Old Huang’s interruption had calmed Liu Jun’s mood considerably. After discarding distracting thoughts, the work at hand accelerated. Before twelve o’clock, he had completed the installation of the large oven. Liu Jun clapped his hands and stood up, holding a plug in his hand. Before pulling it toward the socket, he suddenly felt a moment of hesitation—would the current flow and cause the large oven to flash with dazzling electric arcs? He crouched down again and checked everything inside and out. In the past, all work was completed through collaboration. If he had oversights, there were always others whose strengths complemented his weaknesses, so he didn’t need to worry so much. Precisely because he was now completing everything independently, he had to be meticulous and then more meticulous, preventing problems before they occurred.

The electricity was connected. Even with electrons flowing endlessly through the wires, the large oven behaved as before. Only the LCD of the temperature controller began slowly jumping numbers. For initial heating, Liu Jun didn’t dare let the furnace walls heat up suddenly. His anxious waiting beside it was useless, so he paced outside to breathe fresh air. Just then, workers from the middle shift in the main workshop were getting off work. Other workers smiled when they saw Liu Jun, but only Old Huang, when passing by Liu Jun, had completely changed from his previous days of staring straight through to the end—instead, he glanced at Liu Jun, as if recognizing who was standing foolishly in the night, then lowered his eyelids and walked away expressionlessly.

Liu Jun still politely said, “Goodbye, Uncle Huang.” Old Huang mumbled vaguely, “You go home early too,” and jumped on his bicycle and left. After the flow of workers getting off work passed, the entire Qianjin Factory became completely quiet. Liu Jun pondered in the darkness—it seemed Old Huang had really changed his attitude toward him somewhat, seeming more benevolent, but also carrying a hint of dejection. But what exactly had happened, Liu Jun still wasn’t quite clear, just as he had previously been equally unclear about why Old Huang had suddenly turned hostile and tried to intimidate him. He found Old Huang, with his labyrinthine inner thoughts, quite troublesome and had no interest in understanding him deeply, so he could only respond to changes with consistency.

The box temperature finally slowly rose to Liu Jun’s first set testing point: 50 degrees Celsius. Seeing the numbers on the LCD panel stop at 50 without further change, Liu Jun let out a long breath—success. But it wasn’t finished. He took out his familiar thermometer with a 300-degree Celsius limit and inserted it into the large oven’s observation port for sampling. Comparing the two measurement values, he continuously adjusted the temperature controller’s display value until both displays perfectly matched. This fine-tuning, where a tiny error could lead to massive mistakes, required ultimate patience—patience needed to gradually synchronize with the stable control adjustment bands. Of course, this was also because Liu Jun had too few resources at his disposal.

Then 100 degrees Celsius, 150 degrees Celsius, 200 degrees Celsius… As the temperature rose, warm light gradually flowed inside the box. Finally, the 300-degree Celsius display numbers still matched in one go, indicating the oven’s calibration and debugging were finished. Liu Jun was overjoyed—finally, the testing ended before his patience ran out. He jumped up excitedly, then burned his bridges by sweeping his foot forcefully, sending the wooden box that had served as his throne for the night whistling out to crash heavily against the dirty cement wall, shattering into pieces. Although his toes ached from the kick, Liu Jun remained extremely happy. After cleaning up the battlefield, he leaped out with a three-step layup motion, just catching the workshop door frame, performing a carp-flip in mid-air to jump outside, but pulled down a cloud of ancient dust, instantly becoming gray-headed and dusty-faced.

At this moment, Liu Jun wished someone could jump and laugh with him, but in the depths of the night, even the guard had turned off the lights and gone to sleep. He felt embarrassed to act like a night owl in the middle of the night, but wasn’t it still daytime on the other side of the Earth? He rushed into the office and made an international long-distance call to his girlfriend. Unfortunately, his girlfriend was busy with work and hung up after a few apologies. Liu Jun felt quite disappointed, with a belly full of excitement and nowhere to vent it, so on the progress chart the size of a No. 1 technical drawing that his father had made for him, he wrote densely in German: Successful test, good start, completed first task perfectly one day ahead of schedule, absolutely high-quality task completion, completed task with minimum consumption, perfect…

Unfortunately, the dense self-praise still couldn’t extinguish Liu Jun’s excitement, so he drove his car in serpentine patterns on the empty streets. At this time, the horizon was already slightly brightening, with sanitation workers pushing carts out to clean. Liu Jun loudly called to the sanitation workers, “Good morning, I’m very happy,” but was treated as a drunk by the sanitation workers, who spat at his car’s rear. Liu Jun saw this, laughed heartily, and responded with a long whistle.

