Mother

Chen Mo woke naturally at eight on his first Saturday off since arriving in Qing'an. The replay-fatigue from the previous night’s dinner still lingered heavily in his bones. He lay motionless in bed for thirty minutes, feeling more awake than he had been the other mornings.

Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting a warm but motley light across the room. Chen Mo watched the dust particles floating lazily in patches of sunlight and shadows. Despite the urge to replay parts of the previous night’s banquet again, he decided against it. The fatigue cost was real, and his body needed rest.

Chen Mo finally got up from bed, feeling a dull weight behind his eyes. After a quick shower, he dried himself off and put on fresh clothes—his shirt neatly folded with care. He walked over to the small kitchenette in the dormitory where the vending machine stood ready for use.

He inserted coins into the machine and selected a pack of instant noodles—the cheap kind that he had grown familiar with during his university days. The machine whirred loudly before spitting out his choice, and Chen Mo took out a bowl to prepare his breakfast. He microwaved some water and poured it over the dried noodles. As they sat in the microwave, he set the table with makeshift utensils from his duffel bag.

After a minute or two of waiting, Chen Mo carefully opened the hot container and stirred the noodles. The smell was faintly spicy but satisfying. He ate quietly, sitting at the small desk where the fluorescent lights above cast an unobtrusive glow around him. After finishing his meal, he washed the bowl and utensils thoroughly before placing them back neatly.

Chen Mo’s thoughts drifted to his mother. Saturday morning was when she had free time between her classes. He decided it was a good moment for that weekly phone call—a small routine they maintained even from afar.

He opened his mobile phone and dialed the familiar number. After a couple of rings, he heard her voice on the other end—a comfortingly familiar tone.

“Xiao Mo,” she greeted warmly but quietly. “I was just thinking about you.”

Chen Mo smiled softly, a small sense of home creeping into him. “Hi, Ma.”

The line crackled slightly before continuing, and Chen Mo’s mother spoke again with that gentle voice he knew so well. “Tell me a small thing today. Not a big one.”

He considered for a moment, recalling the events of the past day. “I had a dinner with colleagues last night,” he said eventually, his tone even.

“What happened at this dinner?” she asked, her curiosity evident.

Chen Mo paused slightly before responding. “Not much. Just a regular section meeting. A guest showed up that was unexpected.”

“Anyone from your school or university? Or an old friend?”

“No one like that,” Chen Mo said, keeping his tone neutral. He didn’t want to delve into the complexities of Qing'an’s political landscape with her over the phone.

There was silence for a moment before she spoke again. “How are things going there?”

Chen Mo took a deep breath and replied, “They’re good. Things are proceeding as they should.”

“Is everything alright?” Chen Mo asked after another pause, his mother still silent on the other line.

“I’m fine,” she said softly. “You know I am strong. A teacher in my position can handle small things well enough.”

Chen Mo nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. He noticed her voice had a slight catch to it, and there was another pause before she continued with a more resolute tone.

“I have been thinking about you too,” she said softly. “I am doing okay here—teaching as I always do.”

Chen Mo listened carefully but did not comment further on her apparent health concern. Instead, he changed the subject slightly to avoid making it awkward for either of them.

“Mother,” Chen Mo began slowly, trying to keep his voice steady. “Tell me what you’re doing this week—how are things with your classes?”

She smiled despite herself at the familiar question and responded with a warmth that made him feel closer to her in spirit. “Everything is as usual. My students are good. One of my colleagues had to take some personal leave.”

“I’m glad,” Chen Mo said softly, relieved by this small distraction from what he suspected was an unspoken concern.

They continued to talk for another ten minutes or so—about the smaller details of their lives. He could hear her cough twice during their conversation—a slight sound but one that stuck in his mind. She cleared her throat again gently before continuing.

Chen Mo absorbed this detail but did not comment on it, letting it remain unspoken between them as she had done with the call to a doctor.

“Ma,” Chen Mo said finally, “you know I see you when we meet during breaks or holidays. You seem… tired sometimes.”

She chuckled softly at his words, her tone lightening slightly despite herself. “I am a teacher in a small town. I see the doctor when I am dying—not before.”

Chen Mo felt a pang of concern but listened to her gallows humor with a quiet understanding. They both knew it was easier this way—unspoken but understood implicitly.

“Xiao Mo,” she said softly, changing gears slightly as the conversation came to an end, “I love you so much.”

“I know,” Chen Mo replied warmly. He could hear the affection in her voice and felt a deep sense of comfort despite his fatigue from the previous day’s events.

The call ended a few minutes later with mutual goodbyes. After hanging up, Chen Mo stood by the window for a moment, looking out at the city skyline before returning to his bed. The fluorescent lights outside continued their steady hum as he lay back down on the mattress, feeling an unexpected sense of ease wash over him.

For the first time since arriving in Qing'an, he drifted into sleep without replaying any part of the day’s events—letting the quiet rhythms of the room envelop him and carry him to a place of easy rest

---

At precisely 9:30 on Saturday morning, Chen Mo sat at his desk in the dormitory, dialing a familiar number with practiced ease. The phone on the other end rang twice before her voice greeted him warmly but quietly.

