Chapter 267 Seeing Their True Colors

"Li An, have some soup. Mom has been stewing it all afternoon, and it's still warm."

Dark circles under her eyes, like rice paper heavily stained with ink, revealed an inescapable weariness. She clearly hadn't slept well, tossing and turning all night, her dreams filled with the silent back of her son.

"Li An, would you like some soup?"

She sat on the edge of the bed, her movements so gentle as if afraid of disturbing something. She scooped up a spoonful of warm soup and slowly brought it to his lips, her fingertips trembling slightly. "Mom simmered it for a long time, for a full four hours, without daring to be careless at all."

Fu Lian turned her head away, burying her face in the pillow, her voice so low it was almost inaudible: "I don't want to drink."

Qiao Wanyin's hand froze in mid-air, and the soup in the porcelain spoon swayed slightly, almost spilling out.

Her throat bobbed, and her voice lowered even further, like a spring breeze brushing against withered leaves, carrying a cautious plea: "Just one sip, okay? Just one sip, alright? If you drink it, Mom will feel more at ease."

Her eyes were full of expectation, her gaze like a candle flame dampened by rain, burning weakly yet stubbornly, reflecting a mother's almost humble plea.

He couldn't bring himself to refuse. Even though his heart was in turmoil, he could only force himself to open his mouth and let the spoonful of soup slide into his lips, taking only half a sip.

The soup was incredibly fragrant, with the ginseng flavor blending perfectly with the rich chicken broth, slowly melting on the tongue – a specialty of Song Yazhi.

In the past, whenever Fu Li'an returned from training, his whole body would be frozen stiff, and this bowl of soup would always warm him from the soles of his feet to his heart.

Back then, he would always say with a smile, "Grandma's soup is better than ginseng fruit."

He could drink three large bowls in one go, scraping the bottom of the bowls until they were shiny.

How does it taste?

Qiao Wanyin asked softly, a glimmer of hope hidden in her eyes. As if afraid of giving an irrelevant answer, she added, "Mom went all day to three supply and marketing cooperatives before finally getting this old ginseng from that old warehouse in the West District. They said it's at least thirty years old and very precious."

Fu Li'an didn't look at her, his gaze blankly fixed on the gray horizon outside the window. He simply nodded mechanically, then shook his head, his tone as flat as if he were stating the weather: "It doesn't smell."

Qiao Wanyin's eyes instantly reddened, as if an invisible thread had suddenly tightened around her heart, her nose stung, and her vision blurred abruptly.

She bit her lower lip hard to keep the sobs from escaping her lips.

She gently placed the bowl on the bedside table; the ceramic made a very soft sound as it touched the wooden board.

Then she reached out and grasped Fu Lian'an's hand. His hand was thinner, and his palm was cool. His once calloused fingers now lay quietly in her palm.

She gripped it tightly, as if trying to awaken something with her own warmth. "Li An, what's wrong with you? Don't hide it from me, tell Mom the truth, okay? Seeing you like this, Mom's heart is breaking."

He turned his head and continued to stare at the ceiling, where a small crack ran, like a scar that had never healed.

"I just...feel bored."

He spoke very softly, as softly as the wind blowing through fallen leaves.

These words were like a needle, thin and cold, piercing Qiao Wanyin's heart without any resistance, causing her a sharp pain.

The Fu Lian she remembered was always full of energy, walking with a brisk pace and speaking with a smile.

Even when standing guard at a post in the midst of wind and snow, in the freezing night of minus thirty degrees Celsius, with his hands and feet numb from the cold, he could still stomp his feet to warm them up while humming a silly little tune, making his comrades laugh out loud and amusing the entire snow-covered mountain.

But now, the man lying paralyzed on the bed, with unfocused eyes and unwilling to say much, was so unfamiliar that it made her panic. It was as if the person lying there was not her son, but an empty shell from which her soul had been taken.

"So... what do you want to do?"

She bit her lip, trying to hold back her tears, her voice already trembling slightly, "Shall we go for a walk? Go to the river to sunbathe? Or... invite Lao Zhou and the others over for a visit? Don't you always say that Lao Zhou's jokes are the funniest?"

Fu Lian didn't respond, but silently turned over, leaving her with his back like a cold wall, separating everyone who tried to get close.

"I'm going to take a nap."

After he finished speaking, he fell silent.

Qiao Wanyin sat by the bed for a long time, so long that the sunlight outside the window quietly shifted westward, casting long shadows on the floor.

My knees went numb from being up for so long, and my legs felt as heavy as if they were filled with lead.

Finally, she quietly got up, held her breath, and tiptoed out of the room, not daring to let the door close even slightly.

In the kitchen, steam filled the air as Song Yazhi bent over kneading dough, the dough making soft popping sounds under her palms.

Hearing footsteps, she immediately turned around, not even having time to take off her apron: "Did you drink it? How many sips did you have?"

"I only took a small sip."

Qiao Wanyin slumped on the stool, as if all her strength had been drained, her voice hoarse like sandpaper rubbing against wood, "Mom, he used to love drinking your ginseng soup the most. He would always rush to drink it, afraid that someone else would get it first."

Song Yazhi wiped her hands on her apron, then slowly sat down opposite her. Her face was deeply lined with wrinkles, each one etched with the marks of time and worry.

"Wanyin, Mom has been thinking about this for many days..."

She paused, her voice heavy as if pressed with a stone, "The reason Li An is like this is most likely because of what happened between us."

"That child has always been soft-hearted."

Song Yazhi's voice trembled slightly, each word seeming to be squeezed from the depths of her heart, carrying a long-suppressed pain. "When he was little, his dog died. It just lay quietly in the haystack in the backyard and never woke up again. He held that dog for a whole month, refusing to eat or drink, not touching a single bite of food, and not uttering a single word. He sat by the window all day, staring blankly out the window, as if his soul had been ripped away. I knew then that this child was too soft-hearted, so soft that he could be hurt like that by a dog... And now? Watching us, mother and daughter-in-law, arguing and hurting each other over those old grievances, he stands in the middle, torn and unable to utter a single word. Can you imagine how much pain he must be in? Like being cut by a knife."

Qiao Wanyin finally raised her head and looked at her mother-in-law seriously.

After not seeing her for a few days, Song Yazhi seemed to have been thoroughly crushed by time and regret, as if she had suddenly aged ten years.

Her once jet-black temples were now completely white, each strand starkly standing out among the gray and white intertwined hair; the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes were deep and dense, as if carved stroke by stroke with a dull knife, each line bearing the marks of exhaustion and self-reproach; her eyes were terribly red, bloodshot, and so dry that she could barely blink, as if she hadn't had a proper night's sleep in a long time, and even her tears had been dried up.

"I……"

Qiao Wanyin opened her mouth, but her throat felt like it was blocked by a wad of wet cotton, and the sound was stuck in her chest, unable to come out.

She wanted to say something, but her lips moved and she only managed to utter a whisper.

"Mom is sorry."

Song Yazhi suddenly reached out and grabbed her wrist. Her fingertips were icy cold, almost devoid of warmth, as if they had just been pulled out of cold water. "I was blind before, easily swayed, and biased."