Le'an's little mouth moved again, and when she uttered that syllable, Chen Hao's fingers suddenly stopped.

He was gently patting the crib railings, a slow, rhythmic patting, like a metronome to lull the baby to sleep. But after that one "Dad—" came out, his hand froze in mid-air, and he even stopped breathing.

Susan had been leaning on his shoulder, her eyes closed, as if she were about to fall asleep. The moment the sound came, she immediately opened her eyes, her gaze first falling on the child's face, then turning to Chen Hao. Her fingers twitched slightly, resting on his wrist.

Carl remained seated, his laptop closed long ago. He didn't speak, but simply raised his head, staring at the crib, his eyes slightly brighter than usual.

Nana's indicator light, which had been blinking steadily, suddenly slowed down, the frequency decreasing, as if it had entered some kind of standby mode. The projector had long been turned off, leaving only the warm glow of the wall lamp in the room, which softly illuminated everyone's faces.

"This..." Chen Hao finally spoke, his voice a little hoarse, "Is this calling me?"

“The pronunciation is clearly directional,” Carl said in a low voice. “Sound analysis shows that the vowel structure is close to the first syllable of ‘father,’ and the probability of repetition is higher than that of random pronunciation.”

"Can't you speak like a human being?" Chen Hao glared at him, but the corners of his mouth turned up. "He's calling me! Did you hear that? My son is calling me!"

Susan pinched him lightly: "Keep your voice down, don't scare him."

"I'm not excited," Chen Hao said stubbornly. "I just... find this pretty amazing. I used to fail all my exams, and now I'm a father, and my own son calls me that. Can you believe how absurd this is?"

Susan laughed: "Didn't you come back alive? You survived three years on an alien planet, and you can even gnaw on poison ivy. What's a little shout to you?"

“That’s different.” Chen Hao shook his head. “Back then, I was just barely holding on. Now… how should I put it, I feel at ease.”

He looked down at Le'an. The child had already turned over, buried his face in the pillow, loosened his grip on the strip of cloth, and curled up into a ball, like a cat that had just eaten its fill.

“I used to hate writing essays the most,” Chen Hao suddenly said. “The teacher asked us to write about my father. I wrote half a page and handed it in. It said, ‘My dad plays mahjong every day, my mom manages the money, and I’m responsible for eating.’”

Susan chuckled: "So what do you want to write now?"

“I can write three thousand words now,” Chen Hao grinned. “The title will be ‘My dad was the first word my son called out to me.’”

There was a moment of silence in the room, then all three of them burst into laughter at the same time. The laughter was low, but the vibrations felt incredibly real, jolting back and forth in their chests.

Nana suddenly spoke up: "Today's emotional fluctuation test is complete. The keyword 'family' appeared forty-seven times, 'remember' thirty-nine times, and 'thank you' zero times."

Everyone was stunned.

“You didn’t say thank you.” Nana’s voice was still flat, but her tone was softer than usual. “However, the breathing synchronization, the duration of eye contact, and the changes in micro-expressions all match the state of deep emotional resonance. I suggest that this record be archived as ‘Family Memories, Volume Two: Moments of Gratitude’.”

Chen Hao's nose tingled with emotion: "Alright, I'll save it. When Le'an grows up and starts dating, I'll play it for his girlfriend and see who dares to marry into our family."

“You can’t scare people away.” Susan leaned back on his shoulder. “People can tell just by listening to you that you’re the kind of person who acts tough but wouldn’t even swat a mosquito bite.”

“I’m doing this for environmental protection,” Chen Hao argued. “Mosquitoes are living beings too.”

Carl suddenly stood up, walked over, and stuffed the notebook into the inside pocket of his coat. The movement was subtle, but he did it carefully, zipping the coat all the way up and pressing it firmly.

"You didn't remember?" Chen Hao asked.

“No need to write it down today,” Carl said. “I know I won’t forget these things.”

The room fell silent again. No one spoke, but no one wanted to leave.

Susan closed her eyes, her fingers slowly tracing the edge of Chen Hao's sleeve. Her breathing became steady, as if she were about to fall asleep again.

“I used to always think about going back,” she suddenly said softly. “I just wanted to go back to Earth alive, to see if the milk tea shop on the street was still there, and if I could eat a bowl of hot soup noodles again. But now… I’m really back, and I feel that being able to sit here like this, listening to you all talk, and watching Le’an sleep is the best thing.”

Chen Hao nodded: "I used to not even want to do my homework, but now the first thing I do when I wake up every morning is to check if you guys are here."

“You’ve changed,” Susan said.

“You’ve changed too,” Chen Hao laughed. “You used to scream for ten minutes at the sight of a rat, but now you’re the one who rushes up to pry open a poison ivy that scratches your leg.”

“You’re the same.” She opened her eyes. “You’re terrified, but you still insist on calling it a ‘tactical adjustment’.”

"That's not fear," Chen Hao waved his hand. "It's a strategic retreat."

