Always Home

Jing Qichi had been quite frustrated lately.

For several weeks in a row, Song Cong had turned down all his weekend invitations—whether it was playing soccer or video games—with only one excuse: tutoring Chen Huan'er.

It felt like he had changed.

In Jing Qichi's eyes, the root of the problem was Chen Huan'er—the third party who had swooped in and stolen his best friend away.

That day, both his parents were on night shifts, so he went next door to the Song family's place for dinner as usual. The moment he stepped inside, he saw Huan'er sitting at the dining table. He sulked silently for a long time.

Night shifts were unavoidable for doctors, especially in dual-medical households like the Song family. It was common for both parents to be on duty at the same time, and whenever that happened, the kids would be left at a neighbor's place in the Family Compound—eating and crashing there had become a unique feature of their little community. Jing's Mother had been promoted last year and could have skipped this arrangement, but as the youngest member of the Third Hospital's leadership team—and with the recent boom in private hospitals luring away many clinicians—she volunteered to take two night shifts a week to set an example. Jing's Father worked in fire rescue, always on call, disappearing the moment his phone rang. Growing up in such an environment, Jing Qichi had adapted and gotten used to it. The Song household was his most frequent refuge, or else he and Song Cong would be sent to stay with retired doctors from the hospital. Many of those elderly caretakers they never saw again—some moved away to live with their children, others passed on—while he and Song Cong grew into young men capable of living independently.

How could such an unshakable bond be broken by a mere Chen Huan'er?

With that thought, Jing Qichi directed his frustration at the intruder. "Isn't it too far for you to come all the way here just to eat?"

He remembered Chen Ma mentioning during her last visit that Huan'er could cook noodles herself, and if not, there was always the hospital cafeteria.

She didn’t pick up any good habits, but she sure knew how to freeload.

"The compound isn't that big. What do you mean 'too far'?" Song Ma, acting as the temporary head of the household, tapped his forehead with her finger before he could finish. "Look who's talking. You're nowhere to be found during the day, but the moment it's mealtime, you show up right on time."

"Aunt Hao, I was playing soccer. That's also—"

"Your mom was just telling me earlier, even if you're a Special Enrollment Student, your academic grades—"

"Your hospitality is truly unmatched," Jing Qichi raised his hands in surrender. "I'll eat, okay? Just let me eat."

Huan'er muttered under her breath, "Fake victim."

Her voice was so soft only Song Cong, sitting beside her, heard it. Seeing his friend's attempt to provoke backfire so spectacularly, he couldn’t help but laugh.

Song Cong didn’t remember how many times she had made him laugh, but he remembered the feeling. Huan'er always caught him off guard—whether with her ideas or her words—and every unexpected moment hit his funny bone just right. By now, he was absolutely certain: Chen Huan'er was nothing like the first impression she gave.

He wouldn’t expose her, though. How lucky—after all, very few people got to see this side of her.

Song Ma chatted with Huan'er. "Is that girl who came with you last time coming again this weekend?"

"She said she would," Huan'er hesitated for a second. "Is that okay, Aunt Hao?"Song Ma didn’t immediately grasp the last question, but upon meeting the girl’s earnest gaze, she quickly understood and eagerly agreed, “Of course, of course. Last time, I noticed that little girl really liked oranges. I’ll buy more for you next time.” She paused before continuing, “Huan’er, treat this place like your own home. Make yourself comfortable. From now on, if your mom’s on duty, just come over for meals—as long as there’s an adult at home, of course. Song Cong’s even worse than you; he’s barely stepped into the kitchen.”

“Mom, that’s enough,” Song Cong made a stopping gesture.

Huan’er naturally understood the kindness behind the gentle auntie’s words and smiled. “Your cooking is way better than my mom’s.”

“Chen Huan’er, that’s a bit shameless,” Jing Qichi snorted. “I’m telling Aunt Lina.”

“As if you haven’t done the same,” Song Cong chimed in. “Who was it that buttered Mom up, saying her cooking was the best in the whole Family Compound?”

