Susan sat on a chair on the balcony, sunlight shining on her face. She didn't move, her hands on her stomach, her eyes closed.

Chen Hao poked his head out from the kitchen: "The water temperature is just right, come and soak your feet."

She opened her eyes and saw him carrying a wooden basin, steaming hot. He was a little out of breath as he walked, and a few drops of water spilled from the basin, leaving wet marks on the floor.

"Did you secretly add ginger slices again?" she asked.

“It’s an old prescription.” He put down the basin, squatted down, and helped her up. “The doctor said it promotes circulation and is good for the baby.”

She slowly stood up and took a few steps, leaning on his shoulder. He didn't say anything, but simply placed his hand behind her lower back, pressing down little by little, as if afraid of breaking something.

She put her feet in the water and exhaled. Chen Hao sat on a small stool, rolled up his sleeves, and began to massage her feet. The movements weren't gentle, but they didn't hurt.

"Did you toss and turn again in the middle of the night last night?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's keeping me awake."

“Very quick-witted.” He smiled. “Just like me.”

"Someone like you would probably stay in bed all the time."

“That’s not necessarily true.” He switched to his other foot. “I get up at six every day now, more punctual than an alarm clock.”

"Nana called you, didn't she?"

"...I guess so."

A noise came from the living room. Carl was standing on tiptoe to reach a glass jar on the cupboard when he swung his arm, knocking half of the empty jar down. The jar fell to the floor and shattered.

"I'm sorry!" He immediately stepped back. "I didn't mean to."

Chen Hao looked up: "It's okay, just stay put."

He got up to get a broom, saying as he went, "You haven't forgotten about the time you spilled the oats, have you?"

“I remember,” Carl said, looking down. “I already had Nana create a ‘kitchen accident log’.”

Nana stood next to the refrigerator, and the blue light flashed: "Entry updated: Twenty-third home operation error, classified as a low-risk and controllable event."

Susan overheard this from the balcony and laughed out loud: "Can you guys stop numbering everything?"

"We need data to do a post-mortem analysis," Carl said earnestly.

Chen Hao returned after sweeping the floor and continued massaging her. His fingers pushed up her calves with even pressure. Susan leaned back in her chair, her eyelids gradually growing heavy.

“Tell me a story,” she said.

Nana took a few steps closer: "Which kind do you want to hear? Popular science, fairy tales, or fictional documentaries?"

"Whatever, as long as it's not too boring."

Nana paused for a second, her voice softening: "On the edge of the Milky Way, there's a planet where babies don't like to cry, they only like to laugh. When they laugh, the whole city lights up."

Why?

“Because their laughter can generate electricity,” Nana continued. “Parents don’t sing to their children at night; they tell corny jokes.”

Chen Hao interjected, "No wonder you're so eloquent now."

“Once, Dad said, ‘Do you know why the stars are never late?’” Nana paused, “because they all have ‘stellar clocks’.”

The room was silent for a second.

Then Susan burst out laughing, her shoulders shaking: "What a joke!"

“The evaluation shows that 37 percent of people accept puns,” Nana said. “I did my best.”

"That's robotic humor," Chen Hao shook his head. "Thumbs down."

“But I laughed.” Susan wiped her eyes. “One more.”

"The next story involves quantum parenting theory, which may be more difficult to understand."

"Stop." Chen Hao raised his hand. "Our family isn't at the point of researching quantum mechanics yet."

After noon, Carl went into the kitchen. He said he was going to cook a nutritious porridge, and this time he was determined to succeed.

Chen Hao leaned against the doorframe and asked, "Are you sure you can tell the difference between salt and sugar?"

“It’s written on the label,” Carl said, pointing to the spice jar. “And Nana will remind you.”

"Then you can begin."

The pan was heated, and Carl poured in the oil. A little oil splattered, and he jumped back half a step, hurriedly putting the lid on the pan.

"Calm down," Chen Hao said. "It's not going to chase you."

After putting the rice in the pot, he stared at the timer, glancing at it every thirty seconds. When the water boiled, he added oats with trembling hands, spilling them all over the stove.

"Sigh." He stood there, looking at the powder on the ground. "Another failure."

"It's not bad that you managed to do it on your first try." Chen Hao walked over and patted him on the shoulder. "Come on, I'll teach you how to shave it clean."

Susan sat at the dining table: "Use less oatmeal and more millet; it's easier to digest."

“Got it.” Carl took out his tablet and started writing. “Next improvement: control the pouring angle and use a funnel as an aid.”

Nana stood to the side and said, "I suggest adding non-slip gloves and measuring spoons to reduce operational errors."

“You guys are really…” Susan shook her head with a smile, “…treating me like an experimental project.”

