The knock came precisely when Jian finally started studying.
Or at least pretending convincingly.
His pencil had remained on the same question for almost five minutes.
Wei was beginning to suspect fraud.
The door opened.
Jian's mother looked inside.
Immediately understanding the situation.
One student studying.
One student existing nearby.
"Lunch."
The announcement was simple.
Final.
Absolute.
Jian lowered his pencil.
Saved.
Wei closed his notebook.
His stomach made a suspiciously enthusiastic noise.
Nobody commented.
Mostly because everyone heard it.
Jian did.
His mother definitely did.
Wei immediately pretended nothing happened.
A strategy that failed instantly.
His mother smiled.
"Come downstairs."
The dining table wasn't large.
It never needed to be.
Four chairs.
A slightly worn wooden surface.
A television speaking quietly from the corner of the living room.
The smell of food filling every part of the house.
Normal.
Comfortable.
The kind of atmosphere that existed without effort.
Wei sat carefully.
Trying not to take up too much space.
Trying not to look as nervous as he felt.
Immediately impossible.
Because Jian's sister sat across from him.
Watching.
Studying him.
Like a scientist observing a rare animal.
Wei looked back.
She didn't blink.
Neither did he.
The staring contest lasted approximately seven seconds.
Then—
"Why are you looking at me?"
The question came from both of them at exactly the same time.
Silence.
Then Jian laughed.
The traitor.
His sister pointed.
"I like him."
"Congratulations."
"More than you."
"I live here."
"Exactly."
Wei nearly choked on his tea.
Food appeared.
Then more food.
Then somehow even more food.
Wei was beginning to suspect Jian's mother possessed supernatural abilities.
Every time a plate became empty—
another appeared.
Every time someone said they were full—
another dish arrived.
A terrifying power.
Jian looked completely unsurprised.
Clearly this happened often.
His mother sat down at last.
Then looked at Wei properly.
Not as a guest.
Not as a visitor.
Simply looking.
For a few seconds, she said nothing.
Then smiled.
Softly.
"Wei."
The conversation around the table slowed.
Not stopped.
Just slowed.
As if everyone instinctively listened.
His mother tilted her head slightly.
The same way adults did when looking at someone they hadn't seen for years.
"Last time I saw you..."
A small laugh escaped her.
"You were still small."
Wei lowered his eyes.
The words alone were enough to make old memories stir.
Summer afternoons.
School uniforms.
Two children running through the neighborhood.
Years disappearing between then and now.
Then she added quietly—
"You grew up well."
The room became strangely silent.
Not uncomfortable.
Not awkward.
Just still.
The words landed somewhere deep.
A place Wei wasn't prepared to protect.
For a second he forgot how to answer.
Because nobody really said things like that anymore.
Teachers praised grades.
Relatives asked about universities.
Adults discussed futures.
Very few people simply looked at someone and said:
You grew up well.
As if the person mattered more than the achievement.
Wei looked down at his bowl.
"...It's been a long time."
His voice sounded quieter than usual.
His mother nodded.
"It has."
Then she laughed.
"I almost didn't recognize you."
Jian immediately pointed.
"That's a lie."
His mother looked offended.
"It is."
"You recognized him instantly."
His sister nodded.
"Immediately."
"Traitors."
The family ignored her.
As families often did.
The food kept appearing.
Wei still wasn't entirely sure how.
One moment his bowl looked normal.
The next—
more vegetables.
A few minutes later—
another piece of meat.
Then rice.
Again.
Wei looked down.
Then looked up.
Then looked down again.
His bowl was somehow becoming larger.
"Auntie..."
Jian's mother looked up from serving soup.
"Hm?"
"That's enough."
"No."
The answer arrived immediately.
Without hesitation.
Without discussion.
As if this conversation had already been decided.
Across the table, Jian sighed.
"I told you."
Wei blinked.
"Told me what?"
"Once she decides you're not eating enough, you're finished."
"I am eating enough."
"No."
Jian's mother pointed with her chopsticks.
"You've gotten thinner."
Wei opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
There was no winning against mothers.
Apparently.
His sister looked delighted.
"See? I told you."
"Nobody asked."
"I ask myself."
"That's not how that works."
"It is in this house."
The conversation dissolved into the usual chaos.
His sister complaining.
Jian complaining about his sister complaining.
Their mother ignoring both of them.
Normal.
Comfortable.
Loud.
Wei sat quietly between it all.
Listening.
Watching.
And realizing something strange.
Nobody was treating him like a guest.
Guests received polite smiles.
Guests received careful conversations.
Guests sat slightly outside the family.
That wasn't happening.
His bowl kept getting filled.
His opinions were included.
His existence was simply... accepted.
As if he had always belonged at this table.
The realization settled softly in his chest.
Dangerous.
Because it felt good.
Across from him, Jian's sister suddenly looked up.
"MA."
"Hm?"
"Can Wei-GEGE come again tomorrow?"
Silence.
Instant silence.
Wei nearly choked.
Jian froze.
His sister continued eating as if she hadn't just thrown a grenade onto the table.
Their mother didn't even look surprised.
"If he wants to."
The answer came naturally.
Without hesitation.
Without making it a big deal.
Like the possibility was obvious.
Like he didn't need permission.
Like he was welcome.
Wei lowered his eyes quickly.
Pretending to focus on his food.
His chest felt strangely tight.
Because the answer shouldn't have mattered.
Yet somehow—
it did.
A lot.
Across the table, Jian glanced toward him.
Only briefly.
But Wei noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Neither said anything.
The conversation moved on.
The television continued speaking softly in the background.
His sister started another argument.
Lunch continued.
Yet for the rest of the meal, one thought remained quietly in Wei's mind.
Maybe...
this house had never stopped having a place for him.