I don’t care about the immaturity of my writing style. The heart is free and cannot be bound by anything, so how can it be constrained by writing? I write wherever my thoughts take me. As long as my mind is open enough, I can go anywhere, and be anywhere.

　　As for how others might evaluate my writing, it's not up to me, and I should not be concerned with it. Those who resonate with these words spiritually are people whose minds are open enough. I congratulate them. For those who don’t like it, I also congratulate them. They have more works to read, more films to watch, and more time to play. They should not like these words, and that’s not important.

　　I do not have a writing plan. Sometimes I write more, and in one go, I can write almost ten thousand words. Sometimes I don’t write for several days, and even when I do write, it’s just a simple line. This speed is neither fast nor slow. It is perfect. I like the stories I write, even though they have neither earth-shattering events nor dramatic characters. It’s just an ordinary person in an ordinary story, and that is life.

　　An idea popped into my mind, “I wonder how much time I have left to finish this book?” I laughed then. No matter how much I loved this book, it did not belong to me. It had its own destiny. I was experiencing every moment, and it had already completed itself. Whether the book was finished, or whether anyone would even read it, was unimportant.

　　On the tenth day, an afternoon phone call interrupted my writing life. It was my older brother, Peng Zhou. He said that last week, our mother suddenly felt pain in her chest and went to the hospital in the town to get it checked. The doctor said she might have cancer. They went to a large hospital in the city for further examinations, and it was confirmed that our mother had breast cancer. The tumor had spread and was incurable.

　　Even with surgery, the tumor couldn’t be removed, and it would still recur after the surgery. If they chose radiation and chemotherapy, not only would our mother suffer, but our family couldn’t afford the costs.

　　He scolded me over the phone. He said that for years, I had only cared about my own enjoyment in the big city, without ever returning home to see our parents, or contacting the family proactively. He said I was an ungrateful and shameless person, who didn’t know what filial piety meant. Our parents raised me for so many years, and now that I was living a comfortable life outside, I didn’t even send some money back to help improve the living conditions at home.

　　As I listened to his endless complaints, it felt like listening to a beautiful song. I thought about what I had done in recent years, and told him, “I agree with what you’re saying. There are many things I haven’t done.”

　　My brother was surprised that I admitted it. He hesitated for a moment, then asked me for money with arrogance. Although our mother didn’t need hospitalization, the expenses on food, medicine, and daily necessities were still high. He demanded that I bear all of the expenses. I told him that I had just lost my job, and my entire fortune was less than 2,000 yuan. If he needed help, I could send him 1,000.

　　He didn’t believe me and thought I was avoiding responsibility. He scolded me again and asked me to come home immediately to take care of our mother. He had a restaurant in the town and was too busy to have time for these things. Since I had already lost my job, I should go home and fulfill my filial duties, which was also a way of repaying her.

　　Finally, he sternly pointed out that after our mother passed away, he would inherit all of her property and houses, as a punishment for my lack of filial piety. I said I completely agreed, and would return home tomorrow. My older brother saw that his goal had been almost reached, and didn’t want to waste any more words. He hung up the phone directly.

　　My hometown is a small town in the south, surrounded by mountains and water. The fresh air abounds with poetic scenery. There are many mottled stone roads, ancient and quiet old houses, and alleyways eroded by wind and rain. Walking around feels like unfolding a painting in front of you, making you unconsciously immersed in it.

　　I rummaged through my suitcase, stuffed a few changes of clothes and toiletries in, and set off to the train station. Even though it was an express train, I still sat for eighteen long hours. After getting off the train, I had to change buses twice and travel on winding mountain roads for more than ten hours before finally arriving back at my hometown.

　　In front of me was a two-story standalone small building. It was simple and practical in appearance, covering more than 80 square meters and quite prominent among the surrounding buildings. However, the wall had become mottled and decayed, appearing somewhat run down and old.

　　This small building was left by my grandfather. He was a legend in the town. He not only married the most beautiful girl in the town but also was the first millionaire and the first person to build a two-story small building in the town. His story is still circulating in the town today.

　　My grandfather had a daughter and three sons, with my father ranked third. When my grandfather was alive, my aunt had already married abroad, while my uncles had gone to big cities, leaving only my father behind. Later, when my grandfather passed away, they all came back to divide his property. My father received this small building, which was later sold along with three shops, and the deposits merged. Everyone then split the money according to the agreed-upon ratio, and everyone was happy.

　　I took out the key and unlocked the door, walking straight in with my suitcase. The living room was spacious. I immediately saw my mother. She was sitting on the sofa watching TV. Upon hearing the sound of the door opening, she turned her head automatically and met my gaze.

　　“Oh my, how did she become so old?” I was somewhat surprised as I looked at the old woman in front of me. In my memory, my mother had always been a beauty since she came from a family of scholars. She gave birth to me when she was twenty-five years old, and now she is sixty years old.

　　Eight years ago, I saw her at my father’s funeral. At that time, she still had a charming demeanor, and, coupled with her fondness for dressing up, she looked like she was in her thirties. I never expected that when I met her this time, she would already be an elderly woman with white hair. She was not only hunching over but also covered in wrinkles that marred her previously smooth face. Now, not to mention being sixty years old, even if she were eighty years old, no one would question it.

　　“Wei, you…you have come back? It’s really you!” Her eyes were red, and she was emotionally moved. She stood up, wanting to greet me. I don’t know if she exerted too much force, but she let out a muffled groan and fell back onto the sofa. “I’m really old now, becoming more and more useless,” she said with a choked voice.

　　“Mom!” I tossed aside my suitcase and hurried forward to embrace her.

　　“Wei, how could you take so long to come back? I am dying to see you.” My mother hugged me tightly as she cried uncontrollably.

　　“I’m sorry, Mom. I was foolish before, but I’m back now, and I won’t leave again. I’ll always be there for you,” I said while wiping away my tears and comforting her with gentle pats on her back.

　　After a while, my mother’s emotions gradually calmed down. She laughed through her tears: “My daughter is still so beautiful, fresh and refined, and full of spirit. You haven’t changed at all.”

　　“Mom!”

　　“How are Xiaomin and Qianqian? And are you still able to make money with your job?”

　　I nodded repeatedly. “They are both doing well, and my job can support me. Don’t worry, Mom. Your daughter has hands and feet and won’t starve.”