“We are optimizing our processes,” Carl said seriously.

The porridge was finally cooked, though it was a bit mushy, but still edible. The four of them sat down around the table, each with a bowl.

Chen Hao took a bite: "Hmm, it has a burnt taste, that's a plus."

"I think it's alright," Susan said after taking a couple of bites. "At least it wasn't spilled."

“Significant progress.” Nana nodded. “The completion rate this time is 62%, exceeding the historical average.”

Carl grinned.

At three o'clock in the afternoon, the sunlight moved to the center of the living room. Susan lay on the sofa, her legs draped over a cushion. Chen Hao sat on the carpet, continuing to massage her ankles.

"Do you think he'll become a picky eater in the future?" she suddenly asked.

“I’ll definitely pick the best,” Chen Hao said. “Look at me now, I don’t eat cilantro, I don’t eat bitter melon, and I even choose sweet ketchup.”

"Then you need to educate them in advance."

“I’ve already started.” He leaned closer to her belly. “Did you hear me? From now on, you’re not allowed to leave any food on your plate, or Daddy won’t tell you a bedtime story.”

There was a slight movement inside.

"They responded!" He looked up. "That kid is sensible."

Nana came over: "The fetal movement frequency is stable, currently the seventh perceptible movement per day."

"One more time than yesterday," Susan said, touching her belly. "Is it growing faster?"

“The data supports this hypothesis,” Nana said. “The uterine environment continues to improve, and the efficiency of nutrient absorption is enhanced.”

"Looks like my cooking wasn't a waste of time," Chen Hao said with a smug smile.

In the evening, Carl tried frying fish. This time he wore an apron and non-slip gloves.

"The oil temperature can't be too high," he muttered to himself. "180 degrees is ideal."

The pot started smoking, and he froze.

"Turn off the heat!" Chen Hao rushed in. "Turn off the heat right now!"

Carl frantically tried to turn the valve. The spatula fell into the pot with a clatter.

"Never mind." Chen Hao picked up the pot lid as a shield. "I'll order takeout tonight."

“I don’t want to eat out,” Susan called from the living room.

"Then let's steam the eggs." He wiped his sweat. "That's the safest way."

The steamed egg was done, smooth and without any air pockets. Susan ate most of the bowl and said she wanted some soup.

Chen Hao rummaged through the refrigerator, found a block of tofu and some kelp, cut them up a few times, and threw them into the pot. Five minutes later, he took them out and sprinkled some chopped green onions on top.

"What kind of soup is this?" she asked.

"A simple home-style soup," he said. "It has no name."

"It tastes pretty good."

“From now on, it’ll be called ‘Nameless Soup’,” Carl wrote in his notebook.

After dinner, Nana dimmed the lights. Music flowed from a small speaker in the corner, a slow and steady rhythm simulating a heartbeat.

Susan didn't want to go back to the bedroom, saying it was more comfortable lying down. Chen Hao brought a blanket to cover her and sat down at her feet to continue massaging her.

Carl brought over a glass of warm almond milk and gently placed it on the coffee table.

All four people were in the living room. No one spoke. The wind rustled the leaves outside the window.

After a while, Susan said, "It's so quiet today."

“Yes,” Chen Hao replied, “unlike the past few days, when I was running to the hospital all the time.”

"Now I feel at ease."

"Mmm." He looked down at her feet. "I'll massage you again tomorrow, for as long as you want."

Nana stood in front of the charging dock, the blue light flashing slowly. She didn't speak or move.

Carl lay on the carpet, flipping through his notebook. He wrote page after page, all filled with "improvement plans."

It was nine o'clock, and Chen Hao helped Susan up. She walked slowly, so he followed beside her, supporting her back with one hand.

Before entering the bedroom, she glanced back at the living room.

Only one lamp was left on, illuminating the empty sofa and the spread-out blanket. Cups were arranged in a circle on the coffee table, as if a meeting had just ended.

"Do you want to soak your feet again tomorrow?" she asked.

“Of course,” he said, “I soak in it every day.”

She smiled, went inside and lay down. He pulled the covers up, turned off the light, and went out.

In the living room, Carl was still tidying up the table. Nana went over and helped him fold the rag.

"Everyone's in a good mood today," he said.

“Monitoring data shows that everyone’s heart rate is in the relaxation range,” Nana said. “Especially you, your anxiety index has dropped by 41 percent.”

"real?"

"Data doesn't lie."

He hung up the rag and stretched.

"Then I'm going to sleep too."

He turned and walked quietly towards the room.

Nana returned to the charging dock and sat down. The blue light continued to flash faintly, like breathing.

The wind outside has stopped.

Inside, a small damp stain remained on the carpet, left from when the oatmeal was spilled that afternoon.