Chapter 47

📖 Departures and Thinning Ice

The frost lingered longer than usual that morning, icing the windows in delicate patterns. In the quiet before breakfast, Jia Lan stood at the window, sipping warm soy milk and watching two sparrows flutter around the courtyard plum tree. The house was unusually still. The storm had passed—but not without damage.

Downstairs, the tension could be sliced with a butter knife. Aunt Meihua sat stiffly at the dining table, barely touching her congee. Uncle Liu kept his eyes on his bowl, while Cousin Ming yawned exaggeratedly and looked anywhere but at the Jia family.

Father Jia folded his newspaper and said mildly, "Have you looked into train tickets yet, Liu?"

Uncle Liu cleared his throat. "Yes. There's a departure tomorrow afternoon."

"We'll arrange a car," Grandfather added, not looking up from his tea.

Meihua's chopsticks clicked against her bowl. "There's no need to rush. It's just getting cold."

Mother Jia smiled, the edge of ice still in her voice. "Then you'll want to be home before the roads get worse. Suzhou winters are milder, after all."

Meihua turned to her. "I suppose you're eager to be rid of me?"

Mother Jia stepped forward, placing her teacup gently on the table. "Meihua, let's not pretend anymore. You came here not to visit, but to poke, prod, and humiliate. You've always tried to prove some point that no one else agreed to play."

Meihua's eyes narrowed. "You've always looked down on me, ever since we were children."

"Because you always tried to bring others down, Meihua. You thought misfortune was a ladder. And when it didn't help you climb, you turned bitter."

"And yet, here you are, still trying to act noble."

"Trying?" Mother Jia raised an eyebrow. "No, I just didn't forget who I was to stoop to your level."

In the hallway, Jia Lan stood silently, listening. Her inner monologue sharp and honest:

> "Every family has that one person—the walking headache in human form. The one who makes you break your calm and contemplate launching teacups. For us, it's Aunt Meihua. A personality so abrasive it could sand wood."

"We're eager for peace in our home," Father Jia replied firmly.

Cousin Ming mumbled, "Maybe it's time to go anyway. The atmosphere's been… intense."

Meihua glared at him. "So now my own son sides with them?"

Ming sighed. "You made this mess, Mother. Maybe you should reflect instead of blaming everyone."

Jia Lan entered, dressed in a navy blue coat and soft knit scarf. "Train stations get crowded quickly this time of year. Let me know if you need help packing."

Meihua opened her mouth, but Uncle Liu stood first. "We'll start this afternoon. You've all been generous enough."

The rest of the day passed in quiet preparation. Suitcases appeared in the hallway. Despite the tension, Mother Jia remained graceful to the end.

She moved through the kitchen and storeroom, gathering preserved snacks, fragrant osmanthus cakes, and a few tins of their city's renowned sweet-scented fermented tofu. She folded winter scarves into neat squares and tucked in a few extra thermals into the side of the luggage.

"Don't let them say we didn't send them back with full hands," she murmured to Jia Lan as they packed. "We're not like them."

Jia Lan raised a brow. "We're generous to a fault. But that's why we sleep peacefully."

Her mother gave her a tired smile. "Exactly."

Even a jar of winter plum jam—her mother's specialty—was placed inside Aunt Meihua's case, along with handmade steamed buns and dried tangerine peel.

Meihua didn't say much when she saw it all, but her lips thinned, and her gaze dropped.

Her eyes lingered too long on the polished floor tiles, the warm food, the gentle banter of a household where she didn't belong.

Before bed, Mother Jia knocked gently on her guest room door. "You'll find the train tickets by your suitcase. I packed some snacks. Safe journey, Meihua."

Meihua looked up, but the apology in her eyes never made it to her lips.

The next day, as the family car pulled away, Jia Lan stood in the doorway with a light shrug.

> "Some guests don't need to be kicked out. Just remind them where the door is."

The wind had changed. And with it, a layer of silence fell over the house—a silence filled with relief.

Mother Jia lingered by the living room, her hands quietly folding a soft wool shawl that Aunt Meihua left behind. She didn't comment on it, nor did she ask anyone to return it. She simply placed it in the hall closet—tucked away like a chapter closed.

Father Jia sipped his tea, then reached across the table to squeeze her hand. "She can't hurt us anymore. And she won't hurt our Lanlan either."

Mother Jia nodded, her lips pressing into a faint smile. "It's strange how relief feels more tiring than conflict. But I'm glad she's gone."

Jia Lan joined them, towel drying her hair from her evening bath. "She left one of her bags open. Cousin Ming was trying to zip it closed like it was an enemy in a trench war."

Father Jia chuckled. "The boy has potential after all."

That night, Jia Lan sat at her desk and opened her diary. Before she could write, a familiar chime rang in her ears.

Ding! Daily check-in complete. Congratulations, host. You've received: ¥1000 and a bundle of sweet mung bean cakes.

Jia Lan blinked. "Wow. The system's feeling rich today."

She reached under her pillow and pulled out the red envelope. The money was crisp and new, the cakes delicately wrapped in gold paper. She unwrapped one and took a bite. Soft, fragrant, just a hint of sweetness.

> "Some days, the universe throws chaos at you. Other days, it sends money and snacks. I'm keeping score."

Winter had officially arrived. But inside the Jia household, warmth—and sweetness—was finally returning.

That night, as snow began to softly dust the rooftops, the family gathered in the main room with woolen blankets and bowls of steaming longan tea. Grandfather recited an old poem from memory, his deep voice calm and measured. Jia Lan curled into a corner seat, nibbling her second mung bean cake and feeling the weight of calm settle in her chest. It wasn't just about who had left—it was about who remained. And in that moment, surrounded by laughter, warmth, and the aroma of fresh tea, Jia Lan couldn't help but smile. This was home.