Chapter 566: with translation of chapter title

It was 6:20 p. m.

Qiu Ce Yuan's medical office finished seeing patients.

Chu Che turned off the computer, filed the examination sheets on the desk by number, and put the stethoscope back in the drawer.

After doing that, he took off his Doctor's Lab Coat, removed his name tag, and changed into a gray coat and black trousers.

The clothes had no brand labels and were quite ordinary in price.

He kept his gold‑rimmed glasses.

That was the memory cue he left for others.

Without these glasses, he would actually attract more attention.

Sai Men sat on the medicine cabinet, his Eyeball Staff laid horizontally across his legs.

"Where are you headed?"

"Going home to eat."

Sai Men tilted his head.

"Which home?"

Chu Che straightened his cuffs.

"Where my father lives."

"How odd."

Sai Men tapped the cabinet door with his staff.

"Even a god has to go home and face the elders' interrogation? Are you busy at work, do you have a partner, is your salary enough? Finally, they'll set you up with a nice girl."

"The Federation just passed a special management law."

Chu Che raised his hand and pushed his glasses up.

"You'd better not keep creating anomalies at Qiu Ce Yuan."

"Understood; during the parents' meeting, outsiders should leave."

The Gray Mist shrank into the corner of the wall.

Before disappearing, Sai Men poked out half of his mask.

"If possible, pack some food for me to take away."

Chu Che did not respond.

He left Qiu Ce Yuan, bought a Fruit Basket and two boxes of health supplements at a nearby supermarket.

After scanning the code, the cashier looked up at him several times.

"Sir, today you get one free when you buy two of this health supplement."

"Thanks, two boxes are enough."

"You're sending it to your elders?"

"My father."

"Then take another box—it's free."

Chu Che paused for two seconds.

From a business standpoint, refusing would yield no benefit.

He went back to the shelf and got a third box.

The cashier was satisfied.

"That's more like it. Elderly folks like to save; they say they don't need anything, but they'll surely be happy to receive it."

After paying, Chu Che left holding a plastic bag printed with the supermarket's promotional ad.

This outfit was sufficiently ordinary.

Doctor, single, busy with work, hadn't been home in a while, so he stopped at the supermarket to buy a gift to make up for his father.

Complete, reasonable, needs no embellishment.

The evening rush‑hour subway was packed with people.

Chu Che stood in the middle of the carriage, right hand holding the Fruit Basket, left hand gripping the handrail.

Two Qiu Ce Yuan students beside him were scrolling through videos.

In the video, the Iron‑Masked Spirit‑Defender of Nangang was being led into a detention center.

"Comments say he's giving the fraudsters a basic lesson on spirit defense while inside."

"Is that true?"

"Fake. Made up, it got a hundred thousand likes."

"It's professionally on point, I guess."

The two laughed for a long while.

One of the students looked up and recognized Chu Che.

"Dr. Chu?"

Chu Che turned around.

"Does your wrist still hurt?"

The student hastily put his phone away.

"Much better. Are you heading home?"

"Mm."

"Buying things for the family?"

"Haven't been back in a long while."

The students were somewhat surprised.

Dr. Chu in the infirmary was always patient, remembering each wounded person's medication situation and also when they needed a follow‑up check.

A person like that should have a good relationship with their family.

But Chu Che turned back after speaking, showing no desire to continue the conversation.

The train car arrived at the station, and passengers moved toward the doors.

Chu Che got off with the crowd.

Seen from behind, he was merely one of countless home‑goers.

It was 6:40 p. m.

Jiang Hai City East District residential area.

Chu Che went up to the fourth floor and paused a few seconds in front of the door.

The door paint had peeled off, and years of scratches lingered beside the lock core.

He pressed the doorbell.

From inside came the sound of slippers scraping the floor.

The door opened.

Chu Jianguo wore a sweater, and his hair was even thinner than the last time they met.

Father and son locked eyes.

The old man first rubbed his hands on his trouser leg, then took the fruit basket.

"Just coming back is enough; why buy all this?"

"On the way."

"Hurry inside, the dishes are ready."

Chu Che stepped over the threshold.

The shoe cabinet still held the old sneakers he had worn in college.

The uppers were yellowed, but the laces had been washed clean.

Chu Jianguo could never bring himself to throw them away.

Six dishes were laid out on the dining table.

Braised pork ribs, steamed sea bass, stir‑fried greens, tomato‑egg stir‑fry, and two plates of cold dishes.

All were dishes Chu Che used to love.

"Sit."

Chu Jianguo pulled out a chair, then hurried to the kitchen to bring the soup.

"I stewed the ribs a bit longer; I'm old and my memory's bad, I almost boiled them dry."

Chu Che looked at the dishes on the table.

His father wasn't good at lying.

The water marks on the edge of the casserole pot were still wet, showing the soup had just been refilled.

These details meant nothing, yet he absorbed them completely.

Chu Jianguo brought out a bottle of liquor.

"Want a drink?"

"I'm not on duty tomorrow, so I can drink."

"Good, good."

The old man twisted off the cap, filled his son's glass completely, then poured himself half a glass.

His hand had been steady.

But as he poured to the rim, a few drops spilled.

Chu Che pulled out a tissue and wiped the tabletop clean.

