Chapter 33

Around nine, Su Huan woke up, suddenly remembered something, picked up her phone from the nightstand, and found not a single WeChat message from Qin Yun—she felt a pang of disappointment.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she gave a faint, bitter smile and gently patted her own face: “Su Huan, wake up—you’re twenty-seven, don’t act like a lovesick fool.”

After a quick wash, she noticed there were no vegetables in the fridge, so she immediately placed an order via Dingdong on her phone.

Less than half an hour later, the doorbell rang. Su Huan opened the door, took the plastic bag from the Dingdong rider, thanked her, and was about to close the door when she spotted a box beside it.

“Whose delivery? Did they mess up?”

After hesitating, she picked up the box and found inside a small silk pouch and a note.

“I’m gone. A little gift for you, Sister Su.”

Su Huan’s heart leapt; she quickly set the groceries down, pulled out the silk pouch, and carefully opened it—there, before her eyes, appeared a pale blue jade rabbit.

It was a plump jade rabbit, its body a smooth, rounded oval with not a single sharp edge. Its tiny ears pressed close to its head, its eyes drawn with minimalist lines, giving it an endearingly innocent look.

The top of the pendant had been deliberately shaped into a curved loop for the cord, paired with a red braided string and a single red carnelian bead—its color scheme was brilliantly vivid.

Instantly, a smile spread across Su Huan’s face. She rushed back to her bedroom and called Qin Yun.

The phone rang twice before being answered.

“Hey, did you like the little gift? Doesn’t look like much carving, but the technique was way more complex—I put a lot of effort into it.”

Qin Yun’s cheerful laugh came through the line, and Su Huan replied happily: “Yeah, I love it. I’m glad you still remember I was born in the Year of the Rabbit.”

“Haha, can’t help it—you were the youngest in the whole class, impossible to forget.”

“Are you on the highway now?”

“I’ve passed the Shaoxing service area. Almost to Yuyao.”

Su Huan stroked the jade rabbit pendant in her hand, a strong impulse rising within her—but over the phone, she held back, simply asking: “When will you come back to Hangzhou?”

“I don’t know.” Qin Yun thought about his plans. “I’ll only come out once I’ve decided what kind of self-media path to take. If I return to Hangzhou, I’ll contact you.”

“Yeah, you must contact me.”

Qin Yun felt something odd about the voice on the other end but didn’t think much of it: “Alright, I’ve got to focus on driving. Talk later.”

“Yeah, bye.”

After hanging up, Su Huan clutched the jade rabbit pendant and collapsed onto her bed.

“Crazy… crazy… I’m totally crazy.”

Around ten-thirty, Qin Yun’s car passed the toll booth and entered the East-West Expressway. He noticed the speed limit here was 90, whereas just moments ago on the latter half of the bridge it had been 80—unfair, since he’d always flown directly to Mount Putuo Airport in past years.

Soon, the car exited the expressway and entered Lincheng. Qin Yun rolled down his window—salt-laced sea breeze rushed in, carrying the familiar fishy odor—Lincheng had several spots where this smell was especially strong.

Turning off Haitian Avenue, the Zhouyu Dormitory buildings came into view.

Not long after, he parked his car beneath his building. Some parking spots had been added—he hadn’t been back in a year and a half, and things had changed.

His mother had mentioned on the phone that the exterior renovation of Zhouyu Dormitory was nearly complete—it no longer looked as rough and shabby as before.

This was an old neighborhood, over twenty years old, originally built to solve housing issues for fishing workers. Qin Yun’s family lived on the second floor—but “second floor” here meant ground level; the bottom was a garage and storage area.

After parking, he looked up—and immediately saw a figure by the kitchen window.

Coincidentally, the figure in the window looked down too—the mother and son locked eyes.

He waved, grabbed the bags from the car, and strode up the stairs.

“Son, I thought you’d stay in Hangzhou a few more days—why are you back today?”

Qin Yun kicked off his shoes and walked in, smiling: “Got everything done. Came back.”

Qin Yun’s mother, Hu Fen, was just over fifty but still looked young, dressed fashionably, keeping up with the times without a trace of being left behind.

“I’ll wash you some fruit. Then come with me to buy seafood—look at you, you’ve lost so much weight.”

Hu Fen didn’t rush to ask about his marriage, fearing it would upset him. But she knew full well he’d been the one to suffer in that marriage—though she’d given her advice at the time, and he’d insisted. Now that he was home, how could a mother add salt to his wounds?

“Okay, Mom. Just wash me some grapes.”

Compared to his bright, renovated home in Beijing, Qin Yun found his mother’s house gave him far greater freedom—no sense of compromise, no forced restraint.

Two women: one only took and demanded; the other gave him everything selflessly.

He recalled his mother’s words back when he got married—now he saw they were the wisdom of experience, piercing straight through. Perhaps his stubbornness these past few years had stemmed from this very thing—unwilling to let her prediction come true too soon.

Qin Yun wandered around the house, watching his mother busily happy, and felt a pang of guilt.

