On the way home, the evening breeze carried March's lingering chill across Chen Mo's cheeks, but his heart raced even faster than the beat of a spring drum. It wasn't from the exhaustion of days spent preparing for exams. Two very different emotions churned inside his chest: the sense of achievement brought by the numbers on his first mock exam results, blazing like the rising sun, and the nervousness of facing his family after being away, which clung to his heart like the cool morning mist and made his steps feel heavier.
692 points, ranked 245th in the school. The number circled endlessly in his mind, like a bluebird that had broken free of its cage and was ready to take flight. He clearly remembered what he'd been like just a few months ago: barely scraping by in Cultural Class, while his Martial Arts scores languished at the bottom of the class. His classmates had privately called him "a double failure, useless at both book learning and martial arts." Now he'd scored 368 in Cultural Class and 324 in Martial Arts, lifting his total into the upper-middle ranks of the school. This wasn't merely a leap in his scores; a path toward a bright future was slowly unfolding beneath his feet. He could clearly see the way forward: shore up his weak points in math and English, and break through his current bottleneck in Martial Arts. But for now, those plans took a back seat. What mattered most to him was the look on his parents' faces when they saw his results.
The motion-activated lights in the stairwell came on one after another as he climbed. The familiar security door was just ahead. Before he could even raise his hand to knock, the rich aroma of food rushed out to greet him, several times more enticing than usual. It was the sweet, savory scent of Braised Pork Ribs mingling with the briny freshness of Oil-Braised Prawns—the smell of home. He turned the handle and pushed the door open. From the kitchen came the crisp clatter of a spatula against a pan. His mother, Chen Yaqin, was busy at the stove, a few glistening specks of oil dotting her blue cotton apron. Sweat had dampened the wisps of hair at her forehead, sticking them to her smooth skin. His father, Chen Guoqiang, who usually spent this time sprawled on the sofa scrolling through his phone, was sitting upright at the dining table with an old newspaper that had long since gone out of date in his hands. His eyes kept darting toward the door, and he'd unconsciously crumpled the corners of the paper.
"Dad, Mom, I'm home." Chen Mo set down his heavy backpack. The marks its straps had left on his shoulders hadn't faded yet. His voice was a little louder than usual, betraying his nerves.
"Hey, Momo's home!" His mother immediately poked her head out of the kitchen, smile lines blooming at the corners of her eyes. She still had a spatula streaked with sauce in her hand. "Go wash your hands. I made your favorite Braised Pork Ribs and Oil-Braised Prawns, just for you. They've been stewing for two hours—the bones are practically falling apart!"
"How'd you do?" His father put down the newspaper and pushed his reading glasses up his nose. He tried to keep his voice calm, but his slight lean forward, clenched fists, and intent gaze gave away how anxious he was.
Chen Mo took a deep breath, and the pounding in his chest gradually settled. He unzipped his backpack and pulled a neatly folded copy of his results from an inner pocket. He'd gone to a print shop to make it specially; the original had to be submitted to his homeroom teacher for filing. He handed the paper over, his voice clear and firm. "The first mock exam results are out. I got 692 in total, ranked 245th in the school. 368 in Cultural Class and 324 in Martial Arts."
His father reached out with his rough hand and lightly brushed his fingertips over the cool paper, as though feeling its weight. He slowly unfolded it, beginning with the school's name and Chen Mo's, then scanned down every line, taking his time and reading carefully. He even silently recited the score for each subject. His mother quickly wiped her hands and hurried over to his side. They stood shoulder to shoulder at the table, their heads close together, eyes fixed on the thin sheet of paper.
The living room fell silent. The only sound was the pressure cooker hissing in the kitchen, as if providing a soundtrack to the tense moment. Chen Mo stood still, able to hear his heartbeat clearly. One second, two, three... His father studied the paper for a full three minutes. So long that Chen Mo's palms grew damp with sweat, and he began to wonder if he'd explained himself poorly or if his parents weren't satisfied with the results.
At last, his father looked up. He took off his reading glasses and gently rubbed the space between his eyebrows with his fingertips. Chen Mo noticed the fine lines at the corners of his father's eyes trembling slightly, as if some emotion had stirred him.
"Good." The word came out of his father's throat, his voice tinged with a faint rasp. He raised the results again and examined them under the ceiling light, as if he needed to make sure the numbers on the paper weren't an illusion. "Good!" This time his voice was much louder. The tension in his face suddenly eased, and a radiant smile spread across it, deep crow's-feet gathering at the corners of his eyes—lines woven from relief and pride. "I knew my boy wasn't a loser!"
His mother was already beaming, though her eyes had grown faintly red. She hurried over to Chen Mo and gave his arm a firm smack. The force made him flinch, but then she seemed to decide it wasn't enough to express her excitement and pulled him into a tight embrace. Her arms were warm and solid, carrying the scent of food and soap. Her voice trembled with joy. "What a good boy! Such a good boy! I knew you could do it! For the past few months, you've been getting up before dawn every day to practice your stances and studying until eleven or twelve at night. Your desk lamp stayed on so late that I worried myself sick and couldn't sleep... But now I see it was all worth it! Every bit of it!"
The bedroom door creaked open a crack, and Sister Chen Qing's little head poked out. Her hair was tied in a neat ponytail, and she peered out curiously. When she heard her brother had ranked in the two hundreds at school, she deliberately pursed her lips and muttered, "Not bad, I guess. You improved a little from last time." But Chen Mo caught the surprise in her eyes, along with a trace of envy she couldn't quite hide. She quickly ducked back inside. Before long, she tiptoed out again with a bottle of chilled cola and shoved it into his hand. Her voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. "This is your reward. Don't get too cocky. You still have to improve next time." Condensation from the bottle dampened Chen Mo's palm, bringing a refreshing chill.
Since he'd gained the original owner's memories, dinner had never felt as relaxed and cheerful as it did that night. The table was filled with dishes: Braised Pork Ribs, their sauce a glossy red; Oil-Braised Prawns, golden and tempting; stir-fried vegetables; and a bowl of warm Mushroom Soup. His father uncharacteristically took a bottle of baijiu from the cupboard. It was an affordable bottle from a local distillery, its label faded around the edges. He poured himself a full little cup, then picked up the glass in front of Chen Mo and poured him a shallow measure as a gesture. The liquor was clear and carried a faint grainy fragrance.
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