Welcome Home

In the late autumn of the northern city, the wind carried a bone-chilling cold. The heavy iron gate of the prison slowly closed behind Qi Shuo, emitting a dull and resolute thud, as if stamping the final seal on eight years and three months of history.

He is now twenty-six years old. When he came out, he carried the same light luggage bag as when he came in.

The sunlight was a bit blinding, and he squinted instinctively. His gaze habitually fell on the ground in front of him, following the familiar shadow cast by the wall, and he walked forward silently. Each step felt like walking on nothingness. The world was vast, but he didn't know where to go.

"Brother Shuo!"

A clear, slightly hoarse voice, trembling with disbelief, suddenly pierced his otherwise silent eardrums.

Qi Shuo paused, then looked up.

Not far away, a boy stood there, still slightly out of breath from running so fast. He was wearing the orange and white school uniform of Beicheng No. 1 High School, with a black hoodie underneath, and his hair was a little messy from the wind. The boy stared at him, his eyes wide open, tears welling up violently, and his lips trembling.

It's Qin Zhou.

The nine-year-old boy who clung to his leg and cried eight years ago, begging him not to be taken away by the police, has now grown so tall. His features have matured, and he has the handsome features of a young man, but the dependence and eagerness in his eyes have not changed at all.

Qi Shuo's throat moved, but no sound came out. A thousand words were stuck in his chest, finally turning into a barely audible "...Xiao Zhou".

That sound was like flipping a switch. Qin Zhou rushed over and hugged him tightly without hesitation, with astonishing strength, as if she had used all her strength.

"Brother Shuo...you're finally out...Sister Jin asked me to come and take you home...let's go home..." The boy's voice choked with sobs, his words incoherent, and hot tears quickly soaked the shoulder line of Qi Shuo's thin coat.

Qi Shuo's body stiffened for a moment. Eight years had passed, and he was no longer used to such intimate and passionate contact. But the warmth and trembling of the body in his arms were so real, so real that it told him he wasn't dreaming, he was really out, and there really was someone waiting for him to "come home."

He slowly and somewhat clumsily raised his hand and gently patted Qin Zhou's back. The movement was awkward, yet it carried a long-lost tenderness.

"Mmm," he responded, his voice hoarse. "You've grown up."

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, Qi Shuo caught sight of another person standing under a tree not far away.

It was a boy wearing a beige cashmere coat, who looked a little younger than Qin Zhou, about fifteen or sixteen years old. He had very fair skin and delicate features that looked like they had been painted on. Standing against the dusty background, he was so clean that it was almost dazzling. He was looking this way, his hands in his pockets, slightly curled up, his eyes looking at him with a complex mix of emotions, including nervousness, guilt, and a kind of... indescribable sadness.

The moment Qi Shuo's gaze met his, the boy seemed to suddenly lower his eyelashes, his hands clenched tightly in his pockets.

Qi Shuo frowned. He didn't recognize the boy, but the look in his eyes made him feel uncomfortable. He looked away and ignored him.

"Let's go," he whispered to Qin Zhou, who was still clinging to him.

Qin Zhou sniffed, let go of him, wiped her face haphazardly with her sleeve, and revealed a bright smile with tear stains: "Yes, let's go home! Sister Jin made a lot of dishes and is waiting for you!"

He snatched the light duffel bag from Qi Shuo's hand, grabbed his arm, and couldn't wait to take him away from this place.

Qi Shuo let him pull him along and started walking.

Just as they turned to walk toward the white taxi across the street, another tall man in a black trench coat stood in the shadows of a secluded alleyway on the other side of the street.

Xiao Jue leaned against the cold wall, oblivious to the long ash that had accumulated on the cigarette between his fingers. He stared intently at the familiar yet unfamiliar back—thinner than eight years ago, yet still ramrod straight, carrying a sense of profound silence born of hardship.

He watched Qin Zhou rush over and hug him, observing their natural interaction.

It wasn't until Qi Shuo and Qin Zhou got into the taxi that the car slowly started, merged into the traffic, and finally disappeared from sight.

Xiao Jue's tense body suddenly relaxed, and he slid down the wall to the ground. He raised his hand to cover his face, and scalding tears welled up unexpectedly, instantly soaking his palm. The guilt, heartache, and relief that had been suppressed for eight years... all his emotions burst forth at this moment.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out; only his shoulders were trembling violently and silently.

His best brother came out.

But he didn't have the courage to step forward and say "Welcome back."

Because he was holding a heavy secret in his arms, a secret he didn't know how to tell.

Across the street, the refined young man in the beige cashmere coat, Tan Huaiyu, still stood alone, watching the direction the car had disappeared in. The autumn wind blew his soft hair, and he pulled his hand out to tidy it up before slowly lowering it again. His face was expressionless, except for his hand hanging at his side, which was quietly clenched into a fist, his nails digging deep into his palm.

He's back.

He finally met this man, who had lived in the shadow of his father's sins and in his endless guilt since he was eight years old.

But Qi Shuo's world clearly kept him completely out of it.

The autumn wind in the northern city swirled up withered yellow leaves, sweeping across the empty streets, and also across the unknown and painful journeys home that the four people embarked on.

As the car drove away from the high walls and electric fences, the scenery outside the window gradually changed from desolate to more populated. Qin Zhou kept talking non-stop the whole way, excitedly telling Qi Shuo about the changes in Beicheng over the years, which old streets had been demolished, and where new shopping malls had sprung up. His words came out as fast as popping beans, but his hand was tightly gripping Qi Shuo's arm, as if afraid that he would disappear again.

