand.

Hundreds or even thousands—she had no concrete idea, only that they were expensive.

So, when it came to the summer of 2007, Chen Huan'er had only two distinct memories: students wearing branded sneakers everywhere, and the fact that her transfer to a new school conveniently excused her from summer homework.

On the first day of school, Chen Ma dropped her off. Busy as always, her mother finished handling the enrollment paperwork at the administration office before being called away by a phone call—swift and ruthless. Watching her mother leave, Xiao Chen felt an inexplicable urge to cry. It was like Zhu Ziqing watching his father’s unsteady figure by the railway tracks, or a child on their first day of kindergarten putting on a brave face to keep from calling out for their parents. The new environment made the usually confident girl suddenly timid.

For the first time, she learned that the standard term for ninth grade here was "Grade Nine," that among the fourteen classes per grade, four were Fast Classes and ten were regular ones with different teaching paces. The school’s track field had a plastic runway encircling a lush green lawn marked with white lines, and every Monday morning, a blue-eyed, blond-haired foreign teacher would appear for English study hall. Chen Huan'er, who came from a small town, felt her legs go weak before she even stepped onto the battlefield—utterly defeated before the fight began.

After dealing with miscellaneous formalities, she was officially led to the classroom by her homeroom teacher after morning exercises. There was no self-introduction—just the teacher announcing her name, the class applauding in welcome, and her taking her assigned seat in the third-to-last row under curious gazes. The teacher added, whether intentionally or not, "Seats are arranged by height. Let me know if you can’t see the blackboard clearly."

Chen Huan'er nodded. In the past, she might have quipped, "Maybe you could write bigger?" She would’ve dared because she was sure of herself. Now, she didn’t—because of insecurity. During enrollment, the administration had asked for her final exam papers from the previous semester, and only after that had she become the student sitting in the third-to-last row of Fast Class Three. Every effect had its cause, and a small mountain weighed on her heart.

After the teacher left, the girl beside her leaned over and whispered, "Where did you transfer from?"

"Sishui," Chen Huan'er replied. Seeing the girl’s puzzled frown, she quickly added, "Sishui County."

For the first time, she spoke of her gentle hometown with a lack of confidence.

The girl gave an understanding "Oh, oh," then smiled. "Welcome."

Around them, classmates murmured, "Where’s that? Another county?"

Chen Huan'er pretended not to hear, carefully pulling out her textbook and flipping through the pages.

Then, from behind her, came a voice—not too loud, not too soft: "West side. The smallest county."

We’re the… smallest? A question mark formed in her mind.

The bell rang before she could turn to confirm who had spoken.

In fact, Chen Huan'er didn’t look back the entire morning. The teachers were good—but fast. Too fast. They didn’t write out every problem’s solution on the board, opting instead for verbal explanations. When the class answered in unison, she was still deciphering the question. Two lessons were enough to show her the gap—the gap between her and the city kids, accumulated over two years of middle school, even over fourteen years of her life.

The feeling could only be described as a blow to the head.She frantically took notes, trying to jot down every word and key point she heard. Her handwriting was crooked, her hand numb to the point of losing sensation, yet she still couldn't keep up.

If she didn’t understand, she’d write it down first—even the study methods she’d accumulated over the years had hit a wall.

Chen Huan’er was devastated, both physically and mentally.

During lunch break, she received a text from her mother: "I just heard from a coworker that your school doesn’t have a cafeteria. Go buy something to eat for now."

See? Even moms from small towns were a step slower than city moms.

"Got it." Afraid her mother would worry, she replied quickly.

The classroom buzzed with noise and the aroma of food as students gathered in small groups to eat. Huan’er clutched her phone, never before wishing so desperately for her mother to reply again. That way, she’d have a legitimate and genuine reason not to think about eating— I’m busy chatting, the conversation’s so interesting I don’t even feel hungry.

But after waiting half the day, her phone remained silent.

Unable to resist, she typed another line: "Mom, what’s for dinner tonight?"

Like a clueless guy awkwardly trying to flirt, she might as well have added, Don’t overwork yourself, drink more hot water when you’re free.

Yet Chen Ma, this middle-aged "girl," remained unshakably composed. The message vanished into the void, as if even a magnitude-10 tsunami couldn’t ruffle her.

A master. Chen Huan’er stared at her phone, unsure whether to credit her mother or her clearly more skilled father for this prowess.

As she zoned out, the girl in front of her turned around, her smiling face accompanied by a soft voice. "Want to eat together?"

"I... didn’t bring food." Huan’er felt inexplicably embarrassed, as if she were an outsider who didn’t know the rules.

Without hesitation, the girl quickly closed her lunchbox and stood up. "Let’s go buy something together."

"You don’t have enough?" Huan’er blurted out without thinking.

The girl paused, then burst into laughter. "Not enough to share. Let’s go."

Only then did Huan’er realize the other girl’s kindness. The middle-aged "girl" she’d been obsessing over moments ago was instantly forgotten as she tossed her phone into her desk and stood up. "Let’s go!"

"You’re Chen Huan’er, right?" the girl asked.

"Yeah, and you?"

As they chatted and stepped out of the classroom, before the girl could answer, a boy’s voice called from the hallway, "Qi Qi, Qi Qi, grab me a roujiamo!"

The voice was oddly familiar.

"Get it yourself." Qi Qi didn’t even turn around, pulling Huan’er’s arm instead. "Lazybones."

A tall, lanky boy holding a soccer ball strode over and blocked their path, muttering, "Always with the personal attacks. Bring it to the field after you buy it."

His face was even more familiar.

With that, he dashed off. He didn’t spare Huan’er a glance—or maybe he did, but it was so fleeting she didn’t even register it.

"Jing Qichi, our class’s sports rep," Qi Qi introduced.

Not exactly a pleasant encounter. Besides, who was he to assume Sishui was the smallest? One day, he might even annex Tianhe, and your birth certificate would need an update.

Qi Qi added, "He’s a Special Enrollment Student for soccer. Just skates by and still gets into Tianzhong."

Huan’er was stunned. "Tianzhong?"

The name of Tianhe No. 1 High School was legendary—a provincial key school, a frequent subject of education news, its self-produced exam papers selling out instantly. Only the top student in all of Sishui County could barely scrape by to get in. For a small-town girl like Chen Huan’er, it was beyond her wildest dreams.

"Not impressed?" Qi Qi clicked her tongue. "You’re hiding some serious skills, huh?"

Chen Huan’er waved her hands with utmost seriousness. "Can’t show them off. Naked, I’d fail even harder."Qi Qi grinned from ear to ear, her ponytail swaying with her movements. Finally, she remarked, "You were so quiet this morning, I thought you were really introverted."

"Not at all," Huan'er replied softly. Qi Qi's friendliness made her feel instantly close, and she quickly reverted to her usual self. "I even participated in a talent competition back home."

"No way!" Qi Qi covered her mouth with both hands. "Tell me, tell me, what kind of competition?"

"Flower of Four Waters."

"Four Waters..." Qi Qi laughed so hard tears flew from her eyes, barely managing to gasp out between breaths, "Wow, what a... major event."

Huan'er didn’t feel offended in the slightest. She desperately needed a friend like this—someone who could catch all her lame jokes and laugh along until they were both in stitches.