Ancestral Home

After stepping out of the subway station, Chen Qin stretched lazily under the sunlight, gazing at the surrounding skyscrapers. "Ah, feels nice," she murmured.

"Are you hungry?" Ye Shuang asked, wondering if she had eaten anything before rushing over.

"Eating? Sure!" Chen Qin said. "Our corporation has a few subsidiaries here. We could head to their cafeteria—I’ll call someone to pick us up."

"Have you lost your mind from work?" Ye Shuang replied. "Let’s just find a place for morning tea. We might even catch a discount. Come on."

"Oh." Chen Qin obediently followed without protest.

Instead of taking her to a well-known restaurant, Ye Shuang led her down a narrow alley to an old eatery he remembered. Inside, elderly men in tank tops sat with reading glasses perched on their noses, sipping tea while scrolling through their phones, plates of dim sum laid out before them.

In earlier years, they’d probably have been flipping through newspapers instead.

"Even grandpas keep up with the times," Chen Qin remarked, noticing one watching videos of middle-aged women dancing in the square.

"Men are all the same," Ye Shuang said.

"So you watch that stuff too?" Chen Qin suddenly asked, her smile tinged with mischief.

"I don’t need to," Ye Shuang coughed lightly.

"Right, you’re surrounded by pretty ones anyway," Chen Qin muttered, her tone inexplicably wistful.

Ye Shuang: "..."

The tables were worn with age. After settling into their seats, a server approached.

"What tea would you like?"

"Chrysanthemum," Ye Shuang answered. "One plate of BBQ pork rice rolls, dry-fried beef hor fun, shrimp dumplings, chicken feet, and durian pancakes."

"Got it."

"Hehe, all my favorites," Chen Qin giggled. "You still remember?"

"Coincidence. I like these too," Ye Shuang said.

"Hmph." Chen Qin didn’t buy it for a second.

As the bamboo steamers arrived, Ye Shuang asked why she hadn’t arranged for help. Knowing Chen Qin, hiring a professional cleaning crew wouldn’t have been surprising.

Blinking her lovely eyes, Chen Qin replied, "Ancestral homes shouldn’t be cleaned by outsiders. It wouldn’t feel right."

"Outsiders?" Ye Shuang paused briefly but didn’t press further.

Chen Qin took a bite of a shrimp dumpling and brightened. "This place is pretty good!"

Ye Shuang pointed at the beef hor fun. "Try this."

"Wow, this is delicious too," Chen Qin said after a mouthful.

"The wok hei here is strong, and there’s no excess oil at the bottom. Not many chefs can pull that off," Ye Shuang explained, revealing why he frequented this spot.

"Ye, you know a lot. Who told you this?"

"Who…" Ye Shuang trailed off, suddenly recalling his father had once said the same thing.

His chopsticks stilled. He finally understood that saying—the hardest part of losing a loved one isn’t the moment of their passing, but the endless emptiness that crashes over you later, triggered by the smallest traces they left behind.

Immortality might just be one of the cruelest curses in the world.

Noticing Ye Shuang’s quietness, Chen Qin quickly changed the subject. "These chicken feet are great too! Try them!" She piled a few into his bowl.

"Yeah." Ye Shuang snapped out of it and nodded.

The meal totaled just over sixty yuan—thirty per person, a steal.

Ye Shuang’s ancestral home sat in an aging residential complex, its exterior even more dilapidated than the one Bai Yuyou had lived in. The grayish-white walls were streaked with water stains, now darkened to a heavy brown.

"Which floor?" Chen Qin asked.

"First."

"First?" Just as confusion set in, Ye Shuang guided her through a maze of alleys before ducking into a passageway.

Chen Qin glanced around. "Uh… this is kinda complicated."

"Suppose so."

Soon, they stopped before a modest courtyard. Graffiti covered the walls, and beyond the iron gate lay a yard littered with dead branches and leaves. The house itself had a weathered wooden door, its blackened surface mottled with mold.

"Ohh, it’s this kind of courtyard. I thought it was an apartment."

"That complex was built later, decades ago."

Ye Shuang unlocked the gate and stepped inside.

"Watch your step—some spots are slick with algae."

"Glad I didn’t wear heels."

A desolate yard, a withered old tree, a row of yellowed plants—Ye Shuang stood silently at the entrance for a moment before heading inside.

Chen Qin curiously explored, her gaze landing on a well.

"Someone drowned there. Don’t get too close," Ye Shuang said without turning, already at the wooden door.

"Wha—?!" Chen Qin shuddered and scurried back to his side.

The door’s once-vibrant guardian deities had faded to pale pink. Inserting a brass key, Ye Shuang jiggled it before turning the knob.

With a creak, the door swung open, releasing a cloud of dust thick with history.

The interior was dim and musty.

"Kinda… creepy," Chen Qin admitted.

"Don’t worry. At worst, it’s just my ancestors." Ye Shuang strode in and began cleaning.

Chen Qin marveled at relics she’d never seen before—a wall hanging of a chubby baby in a bellyband, ink paintings of pine trees, oil lamps. It felt like stepping into the last century.

"You holding up okay?" Ye Shuang asked, noting the thick dust.

"Who says I can’t handle it?" Chen Qin rolled up her sleeves. "Hand me a broom!"

"Buy your own. I’ve only got one."

"..."

After fetching cleaning supplies, Chen Qin dove into the work without complaint, her skin already coated in grime within minutes.

"Why go this far?" Ye Shuang knew how much she valued cleanliness. He couldn’t fathom her determination.

"Like I said, ancestral homes shouldn’t be cleaned by outsiders," Chen Qin replied, then added softly,

"There’s one more reason, though."

"What?"

Dust smudged her cheeks as she beamed. "I want to make more memories with you, Ye."