Always Home

When another summer arrived, Du Man finally welcomed the visit of her friends.

Du Man's parents were overjoyed. Upon hearing that their daughter's friends were PhD holders working in high-tech jobs in Beijing, they immediately set out early in the morning to reserve a private room at a restaurant, afraid of appearing inhospitable to these accomplished friends of their daughter. However, Du Man rejected the suggestion, telling her parents that a simple home-cooked meal would suffice—these people were practically family.

"That won't do," Du's father said, adopting the tone of an experienced elder when he saw his daughter's indifference. "You're out there making your own way, and your mom and I can't help you much. When trouble comes, you'll have to rely on your friends for support. When they visit, we must show our utmost sincerity."

"Your father's right," Du's mother chimed in. "Aren't they staying overnight? At the very least, the first meal should be at a restaurant."

"Really, it's unnecessary," Du Man replied, both amused and exasperated. Her parents had suffered from their lack of education—they had once run a breakfast stall in Tianhe, worked as housekeepers, operated a small convenience store, and even driven for a factory. Through hard work, they had built a decent life for themselves, yet deep down, they still lacked a certain confidence. To them, academic achievement was paramount. They had provided her with the best opportunities within their means, even choosing to live in the Family Compound of the Third Hospital because they believed it was a place for scholars, hoping the environment would rub off on her. They revered—and perhaps even felt a little awed by—those who were well-read. Maybe, Du Man guessed, they felt slightly uneasy around such people.

Studying hard had initially been for their sake, then for the family's reputation, and only later for herself—when external factors no longer influenced her decisions, that was when she truly did things for herself.

Du Man had long since broken free from the cycle of proving herself. She understood her parents' feelings but would no longer live trapped in a cage of self-doubt.

Her parents continued trying to persuade her, leaving her no choice but to secretly message Huan'er: "Quick, send me a voice message saying you... just say you're craving stewed fish, cornmeal pancakes, and watermelon rind dumplings."

Huan'er and the others had just gotten on the highway. Jing Qichi was driving his family's car, Song Cong sat in the passenger seat, while she had the back seat all to herself. Upon receiving the message, she immediately leaned forward and asked, "Have either of you ever had watermelon rind dumplings?"

"Watermelon rind?" Jing Qichi lazily adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. "In dumplings?"

"Yeah," Huan'er said, glancing at the message again before grinning. "Hey, they wouldn't be sweet, would they?"

"Of course not," Song Cong turned around. "Did Du Man say that?"

"Yeah," Huan'er laughed. "She wants me to back her up. Probably her parents want to treat us to something fancy."

Jing Qichi decided to stir the pot. "Sure, why not? Lobster, abalone, sea cucumber—tell her the more extravagant, the better."

Huan'er glanced at Song Cong's expression and, seeing no reaction, cheerfully said, "Okay," then raised her phone to send a voice message: "Hey, Manman, forget about the watermelon rind dumplings. We'd rather have—"

"Don't mess around," Song Cong cut in, snatching the phone from her hand. "Take it back. If Du Man asked you to cover for her, then—"

Only then did he realize he'd been tricked when he saw the recipient.

Jing Qichi leisurely pulled out his own phone. His top contact was, naturally, Huan'er. He played the message aloud—"Hey, Manman, forget about the watermelon rind dumplings. We'd rather have—"

"How old are you two? Grow up!" Song Cong shoved the phone back into Huan'er's hands and turned to look out the window.The two pranksters burst into laughter, especially Huan'er, who was sprawled across the back seat, nearly rolling with mirth.

Without any prior coordination, she had secretly changed the contact when Jing Qichi mentioned "sea cucumber," and he just knew he would receive this "fake message."

"Lao Song," Jing Qichi teased, "you didn’t even bother to dress up properly for your first visit."

Song Cong wasn’t actually upset. Playing along, he raised an eyebrow toward the trunk. "How do you know I don’t have a suit and tie in my luggage?"

"Please, a suit and tie with shorts?" Huan'er quipped while still replying to Du Man’s message, sending a voice note word for word as instructed.

