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Chapter 9 - The idea of home (part 2 )

Dinner was quiet, but no one truly felt peace.The table carried the weight of Xiao Ming's mistake — a charred fish soup, bitter smoke still clinging to the air. Yet not one of them dared to complain. They all knew: a single word against the food, and Lia Ming's fury would turn the evening into war.

A sudden cough broke the silence."Now what's wrong with you, Feng?" Lia's sharp voice cracked through the room like a whip.Poor Feng Hai bowed his head and muttered nothing, forcing himself to eat.

Lia herself sat eating too, jaw tight with annoyance. Then Wei Tao's voice slid into the heavy silence."By the way, Lia… can I ask you something?""What is it, Wei?" she shot back, her voice still scorched.Wei Tao smirked, leaning lazily on his chair. "You know what Dad used to say about you?"

Lia's brows softened, curiosity fighting through her temper. "What do you mean?""He always said you're the dictator of this house."

For a moment, her lips pressed into a thin line. Then, despite herself, Lia laughed. A short, broken laugh that cracked the tension. "Wei Wei… don't make me angry." She tried to sound rude, but when she glanced up, she saw the three of them watching her — waiting, smiling.

"Oh, c'mon…" Lia shook her head. The laughter spread like fire. In seconds, they were all laughing — over burnt soup, over nothing at all. Just four siblings bound together by something far stronger than blood.

No one in that house ever let the other feel like they weren't family. They fought, they teased, they forgave. They belonged.

And yet, beneath their laughter, memories lingered — of Ming Yao Zhi, the man who had given them a home, a name, a family. He had adopted them one by one, not because of charity, but because he couldn't stand the thought of a child without a roof. His dream of a great welfare home had died with his cancer diagnosis, just after he brought Lia into the family. Instead, he had poured his remaining time into raising the four of them, weaving them into each other's lives until they were inseparable.

But even he couldn't stay forever.Within two years of adopting Wei Tao, sickness stole him away too. On a quiet night, weakened by pain, Ming Yao Zhi gathered his children around him. With trembling breath, he left them his last will, and then slipped out of their world.

That night, laughter left their house for a long time.

Lia, the youngest, had been the one to cry the longest. She was introverted, soft at heart, but also the only one brave enough to kill the rats that sometimes crept in.

The night Ming Yao Zhi died, silence swallowed the house.The siblings had sat around his bed, clinging to the last words he whispered. Promises. Rules. Warnings. And a smile that still held warmth, even as the light drained from his eyes.

When the final breath left him, Lia's cry was the first to break the stillness. She was the youngest, her heart still soft and raw, and she clung to the bedsheet as if tugging hard enough would pull him back.Xiao Ming didn't cry. She stood at the window, back stiff, fists clenched. Her tears came later, alone, where no one could see her weakness.Feng Hai wept openly, clutching Wei Tao's arm like a child lost in a storm.And Wei Tao, the eldest, tried to be strong. His face was pale, jaw trembling, but he forced himself to whisper, "He wouldn't want us to break apart."

In that moment, none of them were step-siblings. None of them were strangers with the same surname. They were just four children, bound by grief.

Three days later, when the house still smelled of incense and unspoken grief, Wei Tao gathered them in the living room."He gave us this roof," he said, voice rough but steady. "If we don't protect it, we'll lose him too. So from today… we make his words our law."

One by one, they repeated the rules Yao Zhi had left them:

No secrets.

No locked doors.

No lies.

Everything shared.

No one left behind.

For Lia, the rules were safety — a structure to cling to when the world felt empty.For Xiao, they were tradition — the thread tying them back to their father.For Feng, they were comfort — a promise that family would never abandon him.For Wei Tao, they were duty — a chain he carried alone, to keep them all together.

From that day, the house was no longer just brick and wood. It was Yao Zhi's memory, his unfinished dream, alive through them.

But grief changes people.Xiao Ming threw herself into rules and routines, keeping order so she wouldn't have to think of loss.Feng Hai turned louder, more cheerful, chasing laughter as if it could erase the silence their father left.Wei Tao drifted into long nights, reading poetry and staring at the stars, chasing meaning in the pages of philosophy.And Lia — Lia grew colder on the outside, though inside, she only longed for warmth.

They survived. They laughed again. They fought over chores, they teased, they cooked and cleaned.

That night, after the incense had burned low and Xiao Ming had retreated to her room, Wei Tao climbed to the rooftop. The house below was heavy with silence, but above him the moon was clear, pale, and watchful.

He sat cross-legged, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the sky. The moonlight pooled over his face, softening the sharpness of grief, making him look almost fragile.

The rooftop door creaked. Wei Tao didn't turn, but he heard footsteps — light, careful. Then Feng Hai lowered himself beside him, knees pulled close to his chest. For a long moment, neither spoke.

The night wind brushed past them.

Finally, Feng broke the silence. "Do you think he can see us?" His voice was quiet, almost childlike.

Wei Tao tilted his head back, gaze locked on the stars. "If anyone could, it'd be him. Dad never left us, not really."

Feng nodded, but his eyes weren't on the sky. They lingered on Wei Tao's profile, on the way the moonlight touched the corners of his face. There was comfort in sitting beside him — comfort, and something else that made his chest tight in a way he couldn't name.

Wei Tao finally glanced sideways and caught him staring. For a second, the air shifted, fragile as glass.

"What?" Wei Tao's tone was half-amused, half-guarded.

Feng blinked, startled, and looked away quickly. "Nothing… just— you sound like Dad when you talk like that."

Wei Tao's mouth curved, but there was no smile in his eyes. "I'm not him. Don't forget that."

And yet, the absence of their father was always there, an invisible fifth chair at the dinner table.

Silence again. The moon looked down, silver and distant

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