Carl remained seated, not moving. His gaze shifted between Chen Hao and Susan before finally settling on Le An. His eyes didn't seem to be observing or analyzing; he was simply looking at her.

Nana's indicator light flashed, then flashed again, as if responding to some silent rhythm.

“We really…” Chen Hao looked at the crib, his voice growing softer and softer, “have everything most precious to us.”

After he finished speaking, no one responded.

Susan rested her head back on his shoulder, her breathing gradually evening. Carl placed his hands on his knees, his fingertips tapping lightly twice, as if typing a code only he understood.

Nana's system interface automatically popped up a notification: [Emotional archiving complete. Name: Family Memories, Volume Two. Storage path: Family Core Data Area. Access permissions: Open to all members.]

She didn't read it aloud; she simply dimmed the light source.

In his dream, Le'an moved his hand slightly, his little face scrunched up, then relaxed. His mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he just hummed softly, rolled over, and continued sleeping.

Chen Hao slowly raised his hand and touched Susan's hair. Strands of her hair brushed against his palm, tickling him slightly.

"Do you think he'll listen to us talk about planets in the future?" Susan asked with her eyes closed.

“Of course,” Chen Hao said. “I also plan to have him write an essay titled ‘How My Parents Survived on an Alien Planet.’ It’s out of sixty points, and I’m asking him to get at least fifty-eight.”

"The teacher will think he's making it up."

"Then let them look it up." Chen Hao snorted. "Nana's database has it all, photos, videos, location coordinates, I even remember which day it was windy and rainy."

Nana whispered, "On the 203rd day, Susan wrote on the stone slab with a charred stick: 'If anyone finds this stone, please tell Earth that we have survived to this day.'"

The room fell silent.

Chen Hao leaned back on the sofa and sighed, "Those were truly miserable times. We ate strange-tasting roots and drank muddy water, and we had to take turns keeping watch at night. But we actually made it through."

“Because I’m not alone,” Susan said.

“That’s right.” Chen Hao turned to look at her. “If it were before, a lazy fat guy like me would have given up long ago. I wouldn’t even write an extra question on a test, let alone dare to dream of surviving on an alien planet for three years.”

“You’ve changed,” Susan said, looking at him. “You’ve changed so much that I don’t recognize you.”

“You’ve changed too,” Chen Hao laughed. “You used to be afraid of even cockroaches, but now you can break apart poison ivy with your bare hands to save me.”

"Who told you to be so stupid?" Susan glared at him, her eyes shining.

Carl slowly put the pen into his pocket and looked up out the window. The night was dark, and no stars could be seen.

“When I was on my home planet, my mission was to observe and record,” he said. “No intervention, no empathy, no building of bonds. But on this planet, I learned to wait for someone to eat, to laugh along even though I don’t understand the jokes, and to…feel sorry for other people’s pain.”

"Are you still an observer?" Chen Hao asked.

“No,” Carl said. “I’m family.”

Nana's projection gradually faded, the topographic map disappeared, leaving only a soft halo. Her indicator light flashed slowly, as steady as breathing.

“All conversations have been archived,” she said. “Title: Family Memories, Volume One.”

"I'll tell Le'an about it later," Chen Hao said, looking at the crib. "Let him know how miserable his parents were when they were young."

“I suggest adding physiological data for comparison,” Carl said. “For example, the real reason you lost 12 kilograms in the third month was not exercise, but food shortage.”

"Don't bring up my past!" Chen Hao covered his face. "I've worked so hard to maintain this image in his mother's eyes."

Susan chuckled softly, sliding her body down little by little until her head rested back on Chen Hao's shoulder. She closed her eyes, her breathing slowing.

"Tired?" Chen Hao asked.

"A little," she said softly, "but I don't want to miss out."

“Then listen.” Chen Hao held her hand. “There are still many things I haven’t told you. For example, the time Nana caught me stealing food from the reserves and punished me by making me work in the mines for three days; and Karl secretly fixed the radio and played an old song, only to find out he listened to it ten times in a row…”

Nana's screen lit up slightly, and the volume automatically turned down.

Carl didn't argue; he simply placed the notebook on his lap and gently stroked the edge of the cover with his fingers.

Only Chen Hao's low voice remained in the living room as he recounted the sandstorms, hunger, arguments, and embraces on a distant planet. Those days he once thought he wouldn't live to see tomorrow, he now spoke of with a smile.

In her dream, Le'an made a move; her little face scrunched up and then relaxed.

Chen Hao stopped and looked into the bed.

"That kid is sleeping so soundly."

Susan was already asleep, her head resting on his shoulder. Carl sat still, his gaze fixed on the sleeping child's face.

Nana's indicator light flashed once, then flashed again, like a night watchman nodding gently.

Just as Chen Hao was about to continue speaking, he suddenly heard a very soft sound.

Le'an opened her little mouth and uttered a muffled syllable.

Like "ah".

Chen Hao held his breath.

The next second, her little mouth moved again.

This time it's clearer.

"dad--"