Always Home

The moment Chen Huan'er saw her parents at the airport, tears welled up uncontrollably in her eyes.

Before they could notice, she hid behind the bustling crowd and quietly wiped away those unworthy tears.

Just before boarding, Huan'er had received the news—the co-authored paper, the only tangible achievement during her time abroad, had Mark and that Indian boy listed as co-first authors, while she was unceremoniously pushed aside.

There had been no warning. Initially, Mark had proposed the idea, with her and the Indian boy leading a team of graduate students to complete it. But the Indian boy soon withdrew from the project due to academic conflicts, barely finishing the introductory section. The later experiments, arguments, and most of the writing had all been done by Huan'er. It wasn’t that she was naive or easily taken advantage of—she simply never imagined that the facts right before her eyes could be so blatantly twisted.

The injustice gnawed at her. From takeoff to layover to landing, those dozen hours were consumed by this single grievance. It was like a bucket of cold water dousing the fire in her heart. Over and over, Chen Huan'er asked herself: Was it because of the paper’s decent impact factor? Because of the prestigious first-author title that could boost her career? Because of all those sleepless nights crunching data, enduring stomach pain until dawn? No. Her grievance ran far deeper than that. That fire was what she had devoted herself to, what she had pursued with unparalleled devotion—the academic path she had willingly toiled over for years. Her dream had been trampled upon.

That pure land had been sullied by the garish distortions of others.

That was why Huan'er cried.

Her parents hugged her and said, "You must be exhausted. You’re finally home." They didn’t understand how she felt, and she didn’t want them to know. She forced back her tears and told them, "I missed you so much."

This homeland, this harbor, this embrace—I truly missed you all.

On the weekend Jing Qichi returned, Jing's Mother arranged a gathering.

It was held at home, with old friends reunited. The only unfamiliar face was Lao Liu, who had brought half a seafood market’s worth of goods.

Lobster, crab, mantis shrimp, scallops, mandarin fish—Lao Liu explained somewhat awkwardly, "I heard the mother and son both love seafood. I just got back from a business trip and didn’t have time to prepare anything else."

He omitted the subject—Jing Qichi’s love for seafood was likely something Jing's Mother had mentioned, while her own preference was no doubt gleaned from long observation.

Song Ba dragged Huan'er’s father into the kitchen. "Today, you all relax. Chen Lei and I will show off our skills."

"Senior, don’t embarrass yourself," Chen Ma teased. "If you ruin such fine ingredients, we’ll flip the table on the spot."

"Lao Song’s cooking is decent now—he’s graduated," Song Ma chimed in with a laugh. "Besides, didn’t Chen Lei learn a thing or two from the army kitchen? It can’t be that bad."

"All he did was ‘learn.’ Zero practical experience," Chen Ma scoffed.

"Qian Li Na, spare me some dignity!" Chen Ba protested from the kitchen.

"He’s riled up," Jing's Mother laughed before asking, "Are you sure you don’t need help?"

"Nope," the kitchen duo answered in unison.

In the living room, the parents bantered and joked, but Jing Qichi’s room was oddly quiet. Song Cong leaned against the bookshelf with his arms crossed, Huan'er sat cross-legged on the bed, and the guest of honor was on a work call."Tomorrow, have Engineer Xu and Xiao Qiao work overtime to check the situation on-site first. I suspect it's a compatibility issue. If they can't resolve it, gather all the problems and report them on Monday. Also, have the product team prepare a sanitized version of the user manual. Doctors don’t have hours to spare for training sessions lasting three or four hours each." Jing Qichi spoke into the phone, facing the window. "I'll be back Sunday night. Call me anytime if there’s an issue."

Huan'er and Song Cong exchanged a glance, understanding passing silently between them.

They had certainly seen Jing Qichi at work before, but their impression still lingered on his early days in the job, when he was swamped with tasks and followed orders without question. Now, the capable soldier had become a formidable leader—from his expression to his tone. Had it not been for this unexpected work call, they wouldn’t have realized how naturally he had grown into his current role.

"Alright, that’s it for now." Jing Qichi hung up and turned around at the same time.

The presence of the two before him seemed to abruptly pull him back to reality. He paused, lowering the phone. "Where were we?"

Song Cong raised an eyebrow at the phone. "Something urgent?"

"Our imaging platform isn’t running smoothly at a hospital. I’ll have two colleagues go debug it tomorrow. Shouldn’t be a big issue." Jing Qichi brushed it off before steering the conversation back. "What were you two telling me to pay attention to?"

