Home and the Distance 2

"Come, Momo, have a drink with your dad." Father raised his glass, his face flushed with the red of alcohol, his eyes bright and burning. "I'm not encouraging you to drink, but I'm just too happy today! My son has finally made something of himself!"

Mother shot Father a reproachful glare and gently patted his arm. "The kid's still in school, go easy on the drinking." Even as she said it, she didn't stop him, instead she kept piling food into Chen Mo's bowl—spareribs, prawns, heaped high. "Eat up, nourish your brain, and your body too. Martial arts training takes so much energy. Look at you, you've lost weight these past few months, your cheekbones are sticking out."

Father took a sip of his wine, and the floodgates opened. He was usually a man of few words, working a leisurely job at the neighborhood office with no room for advancement, earning a middling salary. He was the financial pillar of this ordinary family, and the one under the most pressure. But tonight, the wrinkles on his face seemed to smooth out, and his eyes were full of light.

"Back when I was studying, conditions were a lot harder than they are now." He set down his glass, tapping his fingers lightly on the table, lost in memory. "Your grandpa passed away early, so it was just your grandma raising me and your aunt. We didn't even have electric lights back then. I'd study by kerosene lamp at night, the fumes choking me, my eyes burning red. Food was simple too—every meal was pickles with cornbread. A bowl of thin porridge now and then felt like a luxury."

He took another drink, smacked his lips, and fixed his gaze on Chen Mo, a mix of pride, emotion, and a deeply hidden envy in his eyes. "I wanted to go to university too back then, become a cadre, give your grandma a good life, change our family's fate. But I missed the cutoff by three points. Didn't make it. Ended up at the neighborhood office, worked there my whole life."

"Momo, look at the conditions you have now—bright classrooms, professional martial arts teachers, a family that can keep you fed and clothed without worry. And you're willing to work hard, you seized this chance!" Father's voice rose, tinged with excitement. "This martial arts path is great! Our family's been ordinary folks for generations, never produced anyone remarkable. If you can really make a name for yourself in martial arts, get into a top Martial Arts University, land a good job in the future—that would bring glory to our ancestors!"

Mother listened quietly, occasionally refilling their glasses and adding food to their bowls, a gentle, contented smile in her eyes, as if she could already see her son's bright future.

After dinner, Father, a bit tipsy, called Chen Mo to the living room. He walked unsteadily into the bedroom, opened the old wooden wardrobe, rummaged through the bottom drawer for a while, and pulled out a small cloth bundle wrapped tightly in a faded dark blue handkerchief. The edges of the handkerchief were worn, and it had an embroidered plum blossom, its color long since faded.

Father carefully untied the knot on the handkerchief, revealing a red bank card and a stack of cash neatly bound with a rubber band. The crisp bills gave off a faint scent of ink. "Momo, come sit." He pulled Chen Mo onto the couch and pushed the card and cash toward him, his tone utterly solemn. "Inside here, the bank card has eighty thousand yuan, saved up by your mother and me over the years, scrimping and saving. Your mother haggles over every penny when buying groceries, and I quit smoking years ago—all to save some money for you. The cash is twenty thousand, secretly given to me by your grandparents before they passed, told me to keep it for your future studies or marriage. I never touched it, just saved it."

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His rough fingers rubbed the edge of the bank card over and over, the calluses on his fingertips scraping against the smooth plastic, making a faint sound. "Now, this is all for you. Consider it the family's Gaokao Fund for you."

Chen Mo froze, his heart squeezed by a warm hand, aching suddenly, his eyes burning hot. He quickly pushed the items back. "Dad, how can this be? Isn't this all the family's savings? I can't take it. I can figure things out on my own. I can save up slowly for martial arts training supplements..."

"Take it!" Father shoved the card and cash into his hands without argument, his force brooking no refusal. "Don't worry about the family! Your mother and I have our monthly salaries. We'll manage fine if we're careful. Your sister's still young, not many expenses yet. This money is just right for you!"

His voice was low and firm, carrying a father's unique authority. "Martial arts training can't let your body suffer. I hear those rich kids eat things like Qi and Blood Pills, Foundation Cultivation Powder. We can't afford the best, but we can't let you fall too far behind. Buy some good ingredients to nourish yourself—beef, lamb, sea cucumber, things like that. They'll help your training. And if you need to grease some wheels during the Gaokao, or if your scores are good enough and you need funds to pick a school or major, having money in hand keeps you from panicking."

Chen Mo gripped the warm bank card and cash, the heat from his fingertips feeling like it was branding into his bones. He understood what his father left unsaid. This money wasn't just material support; it was his parents' complete trust and hope, the heaviest love they could give. In his past life as an Office Drone, he'd grown used to facing everything alone. His parents' care had mostly been phone calls asking after him, never such unreserved giving. Now, this simple, unadorned support hit him like a hammer, warm and bitter emotions churning in his chest.

"Dad..." His throat tightened, a thousand words finally condensing into that single syllable.

"Don't be sappy!" Father slapped his shoulder hard, his own eyes reddening, but he deliberately put on a stern face. "Take it if I give it! Use it well for the right things. Just pass the exam with flying colors—that's better than anything!"

Just then, Mother walked in from the balcony holding her phone, a lingering smile on her face, but a hint of embarrassment in her eyes. "Oh, I couldn't help it. I called your Aunt Wang (Zhang Shun's mother) and told her about your scores. Aunt Wang was so envious. She said Zhang Shun only ranked in the top five hundred this time. She kept saying how promising you are, that you'll definitely get into a good university." She paused, her voice growing lighter. "Then Aunt Li (the upstairs neighbor) came to borrow some soy sauce and asked about your exams, so I mentioned it in passing... Look at me, running my mouth."

Mother said she was "running her mouth," but the pride on her face was impossible to hide. A son's success was a mother's greatest honor. This simple joy was more moving than any flowery words.

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