“Xiao Mo,” she greeted. “I was just thinking about you.”

He smiled softly, feeling a sense of home wash over him despite being thousands of miles away. “Mm. The first week is done.”

She chuckled lightly, the sound comforting in its familiarity. “Tell me a small thing today. Not a big one.”

Chen Mo paused briefly before responding, recalling the minor inconveniences and quirks that had caught his attention throughout the past day. He told her about the staff dorm bathroom door that didn’t close all the way, causing drafts during winter nights. She laughed at this, her voice warm with understanding.

“And the noodle vending machine here,” Chen Mo continued, amusement in his tone. “It takes coins but not bills—it’s frustrating sometimes.”

She giggled again, the sound genuine yet slightly tinged with a small cough that lasted two syllables. Chen Mo noted it without comment, keeping their conversation light.

“Your neighbor’s snoring too?” she asked playfully.

Chen Mo chuckled softly in response, describing how his roommate's loud snores sometimes interrupted late-night reading sessions. The details were trivial, yet they filled the silence with a comfort that neither needed to verbalize fully.

“And big things?” she probed gently, her tone curious but not pressing.

He paused for a moment before responding calmly, “There will be time. They are not for the phone.”

She understood immediately, giving a soft acknowledgment of “Mm,” her rhythm—his rhythm, one that he had learned from her years ago.

Chen Mo listened as she shared stories about her week in their small hometown. Two students had passed a midterm exam she had been worried about; it was a relief to see them succeed. The neighbor’s cat had given birth to kittens, bringing a sense of joy and excitement among the residents. Most recently, the town committee had finally fixed the streetlight at the corner, eliminating the dark patch that Chen Mo's mother had complained about for months.

Midway through her story, she coughed again—a more pronounced sound this time, lasting three syllables with a slight clearing of the throat. Chen Mo noted this detail but said nothing, preferring to let her continue with the small talk.

“Mother,” he finally spoke up, his voice steady yet tinged with concern, “How long have you had that cough?”

“A few weeks now,” she replied without missing a beat, her tone light despite the underlying worry. “The dust season was bad this year.”

He couldn’t help but inquire further, his maternal instincts surfacing. “Have you seen the doctor?”

There was a brief silence before she answered with a mix of self-deprecating humor and the gallows charm that he knew so well. “Xiao Mo, I am a teacher in a small town. I see the doctor when I am dying—not before.”

Chen Mo felt a pang of concern but refrained from pressing further. Instead, his mother continued with a slight promise. “I will see Dr. Wang next week if it doesn't clear,” she added softly.

He filed this promise away in his mind along with the details of her cough, knowing that these small markers were important to him even if he chose not to elaborate on them further over the phone.

They continued to talk for another twenty minutes about nothing particularly important—small moments from their days, shared memories, and the occasional light-hearted banter. She was the first to say goodbye, noting that she had a class to prepare for in the afternoon. He responded with the slightly too formal phrasing they had always used, “I love you.”

Her voice softened, carrying an echo of affection despite the distance between them. “I know. I love you too, Xiao Mo.”

They hung up shortly after, each feeling a sense of connection that words alone couldn’t fully capture. Chen Mo leaned back in his chair, the fluorescent lights above casting a soft glow over him as he reflected on their conversation—one filled with quiet strength and unspoken concern.

Chen Mo placed the phone gently down on the desk beside him before standing up slowly from his seat. He stretched his arms above his head, feeling a low sense of ease wash over him—a rare moment of quiet reflection after the intense days in Qing'an’s government office.

For the first time since arriving in the city, he felt an unexpected sense of calm. The weight behind his eyes had lessened significantly, replaced by a subtle resolve that came from understanding and supporting those who mattered most to him.

He walked over to the small kitchenette area where the vending machine stood, its lights flickering softly despite being unused for some time. Chen Mo grabbed another pack of instant noodles, inserting coins with practiced ease into the vending machine as it whirred loudly before dispensing his choice snack.

As he prepared a simple lunch, Chen Mo felt a growing sense of stability within him—a quiet strength that came from navigating both the intricate web of Qing'an’s political landscape and maintaining his connection to home.

His thoughts drifted back to the small details he and his mother had shared over the phone—minor things that held hidden significance in their lives together. Each honest answer, each small detail added up to more than just a conversation; it was part of the intricate balance they maintained between themselves.

Chen Mo placed a bowl of hot water into the microwave for reheating before stirring the noodles carefully as he waited. The familiar warmth and simplicity of this moment resonated deeply within him—a tangible link to his roots that provided comfort despite the distance.

He ate quietly, sitting at the small desk under the steady hum of fluorescent lights above. As he finished his meal, Chen Mo felt a profound sense of peace settling over him—a rare moment of clarity amidst the chaos and complexity of his new environment.

