12: Chapter 12 I Love You, Mom (Part Two)

This sleep was deep and dreamless, a complete blackout.

It wasn't until the afternoon of the next day that piercing sunlight, slipping through a gap in the curtains like golden threads, fell upon his eyelids, jolting Ding Qing awake.

The moment his consciousness returned, the images from the mountain—the brutal struggle, the shadowy figure's indifferent gaze, Zhao Qiang's final, twisted face...

crashed over him like a shattered tide, instantly tensing every muscle in his body.

He sat up abruptly, his gaze sharp as a blade sweeping the room.

The familiar desk, the half-open wardrobe, a few old posters stuck to the wall.

From outside the window came the sounds of children playing downstairs and the faint, distant hum of traffic.

Safe. Home.

His taut nerves slowly relaxed. The surging tide of memories receded, leaving behind the raw reality of having survived a disaster.

He let out a long, heavy breath and raised a hand to rub his throbbing temples.

Just then, the screen of his phone charging on the bedside table lit up.

On the icon for the [Survivors] group chat, a bright red number '1' quietly appeared.

Ding Qing's gaze fell on that tiny red dot, his eyes deep and unreadable.

A new day had begun.

The gloom of the mountain seemed distant, but some things were fundamentally different now.

He picked up the phone, his fingertip hovering over the screen for a moment.

In the end, he did not tap to open it.

Instead, he simply got up and walked towards the living room, now permeated with the aroma of food.

In the kitchen, his mother's busy figure remained as always.

...

In the kitchen, the last wisps of aroma from the meal lingered, and the crisp clatter of dishes had fallen into silence.

Ding Qing silently wiped his hands dry and hung the dishcloth back on its hook.

His mother was bent over, tidying the stovetop. A few strands of grey-white hair slipped from behind her ear, resting against her cheek, which was no longer as firm.

Outside the window, the lingering glow of the sunset dyed the sky a warm, melting orange-red, yet it also silently reminded him that the time for parting had come.

Three days.

The bone-chilling cold and blood-soaked aura of Phoenix Mountain seemed to have been slowly smoothed over and covered by the most ordinary, mundane warmth of these three days.

Ding Qing was not like before.

In the past, once his mother returned, he would be like an unbridled wild horse, eagerly calling up friends to go burn off his energy.

This time, he just followed silently by his mother's side, like a moving, docile mountain.

In the supermarket, he pushed the heavy shopping cart, filled to the brim with daily necessities his mother had meticulously selected.

From bags of rice, flour, oil, and salt, to discounted laundry detergent and toilet paper.

His mother chattered about which brand of soy sauce tasted fresher, complaining about how prices had risen again.

He listened, occasionally uttering an "Mm-hmm."

But his gaze kept drifting unconsciously to his mother's hands, slightly rough from years of hard work.

In the department store, he was pulled by his mother, weaving through various menswear sections.

His mother pinched his arm, frowning.

"You've gotten sturdier again. Your old clothes must be too tight now, right? Let Mom pick a few more for you..."

She stood on tiptoe, stubbornly holding up T-shirts and jackets against him.

Picky about colors and styles, she ultimately always chose the simple, durable ones.

Ding Qing was like an obedient, oversized mannequin, letting his mother arrange him.

The faint rustle of fabric, the warmth of his mother's fingers through the cloth—it all brought an unusual sense of peace to a certain corner of his heart.

At the dining table, his mother cooked his favorite childhood dishes in various ways. Watching him devour the food, she started her usual nagging again.

"You're not a kid anymore. You should seriously find a girlfriend. Don't just spend all your time running wild outside..."

"Look at Old Li's son next door. His child is already in kindergarten..."

Ding Qing buried his head in his bowl, eating and mumbling vague responses.

That nagging voice was no longer the annoying background noise of the past, but the most solid comfort in this moment.

These three days, he was like a drowning man finally grabbing a piece of driftwood, greedily soaking up the most genuine warmth of this ordinary life.

He didn't know why he cherished it so much.

Perhaps it was the all-consuming fog and shadows of Phoenix Mountain that had allowed him to touch the outline of "loss" more clearly than ever before.

And made him understand, for the first time so profoundly,

that the ordinary itself is a miracle one must guard with all one's might.

"Son,"

His mother straightened up, her voice carrying a trace of barely noticeable fatigue, yet she tried to keep it light.

