The morning light finally crept onto the windowsill, like a thin veil gently covering the floor. Le'an's little feet peeked out from under the blanket, soles facing upwards, trembling slightly with each breath. Chen Hao remained squatting beside the crib, his fingertips held tightly in that soft little hand, too afraid to move.
"He's holding on really tight," Chen Hao said in a low voice, as if afraid of disturbing some kind of miracle.
“The newborn’s grasp reflex,” Carl explained softly, “but it lasts longer than average—he’s been holding you for thirty-seven seconds.”
“Don’t ruin the mood with data.” Susan walked over, squatted down beside him, and gently brushed her fingers across Le’an’s brow. “Look, he’s dreaming about something good; his lips are even moving.”
Chen Hao smiled, his eyes never leaving his son's face. "Do you think he'll remember this day? Remember the first time he grabbed my finger?"
“Memory formation begins in six to eight months,” Carl said. “But it leaves a subconscious imprint of ‘touch’—warmth, stability, and security. These emotions will recur in the future and become the underlying characteristics of one’s personality.”
“That means I will remember,” Chen Hao said, his voice a little hoarse.
Nana's projection quietly lit up, and a line of small text appeared in the corner of the wall: "[Parent-child contact time has reached a critical point. It is recommended to extend interaction to promote the development of the attachment system]."
"You silly girl, you even time your intimacy?" Chen Hao shook his head. "Can you stop using science to suppress human emotions all the time?"
“I’m just offering this as a reference.” Nana’s voice remained steady. “Emotional value cannot be quantified, but I can record it—at this moment, my father’s heart rate has decreased by 12%, his breathing has become more regular, and his cortisol level has decreased. These are physiological signs of relaxation and contentment.”
Susan nestled into Chen Hao's arms, the two of them gazing at the child side by side. Sunlight gradually filled the room, illuminating the cover of Carl's newly closed notebook, where the gold lettering was clearly visible: "The Return Journey Project - Phase One: Construction of the Basic Energy Model".
"Starting today?" Susan asked.
“Let’s start today.” Chen Hao nodded. “Let’s begin with the simplest thing—simplify the geothermal conversion device on this planet into a civilian version. Although it’s low-powered, it can save lives in extremely cold regions.”
“I have retrieved the original design drawings,” Nana said. “It’s 317 pages long, including a bill of materials, stress test reports, and energy output curves.”
“Print it out.” Carl opened his notebook. “Paper copies are better for marking up problem areas.”
"The printer ink cartridge is only 30% full," Nana reminded.
"Then we'll use it sparingly." Chen Hao stood up and stretched. "I'll go check if there's any coffee left in the kitchen. A clear head is more important than anything else."
As Susan watched him walk towards the kitchen, she suddenly whispered, "He's changed."
Carl looked up: "The coefficient of change has increased exponentially since Le'an was born. Behavioral stability has improved, decision-making delays have decreased, and the weight of responsibility has risen to 78.4%."
“I’m not talking about the data,” Susan smiled. “I mean, he’s finally not acting like a deserter anymore.”
Carl paused for a moment, then lowered his head and wrote a new entry on the paper: [Goal confirmed: Rebuild our home, not only for survival, but also for our legacy.]
The low hum of the coffee machine drifted from the kitchen. Chen Hao leaned against the counter, gazing at the rising sun outside the window. The city's silhouette was faintly visible in the morning mist, chimneys, skyscrapers, and railway tracks weaving together into a gray-blue silhouette. This place wasn't beautiful, nor was it wealthy, but it was real, warm, and someone was waiting for him to come home.
When he returned with two cups of coffee, he found that Le'an had opened her eyes.
It wasn't crying or looking lost; it just lay there quietly, its dark eyes darting around as if trying to understand the world.
"Hey, little one." Chen Hao handed Susan the coffee and squatted down. "Good morning."
Le'an opened her little mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, she grinned at him—almost a smile.
“He’s laughing.” Susan held her breath. “It’s the first time he’s laughed so clearly.”
“Facial muscle coordination confirmed to be normal.” Carl quickly flipped through the notebook. “Time: 06:43, ambient temperature 21.3°C, background noise level below 45 decibels, no stimuli. Judgment: Spontaneous social smile.”
"Shut up!" Chen Hao glared at him with a smile. "Let him laugh a little longer!"
Le An grinned again, his gaze fixed on Chen Hao's face, lingering there for a long time.
At that moment, Chen Hao felt the entire universe fall silent. The Martian sandstorms, the spaceship's alarms, the lonely night... all faded into background noise. All he could see was that small face, and that unspoken yet incredibly clear "Dad."
“When you can speak,” he said softly, “the first thing I want to hear you say is ‘I want to eat your cooking’—even though I’m a terrible cook.”
“According to nutritional advice,” Nana interjected, “complementary foods can be introduced after six months. Initially, rice cereal, pumpkin puree, and carrot puree are recommended.”
"You actually kept up with that?" Chen Hao said helplessly. "Can't you just give me five minutes of romance?"
“Romanticism doesn’t affect the accuracy of facts,” Nana said.
Susan laughed, her eyes sparkling. She reached out and took Chen Hao's hand, while gently patting Le'an's leg with her other hand.
Carl closed his pen, placed the notebook on the corner of the table, and got up to go to the balcony. He opened the glass door, and the morning breeze blew in, carrying a hint of coolness and the scent of the distant meadow.
He looked up at the sky.
The clouds were thin, the east was turning white, and a single star had not yet disappeared.
He knew which one it was.
At that very moment, his wrist terminal vibrated.
A message popped up from the underground data center:
[Urgent Notice: A slight energy fluctuation has occurred in Zone 3 of the extraterrestrial sample library, with a frequency matching 89.7% of the signal fragments from the parent star. Immediate verification is recommended.]
Carl's expression didn't change, but he immediately turned around and quickened his pace.
"What's wrong?" Susan noticed something was amiss.
Carl handed over the terminal screen.
Chen Hao took it and frowned. "Isn't this the dormant crystal we brought back? What... is it responding to?"
“Perhaps,” Carl said in a low voice, “it was never truly ‘dormant’.”
The air inside the room seemed to freeze for a moment.
Nana's projection lit up again, her speech a beat faster than usual: [Activate Level 1 monitoring protocol. Isolate the sample's communication channel to prevent information back-infiltration. It is also recommended to establish a shielded enclosure to avoid potential interference.]
“You mean…it’s conscious?” Susan hugged Le’an tighter.
“Uncertain,” Carl said. “But we brought back more than just technology; we brought back things we didn’t understand. The question now is—is it trying to tell us something, or…is it searching for a way back?”
Chen Hao stared at the star that was about to disappear into the morning light and slowly said:
"Perhaps what we thought was our way home was just the beginning."
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