Leaving the dishes in the sink for later washing, he returned to his bed with renewed focus and purpose. The familiar glow from outside continued its steady rhythm—a constant backdrop reminding him that each honest move added up within this intricate web.

Chen Mo lay down on the mattress, feeling a deeper sense of ease wash over him as he closed his eyes. For the first time since arriving in Qing'an City's government office, drift into sleep came easily and without hesitation—guided by the quiet strength of his connection to home and family.

The fluorescent lights outside continued their soft hum as Chen Mo drifted off to an easy rest—a place where small details held significant weight within both his professional life and personal relationships. Each step forward was part of a larger strategy shaped by careful precision and growing understanding—a deliberate path towards thriving within the intricate dynamics of Qing'an City’s governmental hierarchy.

He slept soundly, feeling the subtle yet profound connection that guided him through this new world—one honest move at a time, guided by quiet strength and the unspoken signals exchanged with those who mattered most to him.

---

Chen Mo sat at his desk for several minutes after hanging up with his mother, the phone lying silently on its cradle beside him. His gaze was fixed on the device, a small part of him considering activating 复盘 to replay their conversation and listen more closely to her cough. He thought about it for only a moment before dismissing the idea—deliberately choosing not to use that ability on his mother.

He wouldn’t use it for her health or anything she didn't know he could do. The decision was firm, an unspoken rule in his mind that kept certain actions off-limits when it came to those closest to him.

Chen Mo opened the laptop and quickly drafted a short note on a private text file:

*Mother, cough 3 weeks. Promised Dr. Wang. Follow up next Saturday.*

He closed the laptop, taking a deep breath as he looked at the Wang Lihua folder that still needed his attention through Monday. Reopening it, Chen Mo re-read the third draft meticulously—his eyes catching on familiar phrases and paragraphs.

This time, though, something new stood out—a subtle nuance in how she crafted her drafts. Her use of very few personal pronouns was deliberate, creating diffuse structures that avoided direct attribution. He added another observation to his mental note: Wang Lihua's drafts used a minimal amount of "he" or "she," preferring more generic language.

Chen Mo filed this new insight away as part of his growing understanding of her drafting style—another piece in the intricate puzzle of interpersonal dynamics within the office. He would use it in tomorrow’s return, adding to his list of observations for Liu Wei.

By 11:00 AM, Chen Mo decided to spend the afternoon exploring Renmin Road—a quiet walk through the city center seemed like an ideal way to process everything he had learned and experienced so far. He walked along the promenade, taking in the small shops, cafes, and street vendors that lined the street.

His first stop was a convenience store where he bought a pack of instant coffee, a small bar of soap for personal use, and a fresh notebook. The items were simple yet necessary—small reminders of his routine and the practicalities of daily life.

Continuing down Renmin Road, Chen Mo stopped at a small shop to buy dumplings for lunch—a quick meal that wouldn’t require much preparation in his dormitory kitchenette. He ate slowly, savoring each bite as he walked further along the street, listening to Old Lin’s 评书 radio program in his head. The rhythmic storytelling had become familiar and comforting.

As he passed by Lin's coffee shop, Chen Mo stopped briefly at the window. Yan Zhi was not there today—no charcoal blouse or soft-spoken mannerisms to catch his eye. He continued walking without slowing down, his mind focused on the rhythm of the 评书 playing in his head—an unspoken soundtrack to his afternoon.

Chen Mo eventually found himself sitting by a small outdoor café, taking in the warm sunlight and busy street life around him. The city was bustling with people going about their day—some hurried while others strolled leisurely. He watched the interactions around him, noting how each person moved through their routines with varying degrees of urgency.

The afternoon stretched on with Chen Mo walking aimlessly along Renmin Road, taking in every detail as if imprinting them firmly into his memory. When he eventually returned to his dorm room at about 3:00 PM, he found comfort in the quiet routine of unpacking and organizing his small purchases.

He poured a cup of instant coffee and opened his notebook, jotting down brief notes from his afternoon walk—observations on street life, details about shops he’d passed by, and any other minor details that had caught his attention. The simple act of writing helped him organize his thoughts and feelings in a tangible way.

Chen Mo spent the rest of the afternoon reading through files and materials for the upcoming week—the routine work providing a comforting familiarity as he settled back into a quiet rhythm. As evening approached, he closed the laptop with a soft click, feeling a sense of accomplishment and ease wash over him.

He prepared for bed earlier than usual, his body and mind both growing weary from the day’s events and introspection. The fluorescent lights outside continued their steady hum as Chen Mo lay down on the mattress, feeling an unexpected yet profound sense of peace settle within him.

For the first time since arriving in Qing'an City's government office, he drifted into sleep easily—each honest move adding up to a quiet strength that guided him through this new world. The subtle signals exchanged and small details noted all contributed to his growing understanding and strategic approach to navigating the intricate web of relationships and politics around him.

Chen Mo slept soundly, his body and mind at ease for the first time since arriving in Qing'an—guided by a quiet confidence that came from careful precision and an unspoken connection with those who mattered most.