Chapter 1769 - 1365: A Night of Returning Home

When the car slowly drove into the complex, Song Heping noticed that there were twice as many security guards as in a regular neighborhood at the entrance.

The security system in this upscale residential area was excessively stringent, and the landscaping was exceptionally exquisite, not the gaudy assemblage favored by nouveau riche, but rather a layered garden design where camphor, osmanthus, and crape myrtle were arranged elegantly with pebble paths winding throughout.

The car driven by his brother, Song He Xie, had automatic recognition capabilities, and the gate silently lifted.

The parking lot was on the third basement level, with soft warm yellow lighting, and the parking spaces were wide enough to accommodate two cars.

The elevator required a card swipe to activate, directly reaching the 28th floor.

"The security here is pretty good," Song Heping said casually.

"That was the main selling point initially." Song He Xie said while pressing the elevator button: "The money you sent over, we thought about it, and safety is most important. The property fees here are expensive, but worth it."

As the elevator ascended, there was hardly any sensation of movement, and the mirror-like walls reflected the images of the two brothers.

Song Heping looked at himself in the mirror.

A man in his thirties, with fine lines at the corners of his eyes, and his gaze much deeper than it was ten years ago.

Whereas his brother still seemed to be the young boy trailing after him in memory, only now dressed in neatly ironed shirts with hair combed flawlessly.

The door opened.

The motion-activated lights at the entrance lit up automatically, revealing a somewhat spacious living room.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows taking up an entire wall, a full view of the river presented itself—across the river, the CBD was ablaze with lights as cruise ships glided by slowly on the water.

The décor followed the current trend of understated modern style, but the materials were carefully chosen.

It was apparent that a significant amount of money had been spent but it did not appear tacky.

"Brother, your room is this way."

His sister, Song Lingling, tugged Song Heping to the room at the end of the corridor and pushed open the door.

The room was larger than Song Heping had anticipated, with a two-meter wide bed, a wooden wardrobe occupying the entire wall, a desk placed by the window, and a small sofa nestled in the corner.

The décor style was consistent with that of the living room, understated to the point of coldness, but the bedspread was a warm beige checkered pattern.

"The bedspread and covers are recently changed, washed and dried. Towels and toothbrushes are in the bathroom; see if you're missing anything, I'll go buy it for you."

Lingling said as she opened the wardrobe door, wherein hung several new pajamas and home clothes in Song Heping's exact size.

"I'm all set, it's perfect."

Song Heping put down his backpack.

The black tactical backpack stood out against the light-colored floor.

His gaze fell on the desk.

There sat a wooden photo frame, containing a family portrait.

A replica of the photo he held, but larger in size and more meticulously framed.

In the photo, his parents were still young, and he along with his brother and sister appeared as children, the five of them squeezed against the photo studio backdrop, smiling a little stiffly, but there was light in their eyes.

"I developed it to keep here." Lingling said softly: "I look at it when I miss you."

Song Heping nodded, remaining silent.

His throat felt blocked by something, afraid that if he spoke, this influential figure known in the defense circle would crumble into tears.

"Take a shower and rest a bit. I'll cook with second brother; we'll dine at home tonight to welcome you." Lingling said as she turned and walked toward the door.

The door closed gently.

Song Heping stood in the room for a long time.

The air carried a faint scent of new furniture, along with the warm smell of sun-dried fabrics.

He walked to the window, gazing at the river outside.

This river flows eastward, passing through his hometown's county, eventually joining the Yellow River, heading toward the sea.

He had truly come home.

The water pressure in the bathroom was robust, the instant the hot water cascaded over him, some of the fatigue from long flights and the tension accumulated over ten years seemed to be washed away.

Clad in clean pajamas, he lay down on the unfamiliar bed yet felt an elusive sense of peace.

Over the years across the world, he had stayed in countless luxury hotels, camped in Siria's field tents, and sought shelter in Lao Mo's safe houses, but none offered this kind of feeling.

The pillow carried the scent of sunlight.

The essence of a home.

Even though his parents were gone, his siblings had grown, and the hometown's city had developed such that it was unrecognizable.

But here, it was still home.

He closed his eyes and sleep surged like a tide.

No vigilance, no alertness, no need to keep a gun under the pillow.

For the first time in over ten years, he allowed himself to fully relax.

He slept profoundly, without dreaming.

When he awoke, evening had fallen.

The glow from the setting sun trickled through the gaps in the curtains, casting golden spots on the floor.

Outside, the river shimmered with gold, and the lights on the opposite shore began to twinkle on.

The sounds of cooking emanated from the kitchen.

The sizzle of the oil, the stirring of the spatula, and the voices of his siblings:

"The meat needs to be braised until tender; brother likes softer meat."

"Got it, slow simmer."

And his brother-in-law Zhang Wei's hushed inquiry: "Do we add this? Should we take the ginger slices out?"

A soundscape of life ordinary yet extravagant.

Song Heping sat up, lingering by the bedside for a few seconds before truly realizing where he was.

He slipped on slippers and exited the room, with his sister Lingling frying the last dish, and his brother Song He Xie setting plates and cutlery, while Zhang Wei assisted nearby, slightly clumsy but earnest in his effort.

"Brother, you're awake? Just in time, the final dish is ready."

Lingling turned with a smile, sweat beads forming on her forehead: "Made your favorite braised pork, cooked the way our mom used to, try if it's the same."

The table was already graced with dishes: glazed enticing braised pork, steamed fish sprinkled with shredded green onions, vividly crisp stir-fried vegetables, and a pork rib soup steaming in the clay pot. All home-cooked fare but to him, surpassing any rare delicacy.