Volume One: Youths Meet in Their Humble Days Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Farewell Between Mother and Son

After leaving the ferry, Xu Kaijiang, as always, went in search of work. Life had to go on, no matter how difficult; as long as he kept moving forward, perhaps a turning point lay ahead. A turning point—sometimes an opportunity, sometimes a crisis.

After a day of toil, Xu Kaijiang finally finished all his tasks. Exhausted, he walked home, and from afar, saw smoke curling from his chimney. At first, he thought his house was on fire, but then realized the smoke was drifting from the chimney.

In that instant, his eyes blurred. The bloodshot lines that had spoken of his day’s hardships now traced the contours of his excitement. He could not recall how long it had been since smoke last rose from his own chimney. He had never known before, but after losing it, he realized those ordinary things were a rare happiness.

Ordinary is true, and a blessing.

He sprinted home, bursting through the door. Inside, the woman who should have been confined to bed was bustling in the kitchen, ladle turning in her hand as the pot released waves of enticing aroma.

Seeing Xu Kaijiang return, the woman smiled, “Go wash your hands quickly. Dinner is nearly ready.”

He ignored her words, dazedly approaching, and when he saw she was not a figment of his imagination, he could not hold back. He threw himself into his mother’s arms, tears streaming down his face. “Mother, you’re awake at last. You’re all right now.”

His mother stroked his head, saying gently, “Silly child, you’ve suffered so much these years.”

Xu Kaijiang replied, “As long as you’re safe, I fear no hardship.”

Madam Xu steadied him, seeing his tear-streaked face, feeling both pain and amusement. She wiped his tears with her sleeve, saying, “Alright, you’re grown now. Still sobbing like this—do you want to ask me for sweets like you did as a child?”

Xu Kaijiang laughed, “I don’t eat sweets anymore. From now on, I’ll save them for you.”

Madam Xu gazed at her child. Though she had lain in bed these years, her mind was often lucid. At first, when she fell ill, she could still struggle up to care for him, but later, her determination could not overcome her weakness.

When she collapsed, she feared Xu Kaijiang would not survive. Yet, reality proved that when faced with desperation, one’s greatest potential can emerge. That strength helped him accomplish what he once thought impossible, and carried him through despair and adversity.

Xu Kaijiang had grown much since her illness; his features now bore a resemblance to his late father, marked by a resolute, tenacious spirit. She looked at her son with pride and sorrow, though outwardly, she maintained her composure.

That meal at the Xu house was the best Xu Kaijiang had eaten in years. Though it could not compare to those when his father was alive, being able to taste his mother’s cooking again, to eat with her—even wild greens brought him satisfaction and joy.

Perhaps happiness was just this simple—a house to shelter from the wind and rain, someone waiting with a meal, two people sharing food under a dim light. Only later did Xu Kaijiang realize this was the life he had always desired.

After dinner, Madam Xu sent him to bed. But Xu Kaijiang was reluctant to sleep, fearing that everything was a dream, and that upon waking, his mother would still be bedridden, the home devoid of warmth, fragrant meals, and the happiness he felt now.

Seeing this, Madam Xu comforted him, “Alright, alright, I’ll stay with you. I’ll mend your clothes while I’m here. Look at yourself, going out for work, not even noticing your clothes are torn. If you can’t care for yourself, how can I rest easy?”

Xu Kaijiang, eager, replied in his old mischievous way, “Then you can just mend them for me from now on. I’ll work outside, and soon I’ll be able to give you a good life.”

Madam Xu smiled with deep contentment. “Alright, I remember. I believe my Xiaojiang will make something of himself someday.”

She sat by his bed, singing gentle lullabies as she had when he was a child, soothing him to sleep. Xu Kaijiang, fatigued from the day, felt all his burdens lift with her song. His eyelids grew heavy, and before he knew it, he was asleep—with a happy smile on his lips.

Madam Xu watched him, as if engraving his face into her heart. The young man before her now bore the responsibility of a grown man, able to weather storms, but in her heart, he would always be the child who once cried in her arms.

She tidied up for him, took out his clothes, mended every tear, and prepared breakfast for the next day. When all was done, she sat down, took the family's precious paper and pen, and wrote out everything she wished to entrust to Xu Kaijiang. As she wrote, tears streamed uncontrollably.

She had considered whether those three young men she met that day had ulterior motives, but whatever their intentions, one thing was true: if she did not die, Xu Kaijiang would never leave for Tianmen Town with anyone. For the sake of his future, she was willing to give her life.

When she finished writing, dawn had broken. Her strength waned; she made her way to her room, took the hairpin and earrings her husband had made for her, arranged her hair, changed into clean clothes, and lay down to await the moment.

Time moved forward, neither hurried nor slow, her consciousness fading. Scenes from her life passed by—good and bad—until what remained was the memory of the three of them, a family, sitting together after Xu Kaijiang’s birth, sharing a meal in happiness.

It was when Xu Kaijiang was one month old, her first experience as a mother, when she finally found meaning in her life.

Suddenly, a breeze outside extinguished the flickering flame.

That night was the best sleep Xu Kaijiang ever had. Before sleeping, he had planned to find Li Yu the next day—to thank him, and ask him to examine his mother again, for peace of mind.

Upon waking, he did not see his mother, and hurried to her room. The door was ajar, which struck him as odd, but he thought little of it. He knocked, but got no reply; unease surged within him, and he rushed inside.

He saw his mother lying on the bed—not covered, but dressed neatly. The ominous thought grew stronger. He stepped forward and gently called, “Mother, it’s morning. Time to get up.”

No response.

Xu Kaijiang sank to the floor by her bed, smiling through bloodshot eyes. He asked, blurred by tears, “Mother, what would you like for breakfast? I’ll make it for you.”

Still no answer.

“Mother, are you angry? Angry that I slept so early last night, so you slept in today?”

No response.

“Mother, did you dream of Father? I dreamed of him last night. He said you should take good care of me. Do you want to know how he’s doing? If you do, please wake up, alright?”

After speaking, he could no longer hold back, and he collapsed by the bed, wailing.

It turns out the greatest despair is not the absence of hope, but hope vanishing in an instant, leaving only cold hopelessness.