Once she finished and put her phone away, Song Cong turned to Jing Qichi for a counterattack. "And what about you? Didn’t you wear shorts on your first visit too?"

"I didn’t—" Jing Qichi faltered mid-denial. His first visit to Huan'er’s home had been back in ninth grade. Forget dressing up—he’d even met his future in-laws in shorts.

Checkmate.

"Our situations are different," Huan'er chimed in from the back seat, pinching Jing Qichi’s ear. "Right?"

"Exactly," Jing Qichi grabbed her hand. "Don’t twist things, Lao Song."

Song Cong snorted. "Want me to drive so you two can cuddle on the side?"

"What’s this? Jealous?" Jing Qichi feigned coyness and patted his thigh. "There, there."

"Drive, drive." Song Cong exaggeratedly pulled his leg away in mock disgust, then turned to Huan'er. "Only you can put up with him."

Huan'er grinned. "Wouldn’t have it any other way."

"A pair of clowns," Song Cong sighed. Taking these two on a trip was like babysitting.

Du Man was waiting at the village entrance, waving excitedly when Jing Qichi honked. She hopped into the back seat as soon as the car stopped and directed, "Turn here. The dirt road ahead’s a bit bumpy."

"Why’d you come out?" Huan'er giggled, hugging her and playfully squishing her cheeks. "No need to greet us. Song Cong memorized the map you drew for him ages ago."

Du Man looked surprised. "Map?"

In reality, she’d only told him which direction to go, adding landmarks like shops or buildings for uncertain turns, and even suggested using GPS—though it’d take a longer route. Clearly, they hadn’t even turned on navigation.

Song Cong pointed at Du Man but spoke to Huan'er. "She drew a map in my head."

"Here we go again!" Jing Qichi and Huan'er groaned in unison.

Du Man exchanged a glance with Song Cong and quickly redirected, "Turn right."

A wide, shimmering river came into view. Though broad, the water level was low, with sporadic clusters of reeds along the banks, giving it a desolate appearance. Du Man told them it had once flooded violently, submerging villages on both sides—a history none of them had witnessed. Like the ebb of a raging river, the world’s fortunes cycled between glory and ruin.

By the time the river branched near Du Man’s home, it had dwindled to a mere stream. Across it lay the backyards of a row of houses. As they stepped out of the car, a woman called out, "Xiao Man, brought friends over?"

"Aunt Li," Du Man greeted, exchanging pleasantries. "Cooking?"

"Braised beans with pork. Come join us!""No thanks," Du Man waved her hand. "My parents went to buy fish, they'll be back soon."

Aunt Li smiled. "When friends visit, it's good to prepare something nice. You kids have fun, I'll go check on the pot."

Jing Qichi looked around and concluded, "Du Man, your village is quite well-off."

Every household had clean, bright windows, and two-story houses like the Du family's were common. Though the roads were unpaved, there was hardly any piled-up garbage along the way. From a Maslowian perspective, this place was rapidly climbing toward the top of the pyramid.

"Advanced model village, thank you very much," Du Man said as she opened the door and ushered everyone inside. "Most people here are fruit farmers, mainly growing watermelons. Some like Aunt Li raise chickens and pigs. Nowadays, everything's done scientifically. I'll show you later—the piglets live better than humans."

Huan'er exclaimed excitedly, "What about the orchard?"

"Out back, you can't see it from here." Du Man turned on the air conditioning and went to fetch water from the fridge. "We'll go later. Right now, stepping into the fields would bake us into pancakes in minutes."

Song Cong watched her bustling about, listening as she casually talked about topics usually reserved for parents. A strange feeling welled up inside him.

It was as if he was stepping into her life—simple, unadorned, and raw. And this feeling... wasn't bad at all.

Or perhaps it could be described as—fondness.

No, he knew. This was only deepening his fondness.

