Volume Chapter 17: Returning Home Alone

She wobbled onto her bicycle, pedaling unsteadily.  

The pale yellow bike radiated warmth and simplicity, and the delicate girl riding it became the street’s most striking sight.  

Yǔkōng High’s location was relatively remote for the era, but it happened to be close to Mò Xuěyáo’s godfather, Yú Liáng’s home.  

Yet Mò Xuěyáo had no intention of visiting. Though school ended early today, classes resumed tomorrow. Besides homework, she needed to brainstorm ideas for the bulletin board…  

Theme: Autumn Ambience?

Her thoughts drifted.  

A golden maple leaf fluttered into her new bike basket, then shattered into pieces as the bicycle jostled.  

As crisp as a potato chip.  

The thought made her stomach rumble. She suddenly… craved chips.  

Many snacks tempted her, but her empty pockets offered no relief.  

After passing several traffic lights, she saw no other students in Yǔkōng uniforms. It felt like her home was the farthest away.  

Riding home alone was familiar.  

In middle school, all her classmates  lived closer to school, so she had ridden her bike alone back then, too.

Mò Xuěyáo pedaled leisurely. Early dismissal meant no rush, allowing her to savor the scenery.  

The roads were quiet. Most people were still at work, hours from clocking out. Those out now seemed like leisurely souls with flexible schedules.  

"Hey, out early today!" A chatty old man greeted her at a red light.  

A Pekingese dog beside him looked fierce yet dopey. Mò Xuěyáo instinctively leaned away.  

"Haha, don’t worry! He doesn’t bite!"  

He should still use a leash…

Mò Xuěyáo eyed the dog warily. A childhood trauma—being surrounded by a pack of dogs in the countryside—left her cautious. Though not petrified, she kept her distance.  

"Ā Bái, come!" The old man called his dog closer, noticing the pretty girl’s unease.  

Mò Xuěyáo offered a grateful smile, willing the light to turn green.  

"Does your school always finish this early?" The old man persisted, his curiosity unquenched.  

"No, just Fridays. We finish early." Mò Xuěyáo explained patiently.  

"Today’s not Friday." The old man counted on his fingers.  

"Ah—right, right! It’s not Friday," Mò Xuěyáo remembered. "It’s after National Day. We followed Friday’s schedule today."  

"Ah, makes sense. My granddaughter should be out soon too."  

"She’s my age?"  

"Yes! You’re in middle school too, right? She just started Grade 7!"  

"I’m in high school…" Mò Xuěyáo nearly sighed. She was used to the city’s elderly striking up conversations.  

But more importantly—  

Do I look that young?

middle schooler ? I’m a high schooler!

The light turned green. Mò Xuěyáo bid farewell and pedaled onward.  

Arriving home, a sheen of sweat covered her. She parked the pale yellow bike downstairs.  

The apartment was empty when she opened the door.  

The floor was messy—evidence of her parents’ rushed departure.  

So Mò Xuěyáo’s first task was sweeping, tidying scattered boxes and slippers, then meticulously mopping the floor. Only then could she start homework in her room.  

It was routine. An untidy home made concentrating impossible.  

Her first day of high school felt surprisingly full.  

And less daunting than expected.  

—Though adjusting to being a girl remained challenging.  

Even for Grade 10, finishing homework took until 6 PM.  

October nights arrived early.  

By six, the sunset was nearly gone, leaving only faint orange streaks in the sky.  

She walked to the living room, flicked on the light, and checked the wall calendar.  

She’d torn off yesterday’s page this morning. Today’s date stared back.  

"Hmm… wait… today is Friday…" Mò Xuěyáo recalled the old man’s mistake. He was wrong, not her.  

Did the day feel so long it confused me?

The clatter of a key interrupted her thoughts.  

Her father arrived first.  

His clothes clung damply, saturated with sweat that had dried and soaked through again. His hair was a disheveled nest.  

"Where’s your mom?"  

"Not back yet."  

"Oh…" Her father shuffled in, using each foot to help remove the other’s shoe. A potent mix of foot odor and sweat followed him.  

"Dad, you smell awful." Mò Xuěyáo waved a hand in front of her nose.  

"Relax, heading straight for the shower."  

"Need hot water?" She pointed to the kitchen. "Boiled two kettles when I got back."  

"Nah, weather’s warm. Cold water’s fine."  

“Isn’t it cold?” she frowned. “Don’t catch a cold, okay?”

"I will be fineq." He ducked into the bathroom, slamming the door—its bottom rotten from damp. Soon, the splash of a rubber hose spraying water echoed inside.  

"Dad! What’s for dinner?" Mò Xuěyáo called through the door.  

"Cook some rice! I’ll handle the dishes later!"  

"Already did! Tell me what to chop?"  

"Save it! With your knife skills? Better I do it. Don’t want you slicing a finger off!"  

"Am I that clumsy!?" Mò Xuěyáo retorted. But her favorite tokusatsu show was on. If he didn’t want help, she wouldn’t insist. Her cooking skills were disastrous.  

Her father emerged from his shower wearing only boxers. Spotting Mò Xuěyáo, he paused, then retreated to the bedroom to pull on a shirt and pajama pants.  

"Dad, you cold?" Mò Xuěyáo asked during a commercial break, eyeing him sideways.  

"Not really."  

"Then why so covered up? You usually go shirtless."  

"Autumn now. Shirtless is chilly."  

Mò Xuěyáo eyed him suspiciously. Even in autumn, he usually only wore a shorts at home,Why the sudden modesty?  

The show returned. She dismissed the thought and focused on the screen.  

Rich aromas soon wafted from the kitchen. Compared to her mother’s lighter, health-conscious dishes, her father’s cooking was bolder and tastier—though less healthy.  

The key rattled in the lock again.  

Her mother arrived, exhaustion etched on her face.  

"Mom, you’re back?"  

"Yeah… home now…" Her mother kicked off her shoes, placing a bag by the wall. "Bought you some shoes on the way. And two pairs of stockings. Hope you like them."  

"St… stockings?" Mò Xuěyáo stared, stunned. "I… I don’t need to wear… those, do I?"  

"Why? Don’t like them?"  

"…Uh… well…" She’d accepted the skirt, but something inside her resisted. Wearing stockings felt like surrendering another piece of her old self—though she couldn’t define what she was clinging to. Perhaps it was a pointless stand.  

"Your school requires skirts. You can’t wear pants, so stockings are necessary. They’ll keep you much warmer this season. When winter comes, I’ll get you fleece-lined leggings."  

Mò Xuěyáo flushed, looking down, her delicate hands fidgeting.  

“They’re comfy, I promise—though I got them at a street stall,” Mom reassured.

I’d rather they weren’t… 

As she struggled for a response, her father’s voice rescued her.  

"Come on, dinner’s ready! Tonight: braised wheat gluten, stir-fried water bamboo with pork! And a loofah soup!"  

He carried out a large bowl of soup.  

Mò Xuěyáo hurried to the kitchen to bring out the other dishes.  

Though the apartment was small and the table cluttered, dinner remained a daily ritual.  

As her father always said—  

No matter how life goes, you need a sense of ceremony!