Since his father’s death, mother and son had relied on each other. But after college—even with winter and summer breaks—he spent most of his time in Beijing. After graduation, he stayed there to work, rarely seeing his mother even once a year.

It really was unfilial.

“Mom, I bought you a set of cosmetics. Not a big brand, but all my classmates said it’s great.”

Hu Fen nodded with a beaming smile: “Thank you, son.”

In many families, when children brought gifts home, parents would complain: “Why waste money on this? I don’t need it—I can still use the old one.” But his mother never said such things.

No matter what he bought, she accepted it with high emotional value—delighted, and proud enough to show it off to everyone.

This made Qin Yun deeply admire his mother.

Mother and son sat on the sofa, eating fruit and chatting. Qin Yun recounted every amusing incident from his journey back from Beijing—even his rock climbing.

As expected, when he mentioned it, Hu Fen’s face darkened with worry: “Isn’t that too dangerous?”

Qin Yun reassured her: “Mom, difficulty lies in ignorance. To those who know, it’s not hard. With proper preparation, it’s not that risky.”

What else could he say? He couldn’t tell her the death rate was terrifying—she’d have a heart attack.

Hu Fen nodded and said: “See? You really should’ve studied in a big city. Look at you—not only solid in your major, but you can rock climb, fix cars, even repair musical instruments. In our small town, how could you learn all this?”

Qin Yun laughed helplessly but didn’t correct her—he couldn’t say, “Even if you were on Mars, it wouldn’t help.”

His son’s skills came from a system—not from learning.

Mother and son chatted for nearly an hour before Hu Fen clapped her hands: “Come on, let’s go shopping—it’s already eleven. I wonder if they still have those sesame snails you like.”

The market was just across from Zhouyu Dormitory, in Binhai New City—not far. When they arrived, luck was with them: someone had just brought in a batch of freshly picked sesame snails. They also picked up some swimming crabs and small white shrimp—seafood complete.

In Zhoushan, every meal includes seafood—every household, without exception.

In other cities, that would be unimaginable.

Back home, as his mother bustled about, Qin Yun sat beside her, using pliers to cut open the sesame snails while chatting.

“Mom, is Jiajia taking the college entrance exam next year?”

Jiajia was his aunt’s daughter—close as a child, now just a friend on social media, only meeting during the New Year.

“Yes, Jiajia’s in her final year of high school. Hu Di’s in ninth grade—he’ll take the high school entrance exam next year too.”

Hu Di was his uncle’s son.

As they chatted about relatives and funny stories from his mother’s workplace, a hearty lunch soon appeared.

“How are Grandpa and Grandma? Should we visit them at Hunidao next Saturday?”

Qin Yun looked at the plump crab in his hand, broke off half, and handed it to his mother.

Taking the crab from her son, Hu Fen nodded: “They’re fine—still farm, still play mahjong. But Grandpa and Grandma miss you. They’re busy, and you never have time to call them.”

Qin Yun sucked in a mouthful of rich crab meat and nodded apologetically: “You’re right—I’ve been neglectful.”

These past years in Beijing—work busy, life busy, marriage busy—he’d never paused to reflect. Now he realized how much he’d ignored.

“By the way, didn’t you invite Grandpa and Grandma to live with you? Why didn’t they come?”

“Grandpa refused,” Hu Fen sighed. “Said a short visit’s fine, but long-term? No way. Can’t live forever at your daughter’s house. That old man’s just stubborn.”

Qin Yun laughed: “Then why not alternate? A few days here, a few days there. I’m sure Auntie and Uncle wouldn’t mind.”

“Stubborn. Useless. He’s heartbroken seeing those few mu of land go to waste,” Hu Fen said helplessly. “Says if no one lives in the house, it’ll collapse eventually. I thought—does living in it stop it from collapsing? It’ll fall when it’s meant to.”

Thinking of Grandpa’s stubbornness, Qin Yun burst out laughing.

“By the way, last year Grandpa’s bathroom was bad—said the underground pipes had cracked, so he had to fetch water from the well just to wash his face. Is it fixed now?”

“Fixed. Everyone chipped in a bit, did a full renovation.”

Mother and son chatted idly over lunch, the fan blowing gently—Qin Yun felt more relaxed than ever before.

“Call your uncle later—invite him over for dinner tonight.”

Qin Yun blinked: “Uncle’s back on land?”

His youngest uncle was a sailor, always at sea.

“Didn’t you check the family group? He came ashore yesterday.”

“Alright, I’ll call him later.”

After lunch, while his mother was busy, Qin Yun wandered downstairs to the garage, where their storage shed was.

He opened the shed door, turned on the light, and stared at a motorcycle parked in the corner.

The motorcycle was covered in dust—the last time he’d ridden it was when his father was still alive. That was fifteen years ago.

Back then, he couldn’t fix it. But now, with Vehicle Repair Lv1, repairing a vehicle with no serious damage was effortless.

“Old buddy, wait a few days—I’ll get you running again.”