In the end, Du's parents didn't listen to their daughter. Not only did they return with six fresh crucian carp, but they also brought back a full takeout meal from a restaurant, complete with hot and cold dishes, meat and vegetables, packed into two large plastic bags. The elderly couple had everything planned out: lunch would be quick since the kids had just arrived and needed proper hospitality; in the cooler evening, they'd stew the fish longer for a richer broth; and tomorrow before departure, they'd have a proper farewell with dumplings. Du Man couldn't find a single flaw in this airtight reasoning, so she jokingly threatened Song Cong and Jing Qichi—"You two are the main eaters. No leaving the table until your bowls are empty."

"Calling others the main eaters when you're eating more than anyone," Du Ma chided, but seeing her daughter about to eat with her hair loose, she picked up a hair tie from the cabinet and stood behind her to tie it up.

Du Man sat at the table, grinning as her mother's fingers brushed through her hair. Du Ma was skilled—in a few quick motions, she braided it into a neat plait. But instead of sitting down, she began looking around the room.

"What are you looking for?" Du's father urged. "Come eat already."

"I need a hairpin to tie it up," Du Ma said, her eyes scanning the room. "Leaving it down will make her neck hot in this summer heat."

Hearing this, Du's father also started looking around, finally picking up a ballpoint pen from the coffee table. "Here's a ready-made one. I can do it."

"Then you do it."

"Fine, don't believe me." Du's father, now motivated, called out, "Come here, daughter. I've been practicing this since I was a kid."

"Using me as your practice target again." Du Man winked at her friends but obediently scooted her chair closer to her father.

"Complaining when you're getting spoiled," Huan'er teased. "You're so lucky. My dad tried braiding my hair once when I was little and nearly scalped me. I swore then I'd rather shave my head than let him try again."

Song Cong joked, "Good thing Uncle Chen didn't insist. If you'd shaved your head, someone would be burning down temples by now."Jing Qichi knew he was subtly referring to himself. He tapped the table as if writing characters, "An, that's called 'an'. And you call yourself a Beida graduate."

"What, Peking University not good enough for you?" Du Man, as a fellow alumna, stood up in defense. "There's more of us here—don't start trouble."

Jing Qichi leaned halfway toward Huan'er, whining pitifully, "They're bullying me."

"Alright, alright." Father Du examined his "handiwork" with satisfaction before turning to boast to his wife, "Still got the skills."

"Let me see, Manman!" Huan'er called eagerly.

Du Man turned sideways with a smile, her jet-black hair coiled into a bun at the nape of her neck. Paired with the floral dress she wore today, she looked like a graceful maiden who had stepped right out of an ancient era.

"Wow!" Huan'er exclaimed. "Uncle, you're amazing!"

"Not bad, right?" Father Du, buoyed by the praise, became more talkative. "Back when I drove for the garment factory, all the out-of-season or slightly defective clothes were piled up for workers to pick through. This girl wore nothing but my selections for years—always perfectly coordinated."

"That much is true," Mother Du chuckled. "His only redeeming quality is decent taste."

"Just looking at Auntie proves Uncle has excellent taste," Jing Qichi chimed in.

The Du parents burst into laughter at this.

Noticing Song Cong had remained silent, Du Man nudged the dishes toward him. "Eat up."

"Yes, eat while it's hot," Mother Du prompted. "Young Song, you're not much of a talker, are you?"

"He's shy," Huan'er giggled. "You'll see once you get to know him, Auntie."

"I..." Song Cong stumbled over his words before finally managing, "Auntie, I actually talk quite a bit."

"Both are good," Mother Du smiled warmly at him. "Quiet or lively—both are fine."

Of course he was reserved. To Huan'er and Qi Chi, the elderly couple before them were just their friend's parents—a lovely, warm-hearted middle-aged pair. But to Song Cong... he wondered if they might become something more to him someday.

He didn't know yet, and this time, he didn't intend to overthink it.

He was simply grateful they'd raised such a Du Man—a girl who grew up steadily bathed in love and tenderness. It gave her a certain stubbornness, yet also made her radiate all the kindness she'd absorbed along the way.

Song Cong stole a glance at her. Today, she seemed especially beautiful.

Enjoy the present. Be a little naive.

That's what Du Man always said.