Qi Shuo mostly listened quietly, occasionally letting out a muffled "hmm" in response. His gaze was fixed on the rapidly receding street scene outside the window, everything both familiar and strange. Eight years is enough time for a city to change completely.

The car eventually drove into a somewhat old residential area. Every blade of grass and every tree here instantly awakened the softest part of Qi Shuo's memory. This was Sister Jin's home, the place where he and Qi Shan often felt warmth before he went to prison.

Qin Zhou jumped out of the car first, took out his keys and opened the door. A rich and tempting aroma of food immediately wafted out.

"Sister Jin! We're back!" Qin Zhou shouted, her voice full of joy.

The sound of spatulas clattering came from the kitchen, and a figure wearing a printed apron peeked out. It was Jin Qiuping. Time seemed to have been exceptionally kind to her; nearing forty-five, she still wore exquisite makeup, her short hair dyed a fashionable chestnut brown, and exaggerated geometric earrings adorning her ears. When she saw Qi Shuo, her eyes instantly reddened, but she forced a bright, slightly roguish smile.

"Hey, our handsome guy's back?" She walked up to him, spatula in hand, and gave Qi Shuo a once-over without any politeness, then patted his arm hard. "You've lost weight, but you're also more muscular. Good, you haven't let your mother down!"

This familiar, slightly江湖-style greeting cracked a sliver in Qi Shuo's frozen heart. His Adam's apple bobbed, and he called out softly, "Sister Jin."

"Alright, alright, stop standing here in the way. Xiaozhou, take your brother to his room to put his things away, wash your face, the food will be ready soon! Today I made your favorite sweet and sour pork ribs and corn and pork rib soup!" Sister Jin waved her hand and rushed back to the kitchen, as if the momentary emotion she felt just now was just an illusion.

Qin Zhou pulled Qi Shuo through the living room. The living room was clean and tidy, yet it also reflected Jin Jie's unconventional style—several oddly shaped cushions were thrown on the sofa, the bookshelves were crammed full of books, and a skateboard stood next to them.

"Sister Jin has already prepared a room for you. It's the same room you had before. She's been saving it for you, just waiting for you to come back." Qin Zhou pushed open a door.

The room wasn't large, but it was bright and clean. The sheets and duvet cover were brand new, smelling of sunshine. The desk was empty, and a few freshly washed and ironed clothes hung in the wardrobe. Everything suggested that this place had been waiting for his return. Qi Shuo stood in the center of the room, feeling a sense of unreality.

"Xiao Zhou! Xiao Shuo! Come out for dinner!"

"Here I am!"

At dinner time, the small table was set out in abundance. There were glistening red sweet and sour pork ribs, a creamy white corn and pork rib soup, and several refreshing stir-fries. Sister Jin opened a bottle of baijiu, poured herself a full glass, and then poured a small cup for Qi Shuo.

"Come on, Xiao Shuo, the first cup is to wash away the dust." Sister Jin picked up her wine glass, her expression becoming more serious.

Qi Shuo silently picked up his glass and downed it in one gulp. The spicy liquid burned from his throat all the way to his stomach, yet strangely brought a comforting warmth.

Qin Zhou shoveled rice into her mouth, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Qi Shuo: "Brother Shuo, Sister Jin's cooking skills haven't gotten worse, have they? I've been craving these ribs for so long, and she insisted on waiting for you to come back so we could eat them together!"

Qi Shuo picked up a piece of pork rib; its sweet and sour taste was familiar to him. He nodded and whispered, "Delicious."

The atmosphere at the dinner table was subtly awkward. An eight-year gap loomed large, and everyone carefully avoided certain topics. Sister Jin tried to lighten the mood, starting by recounting amusing anecdotes from school, including how Qin Zhou had been called to the school with his parents for fighting again.

"Don't think you can do whatever you want just because your grades are passable. If I have to go to the academic affairs office to bail you out again, I'll break your legs!" Sister Jin glared at her, her tone fierce, but there was little blame in her eyes.

Qin Zhou scoffed nonchalantly, "How can you blame me? Those bastards were just being cheeky and needed to be taught a lesson." As he spoke, he secretly glanced at Qi Shuo, seemingly trying to find some sense of recognition from his former "big brother."

Qi Shuo didn't say anything, but silently put another piece of greens into Qin Zhou's bowl. This small gesture made Qin Zhou pause for a moment, muttering a few words, "Brother Shuo, you're bullying me too. I clearly don't like greens," but he still obediently lowered his head and ate his rice, and the corners of his mouth couldn't help but turn up.

Sister Jin saw all of this, took a sip of her drink, and sighed with a smile: "Alright, it's good that you're back. There's a long road ahead, we'll take it slow. This family is finally back to normal."

She didn't mention the past, nor did she ask about the hardships in prison. She simply used a table of home-cooked food, a glass of wine, and her rambling complaints to tell Qi Shuo: Welcome home, life goes on.

Qi Shuo lowered his head and drank the warm soup in his bowl. In the rising steam, there seemed to be a very slight softening on his face, which was usually frozen.

The meal was eaten quietly, even in a somewhat awkward silence, but the aroma of the food filling the room, Sister Jin's hearty laughter and playful banter, and Qin Zhou's chattering companionship were like a silent warm current, gradually soothing his heart, which had been barren for eight years.

He could still taste the flavor of home.