Yes, he knew the pressure on his shoulders was heavy. But no matter how heavy, as long as it was feasible, he would conquer one fortress after another, just like today—all preparatory work was hereby completed, one burden lifted. After a good sleep, new projects would unfold. No fear—he could do it.

While Liu Jun methodically obtained data like a robot, tirelessly following the set sampling schedule, spring arrived. Even in the most dull factory workshops, countless tender greens emerged from every corner, and even the scattered moss on the walls was dyed green by the spring breeze.

But Qian Hongming’s mother would never see it again. Since Qian’s father’s death, Qian’s mother’s sick body had deteriorated day by day. Today, she finally completed her last heartbeat under the watchful eyes of her children and daughter-in-law.

Watching the bright, jumping light spot gradually weaken, only Cui Jiali turned to face the wall, her heart unable to bear such heavy waiting. Instead, the Qian siblings expressionlessly captured any minute changes. When the light spot finally settled on the horizontal axis line and stopped jumping, the siblings looked at each other. The sister swayed slightly, then suddenly fell straight forward. Qian Hongming didn’t have time to reach out and support her—Qian Hongying had already crashed head-first into the bed rail.

Qian Hongming rushed forward to lift her, and the doctor smoothly took over caring for Qian Hongying.

Watching the doctor’s busyness, Qian Hongming gently said to his wife, “You must resign tomorrow.” Seeing his wife looking at him tearfully with great hesitation, he added another sentence: “Definitely.” Qian Hongming had long become a good doctor through his parents’ prolonged illness and knew his sister was fine, just overworked, so he wasn’t too worried. Instead, waves of relief rose in his heart. Speaking of it, both he and his sister were now liberated—the mountain that had pressed on them for over ten years had completely disappeared.

Qian Hongying quickly regained consciousness but had no strength to get up. Turning her head to look at her mother beside her, grief welled up from within, and she couldn’t stop crying loudly, almost wailing from the depths of her heart and lungs. Cui Jiali, disregarding her condition, held and comforted her sister-in-law, but Qian Hongming didn’t go to console her. He seemed to understand his sister’s crying and felt she should cry to her heart’s content. After waiting a while and seeing that his sister was safe, he began running between various windows with practiced ease, handling the various procedures he had just completed a month ago. Cui Jiali felt he was excessively calm.

After seeing off their mother, Qian Hongming carried his sister out of the hospital. Walking out of the building, outside was warm sunshine with blooming flowers near and far. Even the coldest heart could melt in the spring breeze. Before getting in the car, Qian Hongying suddenly said, “Put me by that cluster of azaleas. I’ll sunbathe for a while—you two go.”

“You’re weak today. You should stay at my house. There’s plenty of sun to bask in on the balcony.”

“No need.” Qian Hongying’s red, swollen eyes looked at that cluster of azaleas. “I never knew azaleas could bloom so beautifully. I want to look at the azaleas.”

“I’ll accompany you again tomorrow. These flowers won’t wither anytime soon. Today you’re weak—I’m not comfortable leaving you.”

Qian Hongying said firmly, “Hongming, I’d rather die than become a burden to others. Put me there—I want to sunbathe properly. I’m about to get moldy.”

Hearing his sister say this, Qian Hongming’s eyes reddened instead, and Cui Jiali turned away, using tissues to wipe her tears. But Qian Hongying acted as if nothing had happened, her eyes only on the brilliant azaleas. Sitting on the concrete chair beside the flower cluster, Qian Hongying urged the young couple to attend to their own business. But Qian Hongming left his wife to keep her company while he rushed to handle their mother’s funeral arrangements.

At the funeral home, Qian Hongming finally cried too. He buried his head and wept alone. He didn’t know what he was crying about. He didn’t want to think, didn’t dare to think—he only wished all memories would flow away like tears. He didn’t want to take inventory of anything.

Qian Hongying basked in the sun all afternoon, eating snacks with her brother and sister-in-law all afternoon. Although her physical strength recovered about seventy to eighty percent, her face still had no color. She firmly declined her brother’s and sister-in-law’s invitation, insisting on returning to her own home. Cui Jiali took a taxi to send her back, accompanying her inside until the housekeeper took over, then left. But once Qian Hongying entered, she settled accounts clearly with the housekeeper and dismissed her, not even inviting her to stay for the last dinner, preferring to pay an extra two hundred yuan for this.

