Light filtered through the small window, settling gently across the room.
Mother Jiang’s heart pounded as she watched her daughter lift a corner of her loungewear. There, against her fair skin, lay a small, dark red butterfly-shaped birthmark, its wings delicately defined.
It was exactly the same as the one she remembered, identical in both shape and position, flawless down to the smallest detail.
“This…”
Mother Jiang was completely stunned. Her fingertips moved almost on their own, brushing lightly over the familiar mark. Her voice trembled, filled with disbelief.
“Didn’t you say… this was someone else’s body? Then how… how could even this birthmark…”
This went far beyond anything she understood about rebirth.
Jiang Yining shook her head, equally confused.
“I don’t know either, Mom. I’ve only been awake for a week. The day I woke up was chaotic, I fainted right in front of the flower shop and ended up in the hospital for three days. I called you as soon as I was discharged.”
She pulled her clothes back into place.
“Fainted?”
Mother Jiang’s chest tightened instantly, panic surging through her at the thought of losing her daughter again.
“No, we’re going back to the hospital this afternoon. A full checkup, no shortcuts.”
Her tone left no room for negotiation.
“Alright, I’ll listen to you.”
Jiang Yining nodded obediently. She knew this was how her mother expressed the worry she could not put into words.
The two of them stepped out of the bedroom.
In the living room, Father Jiang sat in the slightly taller chair, his long frame making him look a little out of place. His gaze rested on his daughter, complicated and searching. Though those intimate details had shaken his doubts, the unfamiliar body before him still made it hard to fully accept everything.
Mother Jiang walked over and whispered a few words into his ear.
Father Jiang’s pupils shrank slightly. He turned sharply to look at Jiang Yining again, the last trace of hesitation in his eyes scattering like dust in the wind. Then he gave a firm nod.
“Good. We’ll go this afternoon.”
Mother Jiang went into the kitchen to find some fruit, only to be greeted by a refrigerator stuffed with potato chips, chocolate, jelly, and brightly colored drinks.
She shook her head helplessly, yet a smile tugged at her lips.
“This habit of snacking… some things never change.”
Fortunately, the fresh vegetables and meat Auntie Chen had brought earlier were still neatly stored in the crisper drawer.
Mother Jiang tied on an apron, and soon the familiar sounds of cooking filled the small kitchen. Before long, the rich aroma of three dishes and a soup spread through the attic.
At the dining table, Jiang Yining sat close to her father, chatting nonstop like a little bird that had finally found its way home.
She deliberately brought up all the mischievous things she and her father had done together when she was young, their secret “partnerships in crime.”
Hiding the comic books her mother had confiscated, sneaking his treasured stamps to trade with classmates for candy, splashing muddy water onto his pant legs on rainy days just for fun…
As Father Jiang listened, the tension in his face gradually eased. The smile in his eyes deepened, eventually turning into a helpless sigh filled with quiet affection.
These small secrets, known only to father and daughter, even hidden from his wife and son, worked like precise keys, unlocking every last barrier in his heart.
He reached out and tightly held the hand resting on the table.
The warmth, the softness, it was real.
He held on as if afraid that letting go would cause this regained treasure to disappear again. His eyes reddened uncontrollably, and he lowered his head, clearing his throat to steady himself.
Mother Jiang brought out the final bowl of soup. When she saw them like this, her own eyes filled with tears. She quietly wiped the corner of her eye and set the steaming dish at the center of the table.
Taking a bite of her mother’s sweet and sour pork, the familiar taste burst across Jiang Yining’s tongue.
She narrowed her eyes in pure satisfaction.
“Mom’s sweet and sour pork is still the best in the world.”
Mother Jiang laughed, automatically picking up a large portion of greens and placing them into her daughter’s bowl.
Looking down at her rice now buried under vegetables, Jiang Yining’s face instantly fell.
“Mom, I don’t want vegetables, I don’t like them!”
She instinctively turned to Father Jiang, her eyes pleading for help.
Father Jiang met her gaze, then simply shrugged, giving her a look that said, even I can’t save you.
“You have to eat them,” Mother Jiang said firmly.
Yet as she watched her daughter wrinkle her nose and force the vegetables into her mouth as if enduring great suffering, her heart softened completely, like it was steeped in warm lemon water.
The corners of her eyes, only just dried, grew damp again.
After the meal, Jiang Yining stood up naturally, clearing the dishes and wiping the table with practiced ease.
In the Jiang household, children were taught from a young age to share the chores. If not for the overwhelming emotions of the day, she would have been the one cooking.
That afternoon, Father and Mother Jiang took her straight to the best hospital in H City.
Registration, consultation, test orders, payment, she followed behind them the entire time like a dazed little tail.
Watching the rows of self-service machines and report printers blinking in the hospital lobby, her eyes filled with curiosity and confusion.
In just eight years, even going to the hospital had become so advanced.
Mother Jiang felt just as lost.
Ever since her daughter disappeared, she had lived in a haze. All these years, it had been Father Jiang and their son, Jiang Yunting, who handled hospital visits.
Now, faced with this modern system, she was just as unfamiliar.