Chapter 208 Chen Xueming's Vulnerability

Chen Xueming stood at the entrance of his home, his hand hovering over the doorknob, yet he hesitated to push it down.

This was his first time returning home in three years.

Three years ago, when he left, his father stood at the door to see him off, saying, "Work hard, don't keep worrying about home." Back then, his father's back was straight, his voice was full of energy, and although his hair had turned white, he was still high-spirited.

Three years later, his father lay in the hospital, so thin he was unrecognizable.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The room was just as it used to be—the old sofa, the coffee table with peeling paint, and the wall clock was still that old-fashioned quartz one, ticking away. His mother was sitting on the sofa cleaning vegetables. Hearing the door, she looked up.

"Xueming?"

Chen Xueming walked in and called out, "Mom."

His mother stood up, the vegetables in her hands falling to the floor. She rushed over and hugged him tightly, tears streaming down.

"You're back, it's good that you're back..."

Chen Xueming held his mother, feeling her thin shoulders trembling slightly. He patted her back, his voice a bit hoarse:

"Mom, it's okay, I'm back."

His mother cried for a while, then let go of him and wiped her tears:

"Quickly, go wash your face and change your clothes. Your dad is in the hospital; we'll go see him in a bit."

Chen Xueming nodded and walked into his room.

The room was still the same as it was three years ago. His high school textbooks were laid out on the desk, and that yellowing world map was still stuck to the wall. The bedsheets and duvet covers were freshly changed, smelling of sunlight.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at the map.

On the map, he had circled several places with a red pen—Beijing, Shanghai, Shenzhen—all places he had once wanted to go. Later, he went to Beijing, got his doctorate, entered a research institute, and after that went to the Gobi Desert and Guangdong.

He had gone to all those circled places.

But his hometown, the place where he grew up, he hadn't returned to for three years.

He lowered his head and covered his face with both hands.

At three in the afternoon, Chen Xueming and his mother went to the hospital together.

The ward was on the fifth floor, and the corridor was filled with the smell of disinfectant. Chen Xueming followed behind his mother, walking toward that door step by step.

The door was pushed open.

On the hospital bed lay a gaunt old man.

Chen Xueming was stunned.

Was that his father?

In his memory, his father had always been the one with a straight back and a brisk walk. Having done farm work all his life, he could still work the fields in his seventies. Every time they spoke on the phone, his father would say, "My health is great, don't worry."

But now, lying there was an old man who was skin and bones. His cheekbones protruded high, his eye sockets were deep, and his face was sallow. An IV needle was stuck in his hand, and the skin on the back of his hand was as loose as a thin sheet of paper.

"Old man," his mother walked over and said softly, "Xueming is back."

His father's eyes slowly opened.

He saw Chen Xueming and was stunned for a moment.

Then his eyes turned red.

"Xueming..." His father's voice was raspy, so weak it seemed like it could be blown away by a gust of wind.

Chen Xueming walked to the bedside and took his father's hand.

That hand, which had once been so powerful, able to carry a hundred catties of grain, lift him over his head, and pat his shoulder while saying, "Son, work hard."

Now, that hand was so thin it was just bone; holding it in his hand, it felt as light as a leaf.

"Dad." Chen Xueming called out, but no sound came out, stuck in his throat.

His father looked at him, looking for a long time.

Then he smiled, a very light smile, but there was light in his eyes:

"You've lost weight. Is the food not good over there?"

Chen Xueming shook his head. "It's good, very good."

His father nodded and looked at him again. "You've tanned quite a bit. Is the sun strong in Guangdong?"

"Yeah, it's strong."

His father's hand moved, gripping his hand in return:

"It's good that you're back. Dad is fine, it's just an old ailment. I'll be better after resting for a few days."

Chen Xueming wanted to say something, but his throat felt as if it were blocked by something, and he couldn't utter a single word.

His father looked at him, his gaze full of paternal love:

"Son, you are doing great things for the country, Dad knows."

Chen Xueming's eyes grew hot.

His father continued, "They showed that... Artificial Sun thing of yours on TV. I watched it. I didn't understand it, but I knew it was your work. Everyone in the village says the Chen family has produced a talented man."

He gripped Chen Xueming's hand a little harder:

"Dad is proud."

Chen Xueming could no longer hold it in.

He lowered his head, and tears burst from his eyes.

His mother quietly stepped out of the ward and closed the door.

Chen Xueming kept his head down, his shoulders shaking violently. He gritted his teeth, not letting himself make a sound, but his tears were like a river breaking through a dam, unstoppable.

It had been thirty-seven years.

He had never cried in front of his parents. He didn't cry when he fell as a child, didn't cry when he was hit at school, and didn't cry when he faced setbacks at work. He felt he was a man, and men shouldn't cry.

But now, he cried.

Crying like a child.

His father didn't speak; he just held his hand and patted it gently.

That gaunt hand, stroke after stroke, just like when he used to coax him to sleep as a child.

After a long time, Chen Xueming finally calmed down.

He looked up, his eyes red and swollen, his face covered in tear stains.

His father looked at him and smiled:

"Finished crying?"

Chen Xueming nodded, his voice hoarse. "Yeah."