"Dad, please sit."

Chu Jianguo sat opposite, placing both hands on his knees.

"Have you been busy lately?"

"Not too bad."

"The news always says Qiu Ce Yuan is dangerous. As the school doctor, you shouldn't have to go to the front line, right?"

"I only occasionally treat injured trainees."

"That's still dangerous."

"There are safety measures in place."

"Oh, as long as there are safeguards, that's fine."

The conversation stopped there.

Chu Jianguo picked up a piece of spare rib and put it in his son's bowl.

Only after doing so did he realize his son was already thirty, no longer the child who waited at home after school for a meal.

His chopsticks hovered in midair; pulling them back also felt inappropriate.

Chu Che lowered his head and ate the spare rib.

"The taste is good."

Chu Jianguo's shoulders relaxed a little.

"It's your mother's method."

When his wife was mentioned, the old man lifted his wine cup and drank most of it.

The TV was airing news about the registration of the Spirit Wardens.

Jiang Yuan stood in the registration hall, queuing in the ordinary line.

The host said, this is the starting point of the new order.

Chu Jianguo watched for a while, then picked up the remote and turned off the TV.

"Not watching these today."

"Okay."

"Let's talk, just you and me."

Chu Che waited for him to speak.

The old man prepared this meal not just to see his son.

The dishes, the wine, the turned-off TV—each had a clear purpose.

Chu Jianguo took another drink.

"How many years has it been since your mother left?"

"Six years and four months."

The old man looked at him.

"You remember too clearly."

"Medical and death records must not be wrong."

"She is not a case."

Chu Jianguo's hand pressed on the wine cup.

"She is your mother."

Chu Che did not rebut.

A family photo of three hung on the wall.

The photo was taken the year Chu Che got into medical school.

Mother sat in the middle, Chu Jianguo wore an old shirt, his palm resting on his son's shoulder.

The three were close together.

Now, father and son are separated by a dining table; even picking up a dish requires first considering whether it's appropriate.

Chu Jianguo lowered his head.

"That heart matter..."

Chu Che's motion of picking up his chopsticks stopped.

"Connections, approvals, expert consultations—all the procedures were complete. That wealthy merchant lay in for two hours, and your mother was removed from the list."

The old man said this, his throat moving several times.

Chu Jianguo lifted the wine cup, its rim touching his teeth.

"You still have to go perform surgery on him."

"My son, with his own hands, saved the person who stole his mother's heart."

"Dad, you've had too much to drink."

"I haven't had much."

Chu Jianguo set the cup down.

Chu Che lifted his gaze to his father.

The old man's eye sockets reddened, his lips trembling uncontrollably.

"From childhood you had to be the best at everything—first in exams, first in surgery; while others took one night shift, you could take three."

"After your mother left, you didn't even cry."

"Son, a person can't live like this."

Chu Jianguo, across the table, gripped his wrist.

His palm was rough, warm.

"Let it go."

"Not to let you forgive them."

"But to let yourself off."

"Stop punishing yourself with extremes and perfection. Your mother didn't ask you to save the world; she just wanted you to eat well, sleep well, and find someone to share life with."

Chu Che lowered his head to look at that hand.

Aged.

The father needed an answer.

An answer that conforms to common sense, one that could put the old man at ease.

He could say, 'good.'

That word is cheap enough.

Speak it out, and tonight's contradiction will end.

But Chu Che did not choose it.

Pretense is not unconditional acquiescence.

He raised his hand and pushed his gold-rimmed glasses.

"You have misunderstood."

Chu Jianguo's hand still held him.

"I have not punished myself."

Chu Che spoke gently, each word very clear.

"I am merely carrying out the goal of healing this world."

Chu Jianguo lifted his head.

Before him was still that familiar face.

His brows and eyes were gentle, his collar neat, even the fish bones on the dinner table placed by size along the edge of the plate.

But the old man suddenly dared not hold his hand again.

Chu Che watched his father loosen his fingers, without trying to stop him.

"Mom died of heart failure."

"But what deprived her of treatment was not the illness."

"Then what should I heal?"

Chu Jianguo opened his mouth.

Chu Che refilled his cup with hot water.

"Dad, the dishes have gotten cold."

9:17 p. m.

Chu Che left the residential building.

Chu Jianguo stood by the fourth-floor window, without turning on the light.

The old man watched his son walk out of the residential complex, still clutching that family photo.

He had originally planned to bring his son back from six years ago.

The meal was ready.

The wine had been drunk.

The words had been spoken.

But the person who left through the door was now farther from him.

Pedestrians on the street had already dwindled.

Chu Che walked past the streetlamp, gray mist seeping out from beside the wall.

Sai Men appeared, leaning on the eyeball staff.

He gave a low chuckle twice, following behind him.

"\"I\"."

"Now even your own father can't tell what monster lurks beneath this skin of yours."

Chu Che did not turn back.

Sai Men turned the staff, the living eye at its tip fixed on Chu Che.

"Poor old man. He is still waiting for his son to come home. But the real son is long gone."

Chu Che retained a polite warmth at the corner of his lips.

"\"A shepherd needs no feelings belonging to the flock. \""

"\"It was so before, and it will be so after. \""

He stopped at the street corner.

"\"But one day, others will need to think otherwise. \""