"To mind your manners," Huan'er continued the interrupted topic. "Uncle Liu is formally visiting for the first time, and it’s all to meet you. Don’t give him the cold shoulder."

Since Lao Liu arrived, Jing Qichi had only greeted him once before retreating to his room. Though they knew he was uncomfortable and uneasy, some reminders had to be voiced plainly.

Behind the closed door, only the three of them remained—and between them, there was never any need for hesitation.

"I wasn’t giving him the cold shoulder," Jing Qichi muttered irritably, turning his head away. "I just... didn’t know what to say."

What was there to say? In the long years ahead, that stranger outside the door might become his stepfather.

"Aunt Lin will overthink it if you act like this," Song Cong stepped forward, patting his friend’s shoulder, half-teasing and half-serious. "You sounded plenty assertive on that call just now. Bring out that mature, professional side of yourself first."

"It’s not the same thing."

Unsure how to persuade him, Song Cong shot Huan'er a pleading look.

"Here’s an idea," Huan'er hopped off the bed, slipping her feet into slippers before shuffling over to Jing Qichi. "Treat it like evaluating a potential partner—fair, just, and transparent. If he passes, great. If there’s room for improvement, point it out. He came with sincerity; we can’t just shut him down outright."

Jing Qichi had been tense, but at this, he cracked a smile. "How did this turn into you swinging a bat at him?"

Huan'er ruffled his hair. "Little comrade, think about whether this makes sense first." With that, she opened the door. "I’ll go check on my dad. Old Chen might get so excited he ends up boiling himself."

The moment she left, Song Cong quickly shut the door again.

Jing Qichi looked puzzled.

"Huan'er hasn’t told you yet," Song Cong frowned slightly. "About her thesis."

By the time Lao Liu left, his steps were already unsteady—paired with Song Ba and Chen Ba, two heavy drinkers, it was no surprise he ended up drunk on his first visit.

In the minds of middle-aged men, drinking often symbolized goodwill. Drink up, loosen up, and say everything that needs to be said. In a way, it was a vessel for exchanging truth and sincerity.Lao Liu had good drinking manners—no crying, no fussing. Even as he got into the taxi, he was still smiling and waving, saying, "Next time, come to my place. I’ll make sure you have enough."

The only unexpected moment of the dinner was—Jing Qichi also got drunk. No one noticed until Lao Liu left, when he inexplicably collapsed onto the dining table.

Song Cong carried him back to his room and then said to Huan'er, who had followed, "I’ll head out first. Keep an eye on him."

Song Ba was also flushed red today, eager to get home to take care of his mother, who had difficulty walking.

Huan'er draped a blanket over Jing Qichi, then drew the curtains and closed the door.

Just as she was about to clear the table, her mother called. "Aunt Lin took Lao Liu back. He really couldn’t manage on his own in that state. I’ll settle your dad and then go pick her up."

Huan'er agreed, teasing, "Such sisterly devotion."

"At the table, Qi Chi didn’t drink a single toast with Lao Liu. How do you think your Aunt Lin felt?" Chen Ma sighed softly. "Having someone by your side means you don’t have to swallow all the bitterness alone."

Only then did Huan'er understand her mother’s intention. She murmured in defense of Jing Qichi, "It’s their first meeting. He can’t be expected to act like they’re long-lost brothers. Qi Chi wasn’t resistant—he just didn’t know how to act. For him, it’s not something that can be resolved over one meal."

"Wow, quite the eloquent defense. I don’t usually see you this talkative." Chen Ma chuckled, then added, "You have your person to care for, and I have my friends. Let’s not argue, mother and daughter."

Huan'er grasped her mother’s meaning but couldn’t help retorting out of habit, "I’m just stating facts!"

"Enough," Chen Ma cut her off, suddenly asking, "Did Qi Chi really drink too much?"

"Really?" Huan'er caught the keyword but didn’t immediately grasp the implication.

"He and your dad could down half a kilo of liquor between them. Today, how much was it? Three bottles of beer?" Chen Ma left it at that. "I’m going to pick her up now. Bye."

The summer days were long, and occasional cicada chirps drifted in through the window.

Huan'er glanced at the closed door, hesitating briefly before deciding against action. She cleared the table, covering leftovers with cling film and storing them in the fridge, then tossed the dishes into the sink and ran water to soak them. Only then did she fetch a glass of water and head to his room.