“It’s not the same! My praise came from the heart, genuine and sincere!” Jing Qichi, who ate quickly, spoke with his mouth full, cheeks bulging. “You’re siding with the wrong person.”

Song Cong laughed and, seeing his ravenous pace, pushed his own water cup toward him.

There was only a little water left. Jing Qichi drank it all but still felt parched, so he casually grabbed another cup in front of him and pressed it to his lips.

“That’s mine!” Huan’er tried to stop him, but it was too late—he tilted his head back and took two big gulps.

The well-fed boy set down his chopsticks, stretched lazily, and tossed out three words, “I know.”

“You knew and still drank it?!” Huan’er fumed.

It was the moment he lifted the cup that it suddenly dawned on him—most of the meals he’d shared before were with the boys from the Family Compound. When the guys got together, it was like a pack of piglets racing to finish, with no regard for table manners. Chen Huan’er was the first girl to join them regularly. Right then, his physical needs far outpaced his brain’s processing speed. Even if Jing Qichi wanted to stop, it was too late, so he figured he might as well annoy her.

“Who says knowing means I can’t drink it?” He stood up with his used dishes and headed for the sink. As he passed Huan’er, he freed one hand to roughly ruffle the top of her head. “So fussy.”

“Your hands are greasy!” Huan’er was furious. She grabbed her own used bowl, chopsticks, and cup and piled them onto his dishes. “Wash them for me!”

“Whoever uses them washes them,” Jing Qichi retorted, shoving the stack back forcefully. “You’re ruining the rules.”

“Wash them or not!” Huan’er grabbed his arm.

“No!”

“Wash them or not!” Huan’er tightened her grip, her other hand yanking his ear.

“Ow!” Jing Qichi yelped, tilting his head. His eyes widened as he stared at the girl, then he turned pitifully toward Song Cong, as if seeking help. “She’s crazy strong, I’m not lying. It really hurts.”

He emphasized each of the last three words, his expression pitiable enough to move anyone.

Song Cong gave a dry laugh and stayed silent. Song Ma, wiping down the stove with her back to them, teased, “Serves you right for picking a fight.” Turning around, she asked, “Want more rice? You kids burn so much energy, you should eat more.”

“No, I’m stuffed.” Jing Qichi nudged Huan’er with his elbow, his face full of resentment. “Fine, I’ll wash them. Happy?”

“Consider it penance. I’ll let you off this time.” Huan’er got her way and patted his cheek encouragingly.

Jing Qichi turned on the faucet and muttered to himself, “I owe you, and now I have to wash your dishes too.”After quickly washing the dishes, he slammed the dripping cup in front of Chen Huan'er with force. "Seriously, how are you so strong? Song Cong, she hits people and you still hang out with her."

"Stop pretending." Song Cong shot him an amused glance before turning to Huan'er. "Let's go, continue."

"I'm coming too." Jing Qichi declared, stepping ahead and turning to wave at Song Ma in the kitchen. "Auntie, I'm going in to study with them." Before anyone could react, he strutted towards Song Cong's room under the trio's bewildered gazes.

"Hah, the sun must be rising from the west today," Song Ma muttered, shaking her head.

Of course, Jing Qichi wasn't there to study.

Once the door was shut, he crossed his arms and stood before the two. "Did Qi Qi come last week too?"

"Yeah," Song Cong nodded. "She came with Huan'er."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never asked." Song Cong's quick wit flashed as realization dawned, and he chuckled. "Oh, so you—"

The subject in question immediately clamped a hand over his mouth. "Next week I'm coming too. Save me a spot."

Chen Huan'er was flipping through her workbook, confused by their exchange. She only caught Jing Qichi's intention to join their study group and frowned. "Why are you coming?"

"To study." Jing Qichi put on a righteous face, tapping the test papers on the table. "You've improved. Can't I try to escape being last place?"

Huan'er scoffed. "Why aim for such lofty goals?"

"Let him come." Song Cong, fully aware of the situation, played peacemaker. "Studying is good."

So when the next weekend arrived, Song Cong's house was bustling with activity.

Song Ma had prepared lunch early and hurried out with her husband after greeting the kids. Qi Qi, thinking the adults were avoiding them out of politeness, said apologetically to Song Cong, "We're causing trouble for your parents."