After the housekeeper finished packing and left, Qian Hongying lay on her bed, unwilling to speak, unwilling to turn on the TV, unwilling to eat, closing her eyes to enjoy the quiet. After a while, she cried again. This time she didn’t cry aloud, just silently shed tears. She cried until she didn’t know when, fell asleep, woke up cold, then continued sleeping. It seemed she had never slept such a long, undisturbed sleep in her lifetime—this time she made up for it all.

When she finally woke up, Qian Hongying found everything before her eyes was wrong—how was everything white and hazy? Alarmed, she was about to get up when she heard her brother’s voice beside her. “Sister, sister?” Qian Hongying turned her head and saw her brother’s dark-circled eyes. “I was still worried, so I went to check on you at noon the next day. I didn’t expect your forehead to be burning hot—I carried you to the hospital, and you still didn’t wake up. Do you know how many days you’ve been unconscious?”

“Don’t want to know. Don’t worry—I slept particularly well and feel comfortable all over now. Mother’s affairs—are they handled?”

“All done, placed together with Father. Sister, let me discuss something with you—let’s sell the old house. When I walked in the day before yesterday at noon, I felt the atmosphere was very heavy.”

“Don’t be superstitious. I’m poor as a church mouse now—if I sell the old house, where will I live?”

“Aren’t there mortgages now? The down payment isn’t much.”

“Don’t bother me. I don’t want to deal with these troublesome things now. Let me eat well, sleep well, and be carefree for a few days.”

“I’ll handle it for you.”

“Do you know more about buying and selling houses than I do? Get lost, don’t be such a sissy, let me sleep quietly.”

Seeing his sister like this, Qian Hongming smiled with relief instead. Qian Hongying looked up and saw her brother smiling mischievously, thought about it, and also burst out laughing. The two hadn’t laughed so easily in years—they laughed endlessly like fools.

“Hongming, yesterday, when I sat in the flower cluster, I thought… Ah, not yesterday, the day before? Never mind. We should work hard in the future, earn money well, and buy a house where we can see the sky and touch the ground, plant it full of all kinds of flowers, live there, and live like proper human beings. If we ever have such a house, I’ll have someone write a banner to hang in the living room, just called ‘Qian Mansion’—hehe, shameless, right? The paper should be bright red with gold sprinkles, the frame should also be gold-plated, everything golden and glorious, furniture all lacquered so you can see clear reflections…”

Qian Hongming just listened and smiled, imagining these tacky scenes in his mind. His laughter made Qian Hongying feel quite embarrassed: “Just talking—how could we afford that kind of villa? You need to strive for success. When you buy one, I can often find excuses to stay there.”

“There will be such a day. I firmly believe it.”

“I believe it, I believe you can do it. Hongming, you must plant many flowers, and delicate flowers too. You should also raise goldfish, cats, and dogs. In the future, when you drive out, you and Jia Li will be in front, with several dogs and your children in the back. Hehe, it must be lively and healthy, with the whole house full of the atmosphere of daily life…”

Qian Hongming kept smiling as he listened to his sister leaning against the headboard and rambling. As he listened, his left hand unconsciously moved to the corner of his mouth. He felt heartbroken listening, but didn’t dare disturb his sister’s enthusiasm, keeping a smile on his face. Until Qian Hongying couldn’t stand it anymore: “Hongming, stop pretending. If you want to cry, cry; if you want to laugh, laugh. Aren’t you afraid your face will freeze from smiling?”

Qian Hongming smiled unnaturally: “Sister, I didn’t sleep well last night. Move over a bit—I’ll lie by the bed edge and sleep a while. I can’t take it anymore.”

Qian Hongying quickly squeezed to the bed edge, patting the empty half of the bed: “Come, get on and sleep. Don’t be shy—sleep a bit more comfortably.”

Qian Hongming agreed, took off his suit, put his feet on a stool, and lay on the bed. He was truly exhausted. Almost as soon as he lay down, snoring sounds began. Qian Hongying watched with reddening eyes, carefully tucking her brother in, unable to resist nagging in his ear: “Don’t force yourself to act like an adult anymore. After I leave the hospital, you should have fun, call that Liu Jun of yours to come out and play, play till the world turns upside down, don’t fill your belly with responsibilities… Ah, sleep now, I won’t talk to you anymore. Sleep well.”

Qian Hongying couldn’t fall asleep instead. She stared at the ceiling, thinking about many, many things.