She didn’t knock—she knew he must be awake.

Her mother’s words had enlightened her. Jing Qichi’s feigned drunkenness was just a clumsy escape—he couldn’t bring himself to see Lao Liu off with concern, yet he feared appearing indifferent and hurting Jing's Mother. His blatant "drunkenness" was merely a temporary solution.

The open door let in light from the living room, and Huan'er used that faint glow to see him clearly.

He lay sprawled on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, blinking only occasionally.

"Want some water?" Huan'er asked.

Jing Qichi sat up dazedly, took the glass from her, and drained it in one go.

"I’ll get more." As Huan'er turned, he grabbed her wrist and shook his head. "No need."

She tried to move, but his grip tightened. Sighing, she said, "I’m not leaving. Just putting the glass down."

Only then did he release her, watching as she placed the empty glass on the desk and sat back down beside him.

"Quite the actor," Huan'er said, smoothing his hair away from his forehead with a smile. "You even fooled me and Song Cong.""My head is a bit dizzy indeed." Jing Qichi held her hand against his cheek, rubbing it vigorously like a child throwing a tantrum.

Huan'er rested her chin on his raised knee, tilting her head to ask, "What are you thinking about?"

"Thinking about my dad. Wondering if things would be different now if I had given up on soccer back then and focused solely on academics." Jing Qichi shook his head self-deprecatingly. "Just a bunch of pointless what-ifs."

"Alright." Huan'er lifted the corners of his mouth with two fingers, speaking softly, "Smile for me, Engineer Jing."

"Me?" Jing Qichi raised his head, exhaling deeply in the dimly lit space. "I always seem to mess things up somehow, don’t know why everything ends in chaos." After a long silence, he pulled her hand back and kissed her palm. "When I was in London, I went to your school to see Mark once. Your thesis... Lao Song told me everything. It’s my fault."

Huan'er was genuinely surprised. "You went to see Mark?"

Jing Qichi scratched his head in frustration. "Told him I was your fiancé, that you were being treated unfairly, that... well, nothing good came out of it."

"Seriously?"

"I wish it weren’t true."

Huan'er tilted her head, half-smiling. "I mean, the fiancé part—seriously?"

"Huh?"

"A son-in-law married into the family is like spilled water—no taking it back." Huan'er pinched his chin with satisfaction. "From now on, we’ll be on the same household register."

Jing Qichi froze.

"Say yes."

"Yes... Wait, how did I end up being the one marrying into your family?"

"My Chen family is a scholarly household with cars and property. Aren’t you lucky to be taken in?" Huan'er glared at him. "Your ancestors must’ve struck gold for you to meet me."

Jing Qichi burst out laughing—this girl’s train of thought was more convoluted than a protein’s quaternary structure.

He lowered his head, playing with her fingers like a guilty child. "So... you don’t blame me for the thesis thing?"

"It was never your fault to begin with." Huan'er paused briefly. "Whether you went or not, Mark had already made his decision. And I wasn’t the kind of student he’d praise in hindsight. Qi Chi, I was angry about it. The day I got back, I called Lao Ding and said I wanted to report it—I had evidence, I wasn’t afraid to take him down. Do you know what Lao Ding said?"

Jing Qichi frowned. "Told you to endure it?"

"Yeah, he told me to endure it." Huan'er nodded. "Lao Ding said making a scene wouldn’t do me any good. He didn’t want me to lose faith because of these dirty tricks. He said academic work is also about fate—the fate between people and the unknown. Seeds have to weather storms before they can bloom. These past couple of days, I’ve come to realize that research is vast. A big field will always have pests; a vast sky will have rain in the west while the sun rises in the east. Nothing grand is ever a blank slate. The only thing I can do is to make my research solid. Whether it takes years, decades, or even longer, time will prove my choices weren’t wrong."

Huan'er had rarely spoken with such fervor before. It felt surreal, yet in this quiet summer night, in front of Jing Qichi, everything suddenly seemed to have tangible momentum. Her ideals, her ambitions, her unstoppable hopes for the future—Jing Qichi’s presence anchored her like a force, urging her forward. Even if she faltered, he’d be there to catch her.

That was the kind of strength he was."Huan'er," Jing Qichi gazed at her intently, for a long, long time—so long that she was almost about to ask "what's wrong"—before he finally spoke in a hoarse voice—

"Marry me."