"Don't overthink it." Song Cong replied gently. "They went to play mahjong."

Jing Qichi pointed at Huan'er. "Add my mom and her mom, and you've got a full table."

Qi Qi widened her eyes. "Your parents all know each other?"

"Every parent in this neighborhood knows each other." Jing Qichi feigned nonchalance. "It's not like they'd leave home just because of you."

Song Cong, seeing right through him, shook his head inwardly. This guy clearly meant to reassure, but his words always came out prickly.

"Song Cong, I don't get this part." Huan'er, entirely focused on the physics problem she'd struggled with yesterday, set down her workbook and picked up a pen. "Explain it to me."

Qi Qi leaned over and promptly sat beside Song Cong. "I'm not too sure about this either."

"Big problems usually combine multiple concepts. It's best to organize the given info first." Song Cong took Huan'er's pen and glanced up to see Jing Qichi staring boredly out the window. He pointed casually. "You, come listen too."

His finger landed on the spot next to Qi Qi.

"Fine." Jing Qichi hid his delight behind a reluctant facade, shuffling over until he stood behind Qi Qi. As he bent down, his face nearly brushed her ponytail. "Annoying hair," he muttered under his breath.

"Here, and this part..." Song Cong began his explanation.Huan'er's parents rarely gave academic guidance. Firstly, during her time in Sishui, her rankings were as stable as Mount Tai, so her studies never needed worrying about. Secondly, they prioritized many things over grades—health, for instance, or happiness. Among the few learning-related discussions they had, one phrase from her father stuck with her: "Knowledge is truly learned only when you can make those who don't understand grasp it."

By that standard, Song Cong was truly remarkable.

He had a way of thinking—breaking down every concept into cause and effect: because of this, that happens. He also had a problem-solving method where the question stem was like an exploding cosmic particle, each sentence radiating principles and formulas related to it, and the solution was merely a process of selecting from them. These were insights Chen Huan'er gleaned from his repeated explanations, after all. "Method" was an elusive term, like clouds in the sky—they existed but took different shapes in different eyes.

Once, Huan'er asked if he was so clear because he often explained things to others. Song Cong denied it. "Almost everyone in our class attends extracurricular tutoring. They don't need others."

Class One Fast Track had only twenty students. Their classroom was on the top floor, one level above even the principal's office and the academic affairs office, right next to the largely unused art room. Rumors had it that they could freely move between the two rooms during self-study, with the school granting this elite group the greatest freedom.

Of course, when Qi Qi sought confirmation, she got a denial.

"The rumors get wilder and wilder," Song Cong said with exasperation. "Self-study is definitely in the classroom. Otherwise, we'd have to move desks back and forth. Occasionally, if someone feels drowsy, they might step out to study for a bit. Maybe they happened to go into the art room when it was open."

Qi Qi was puzzled. "But apart from you, I've never heard anyone else deny it."

"Besides me, who else in our class do you even know?"

No one. Not even Qi Qi, a native of the town.

Song Cong laughed. "That's normal. Because no one wants to waste time on other things. They arrive early, leave late, and are hard to run into."

The legendary Class One Fast Track, bathed in glory, elusive as a dragon's head but never its tail—it was simply a gathering of people who worked harder.

Yet the most ordinary among them, Song Cong, was ranked first. Huan'er asked him, "Why are you different from them?"

Attending tutoring, having private tutors, arriving earlier and leaving later.

He replied, "I don't think I need it."

Everything about Song Cong was crystal clear—his notes, explanations, thought processes, even his understanding of himself and others.

At the time, Chen Huan'er vaguely sensed this, but as a teenager, she didn’t yet grasp what such clarity meant.

She simply followed his lead, shattering one misunderstanding after another. Her monthly exam rankings improved by a few places, then a few more in finals, then again in the next monthly exams. Like the Big Bubble gum she loved as a child, she took a deep breath and blew, watching the bubble expand. She kept gathering strength, anticipating the eventual burst of that giant bubble.

Its name was Tianzhong.