"I've put everything in order for you. There are dumplings I made frozen in the fridge, and some marinated beef. Heat some up if you're hungry."

"The summer quilt is on the top shelf of the wardrobe..."

She went on, chattering away.

From utilities and groceries to every little detail, as if trying to compress all her admonitions for the coming months, even years, into these last few minutes before parting.

Ding Qing stood in the kitchen doorway, his tall frame almost blocking the light, listening in silence.

He could see the lines at the corners of her eyes, deeper in the lamplight. He could see the newly added silver strands at her temples, glaringly bright.

A surge of scalding, indescribable emotion churned violently in his chest.

He wanted to say:

"Mom, don't work too hard"...

Wanted to say: "I can take care of myself out there"...

Wanted to say: "You need to take care of your health too"...

But his throat felt clogged with a red-hot branding iron.

All the crude, tough words he could easily spout on normal days were now impossible to squeeze out.

He was accustomed to facing the world with his fists and a hardened shell.

Only towards this softness born of shared Bloodline was he as clumsy as a newborn infant.

His mother finally finished speaking. She turned, picked up the small purse she'd left on the countertop, and forced a smile onto her face.

"Alright then. Mom has to go. I'll be in trouble if I miss my flight. You take good care of yourself, okay?"

"Mm."

Ding Qing responded in a low voice, his tone somewhat muffled.

He stepped aside to clear the way, watching his mother change her shoes, watching her pull open the door.

The evening breeze, carrying a hint of coolness, rushed in, stirring the loose strands of hair on his mother's forehead.

Just as his mother had half-stepped over the threshold, Ding Qing suddenly drew in a sharp breath.

That breath traveled through his windpipe, carrying the scorching heat from deep within his chest and a kind of resolute courage.

He turned, his gaze fixed directly on his mother's slightly stooped back—a back that seemed a little frail in the dimming light of the hallway.

"Mom."

His mother's steps halted. She turned back, puzzled.

Ding Qing stood in the shadow of the doorway, the living room light casting a long shadow behind him.

His face still wore those hard, expressionless lines.

But his eyes were like a deep pool into which a stone had been thrown, churning with ripples he would never normally reveal.

He looked into his mother's eyes, word by word, his voice low yet exceptionally clear, as if each syllable took immense effort:

"Love you, Mom."

The air seemed to freeze for an instant.

His mother's expression instantly locked in place.

Then, like a lake surface hit by a stone: shock, disbelief, followed swiftly by a huge, almost overflowing warmth that rapidly washed away all other emotions.

Her eyes widened suddenly, quickly welling with moisture. Her lips trembled.

She seemed to want to say something.

But in the end, it just melted into a smile more brilliant and gentle than any before, deeply etched into the corners of her eyes and brows.

In that smile was relief, a touch of heartache.

And a heavy, wordless understanding.

She didn't speak.

She just raised her hand and, with calloused fingertips, quickly, lightly patted Ding Qing's solid arm.

Like a wordless confirmation, a tacit response.

Then, she turned around swiftly.

As if afraid that staying a second longer would cause the tears to break their dam, she only left behind a sentence thick with a choked-up tone:

"Silly child... Mom loves you too! Remember to lock the door!"

The door closed softly, cutting off the light from the hallway and the sight of his mother.

Ding Qing stood where he was, motionless for a long time.

From outside the door came the faint chime of the elevator arriving, then the soft sounds of its doors closing and descending.

In the kitchen, the soup his mother had deliberately simmered for an extra half-hour before leaving was still warming on the stove.

It released a rich, warm aroma, silently spreading.

It enveloped the house, which had suddenly become empty and quiet, and also enveloped the young man standing like a mountain behind the door, his chest churning with a scalding current.

Outside the window, the city's lights flickered on one after another, winding into the distance like silent, flowing rivers of stars.

One of those ribbons of light stretched towards the direction of the airport, eventually disappearing into the deepening dusk.

Ding Qing slowly walked to the window, gazing towards the vanishing point of that ribbon of light.

The cold glass reflected his blurred outline.

On his bronze-colored face, the ferocity he had carried back from Phoenix Mountain seemed to have been completely tempered by the mundane warmth of these three days, settling into a deeper, more restrained power.

Love you, Mom!