His father patted his hand. "It's good to cry it out. You're a man, but when it's time to cry, you have to cry. Bottling it up isn't good."

Chen Xueming couldn't help but laugh, and tears welled up again.

He haphazardly wiped his face with the back of his hand:

"Dad, I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"Sorry for... not coming back sooner."

His father shook his head. "Silly child. You have your business. Dad has his illness. Your big affairs are more important than Dad's illness."

Chen Xueming shook his head. "No, that's not—"

"Let Dad finish." His father interrupted him. "I've lived for over seventy years and seen a lot. I've seen people starve to death, seen the struggle sessions, seen the Reform and Opening Up, and seen you kids become successful. For me, this life has been worth it."

He looked at Chen Xueming, his gaze full of pride:

"I don't understand what you're doing now. But I know it's a big deal. It's a big deal that makes the country stronger. Go do it, do it well. Dad is here, with your mother accompanying me; I'm fine."

Chen Xueming opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but again, he couldn't.

His father patted his hand:

"Alright, stop crying. Go wash your face. The nurse will be coming for rounds in a bit; if she sees you like this, she'll think I've been bullying you."

Chen Xueming laughed, stood up, and walked out of the ward.

The restroom was at the end of the corridor.

Chen Xueming pushed the door open, walked in, and stood before the sink.

In the mirror was a wretched face—eyes red and swollen, face covered in tear stains, and hair messy.

He turned on the faucet, cupped some cold water, and splashed it on his face.

He splashed once, twice, three times.

Then he looked up and stared at himself in the mirror.

Thirty-seven years old.

A doctoral graduate, project leader, and a core member of the national Nuclear Fusion project.

Just now, in front of his father, he had cried like a child.

But strangely, he didn't feel ashamed.

Instead, there was a strange sense of relief in his heart.

He thought of what his father had said:

"When it's time to cry, you have to cry. Bottling it up isn't good."

Yes, after bottling it up for thirty-seven years, he had finally cried it out.

Standing in front of the mirror, he looked at himself and suddenly smiled.

As he smiled, tears began to flow again.

But this time, he didn't wipe them away.

Just let them flow.

When he returned to the ward, his father had already fallen asleep.

His mother was sitting by the bed; seeing him come in, she stood up:

"Hungry? I'll go buy some food."

Chen Xueming shook his head. "I'm not hungry. Mom, you sit; I'll stay with him for a while."

His mother nodded and sat back down.

Chen Xueming pulled over a chair and sat next to his mother.

Three people—one asleep, two awake—all in quiet peace.

After a long time, his mother suddenly said:

"Xueming, your dad actually always wanted you to come back."

Chen Xueming looked at her.

His mother continued, "Every time we spoke on the phone, he would ask, 'When is Xueming coming back?' I'd say you were busy, and he'd say being busy is good, it means you're successful. But I know he missed you."

She paused, her voice slightly choked up:

"With this illness, he originally didn't want me to tell you. He said not to delay your work. I made the call secretly. Don't blame your mother."

Chen Xueming shook his head. "Mom, I don't blame you. I should have come back sooner."

His mother took his hand:

"Xueming, Mom knows you're doing great things. But your dad is getting old, and his health is getting worse. In the future, could you come back to visit more often?"

Chen Xueming looked at his mother's graying hair and the deep wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, his heart aching.

"Mom, I promise you. I'll come back every year from now on."

His mother smiled, looking very happy:

"Good, good."

That evening, Chen Xueming stayed and talked with his father.

His father's spirits had improved a bit; he asked about things in Guangdong, when that power station would be finished, and if the people there were good to him.

Chen Xueming answered them one by one.

As they talked, his father suddenly asked:

"That Lin Mo, the 'Old Lin' you often talk about, is he good to you?"

Chen Xueming was stunned for a moment, then nodded. "Yes."

"In what way?"

Chen Xueming thought for a moment and said:

"When I first went there, I had a bad temper and didn't get along with anyone. He was the one who kept tolerating me and gave me opportunities to do great things. My coming back this time was also because he forced me to. He said that family is the most important."

His father nodded. "This person is a good man."

Chen Xueming said, "He is."

His father looked at him, with some complex emotions in his gaze:

"Xueming, you used to be a bit stubborn. You're much better now."

Chen Xueming was stunned. "Am I?"

His father nodded. "Yes. Before, when you called, every other sentence was about 'me'. Now when you call, you say 'we'. You mention 'Old Lin', 'Xiaoer', and 'Brother Zhao'. You have a team now."

Chen Xueming fell silent.

He had never thought about these things.

But his father was right.

Before, he only had himself.

Now, he had them.

It was late at night, and his father had fallen asleep.

Chen Xueming sat by the bedside, looking at his gaunt face.

The moonlight shone through the window, casting a silver-white glow on the floor.

He remembered the scene from three years ago when he went to the Gobi Desert alone. Back then, he felt the whole world owed him. Later, he realized that he was the one who owed the whole world.

Now, those he owed the most were his parents.

But they never asked him to repay them.

They simply said:

"You are doing great things for the country, Dad is proud."

Chen Xueming lowered his head and gently held his father's hand.

That hand was very thin and very light.

But it was very warm.

He said in his heart:

Dad, I won't let you down.