Chapter 104: Their Greatest Treasure

Inside their quiet bedroom, Father Jia slowly poured two glasses of warm water from the kettle on the bedside table. The windows were closed to keep out the winter chill, but a small night lamp glowed faintly, casting soft shadows on the wall. Mother Jia sat on the edge of the bed, holding the tiny pill between her fingers, studying it closely with a puzzled but trusting expression.

"She said it's made of good herbs from a famous apothecary," Mother Jia murmured.

Father Jia let out a small laugh. "This girl, always giving us some rare tonic or another. Where does she even find these things?"

"She said she bought it in the capital... but it looked too perfect, like a pearl," Mother Jia said, narrowing her eyes slightly in thought. "Still, she made us promise to take it. That alone shows how much she cares."

Father Jia nodded, handing her one of the glasses. "Well, let's do what she asked."

Together, they raised the pills to their lips and swallowed them with the water. A few moments passed in silence. The sensation wasn't strange—there was a gentle warmth, like a soft heat spreading through their chest and limbs. A soothing comfort, like soaking in a hot spring after a long day.

Mother Jia sighed softly. "It feels... refreshing."

Father Jia rolled his shoulders. "Almost like some tiredness just lifted. Whatever's in it, it's good. I'll have your parents take one tomorrow. We'll keep the others for the rest."

At first, nothing happened.

But within moments, they began to feel a strange heat rising through their chests—gentle but intense, like a warm stream coursing through their limbs. Then, an odd stickiness spread across their skin. When they looked down, their expressions changed at once.

"W-What is this?" Mother Jia gasped, standing up abruptly. Grayish-black residue was oozing faintly from her pores—thin, oily, and oddly foul-smelling. It wasn't painful, but the sight was startling.

Father Jia looked down at his arms and shirt. "It's on me too. This... this must be toxins being expelled."

"Lanlan didn't mention this part!" Mother Jia said, her voice caught between surprise and awe.

Father Jia gave a short laugh. "No wonder she didn't tell us the details. We might have refused to take it!"

They exchanged a quick look—then practically rushed to the bathroom together, muttering about how they couldn't let anyone see them like this.

Inside the bathing room, steam quickly filled the air as they scrubbed the gray residue from their skin. It took several rounds of warm water, herbal soap, and whispered exclamations of "look at this!" before they finally felt clean again.

Wrapped in thick towels, their skin now looked healthier—brighter, smoother, and somehow lighter.

Back in their bedroom, they sat on the edge of the bed, exhausted but relaxed.

Mother Jia ran her fingers through her damp hair. "Whatever was in that pill... it really worked. I feel years lighter."

Father Jia hummed in agreement. "She must have known. She always pays such close attention."

He reached out and held her hand gently.

Wrapped in clean towels, the lingering steam from the bath still clung to their skin. Father Jia sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his arm slowly where the grayish toxins had once stained it.

Mother Jia stared at her palm thoughtfully, her brows pinched. "That… wasn't ordinary."

"No," Father Jia said, his voice low. "Those pills—no herbal medicine I've ever heard of could purge the body like that."

"She told us they were from a reputable shop," Mother Jia said softly, glancing at the closed bedroom door. "But now I know… she lied. A kind, careful lie."

There was no anger in her voice—only worry. A quiet, aching concern that swelled in her chest.

"She didn't want to scare us," Father Jia murmured. "She must have known we wouldn't take them if we knew the truth. What kind of medicine is capable of this? Years of toxins… expelled in minutes."

"It felt like something divine," Mother Jia whispered. "Like some miracle medicine."

They both sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the truth. Their daughter had access to something unusual. Something powerful. Something far beyond the reach of an average teenager.

"She's hiding something," Father Jia said finally, eyes calm but solemn. "But… I don't think it's something evil. Or dangerous to us. Look at what she gave us—no cost, no request for anything in return. Only care."

Mother Jia's eyes softened. "She didn't want us to suffer with our old injuries, our fatigue. She's been watching us quietly, hasn't she? Observing everything. How long has she been planning to help like this?"

"She's always been observant," he said, his voice tinged with emotion. "Too mature for her age."

Mother Jia turned her head toward him, her expression firm now. "We won't ask."

He looked at her in surprise, and she continued.

"No questions. No pressure. If our Lanlan has a secret—then we'll protect it with our lives. That's what being her parents means."

Father Jia's jaw tightened slightly, but then he gave a resolute nod. "You're right. We protect her. From the world, from questions, from anyone who might try to dig."

"She didn't choose to tell us—but she trusted us enough to give us those pills. That's more than enough for me," Mother Jia said, squeezing his hand.

Father Jia stood up and gently pulled the blanket over her shoulders. "From now on, we watch carefully. If she's ever in trouble… we step in before anyone else knows."

Mother Jia smiled faintly. "Our Lanlan… she's not ordinary. I always had a feeling. But now I know."

"She's destined for something greater," Father Jia agreed. "And we'll be her shield."

Outside, the wind rustled the trees. In the stillness of the room, their hearts beat with unspoken promises—firm, protective, and full of unconditional love. No matter what secrets their daughter held, they would carry the weight in silence and love her more fiercely than ever before.

They didn't need to understand her mystery to know one thing with certainty Jia Lan was their greatest treasure.

"I just want her to be happy," he said. "She's always giving, always thinking of others. But I worry sometimes... she carries burdens alone. Always smiling, always strong."

"She doesn't want us to worry," Mother Jia said quietly. "But she forgets we're her parents. We've known her since she first opened her eyes."

Mother Jia leaned back against the headboard, looking at the ceiling.

"She's grown up so much," she said wistfully. "I still remember the day she was born... she was so small, with those big eyes, always looking around, as if she knew more than she let on."

Father Jia smiled warmly. "And always mischievous. Do you remember when she glued your hairbrush to the table as a prank and then claimed she was 'conducting an experiment'?"

They both chuckled, but the warmth in their laughter quickly faded into soft emotion.

"She's not a child anymore," Mother Jia said quietly. "But she's still our Lanlan. I just want her to live well... happily. She's been through things we don't even fully know."

Father Jia turned serious. "She hides it well, doesn't she? That deep part of her. Sometimes I worry she carries burdens alone."

"She always smiles when she's with us. I know she wants to protect us from worry." Mother Jia reached over and held her husband's hand. "But I hope she knows... she never has to."

"She'll know," Father Jia said firmly. "We'll make sure she does."

A pause.

"Let's help her live a peaceful life. One where she doesn't have to think about hardships. One where she can just be Jia Lan—our precious daughter," he added softly.

Mother Jia nodded, her eyes glistening. "Yes. That's all I ever want."

They sat in quiet comfort, hearts full of love, silently grateful that their daughter was home—safe, cherished, and loved beyond words.