The sky was painted in soft streaks of violet and amber as Liang Yue stepped out of the Hua & Co. Building, her steps a little higher than usual.
Her mother had called just hours earlier, voice bright and persuasive as always.
"Come home for dinner tonight, ah? Your father misses you, he won't say it, but I can hear it in how loudly he chews."
"And Muffin's been barking at every car that passes. He probably thinks you've forgotten us."
"I'm making your favorite Mapo tofu and scallion pancakes."
How could she say no?
Liang Yue booked a taxi right away; her heart warmed already at the thought of home. Her real home. The one not lit by studio lights or filled with actors. Just real people, and love in the air.
The ride took thirty minutes, as it always did.
The cityscape slowly gave way to the quieter side of town tree tree-lined streets, small parks, convenience stores still run by old couples, and the unmistakable glow of homes that always smelled like rice and ginger.
At 7:03 PM, the taxi pulled up outside a small, cream-colored house with a red tiled roof and slightly crooked mailbox. The porch light was on.
She stepped out, paying the driver, and barely had time to lift her bag before.
"WOOF!! WOOF!! WOOF!!"
A blur of golden fur launched towards her.
"Muffin!" she laughed, bending down just in time for the two-year-old golden retriever to tackle her wagging like a helicopter blade.
Muffin barked happily, paws pressing into her jeans, tongue licking her cheeks like she'd been gone a year instead of a few weeks.
"Okay, okay down, I missed you too," she giggled, rubbing his ears.
"JIE!" another voice cried from the doorway.
Her 14-year-old brother, Liang Chen, ran toward her in socks and a hoodie three sizes too big. He threw his arms around her without hesitation.
"You smell like eyeliner and snacks," he mumbled into her shoulder
"And you still smell like gym class," she teased, ruffling his hair.
Together, with Muffin circling their feet, they made their way to the front door.
Her mother stood there in an apron, wiping her hands on a dish towel, eyes soft.
"There she is. My Moonlight daughter," she smiled, using her childhood nickname.
Behind her, her father peeked around from the kitchen doorway, hiding his grin behind a newspaper.
"Took you long enough. We nearly ate without you," he said with mock annoyance, but his eyes sparkled.
"You always say that," Yue replied, stepping into the warm light of the home she grew up in.
She slipped off her shoes and took a deep breath.
It smelled of star anise, soy, and something like comfort wrapped in memory.
After a while the dining table was already set when Liang Yue took her usual seat middle of the table, right across from her father, and next to her brother who was already spooning rice into his bowl like he hadn't eaten in days.
Mapo tofu, steamed eggs, sauteed spinach, and a stack of crispy scallion pancakes sat in the center like old friends.
Her mother poured her a bowl of hot soup and said warmly, "Eat more. You're still too thin for my liking,"
"Mom," Yue laughed gently, "You say that every time."
"And I'll keep saying it until it stops being true," her mother replied giving sharp look.
For a while, there was only the quiet clinking of chopsticks and occasional bark from Muffin near the kitchen, begging for a bite.
Then her mother broke the peace like she always did when something had been resting too long on her mind.
"Yue ah," she said, not looking directly at her daughter. "Have you thought about.... maybe stepping back from work?"
Liang Yue looked up, caught off guard.
"WHAT?"
"You're still 21. You're in your final year of university. I know you're talented, and your company is lucky to have you, but...." she hesitated. "This pace.... it's too fast. You work like you're forty."
Yue set down her chopsticks slowly, "I like what I do."
Before her mother could speak again, Liang Chen, mouth half-full, jumped in.
"Jie works hard, though! She's, like crazy good. The dancers from that TV show followed her on Weibo."
He swallowed. "But.... I mean... she could still rest more."
Liang Yue shot him a look, half-smiling.
"I'm just saying... you're like a real adult now, but I still remember when you cried because I stepped on your eyeshadow palette." Liang Chen said while scratching his head.
That made Yue laugh, and for a moment the tension softened until her father cleared his throat and looked at her over the rim of his teacup.
"You know your university is just two subway stops from here. Why not move back in? Stop wasting money on rent and... whatever those takeaways are."
He squinted at her, "I saw you post something with a boxed sandwich and bubble tea for dinner. That's not food."
"It was Korean toast," she defended, chuckling. "It had egg."
"That's still junk," her mom huffed.
"You have warm bed here, a full kitchen, and us," her dad continued. "No shame in needing to breathe a little before chasing the entire world."
Liang Yue sat back slightly, her chest tight with something she couldn't quite name. They weren't worng.
She was twenty-one. Still a student. And yet, already elbow-deep in a world of back-to-back clients, 4 a.m. call times, and unspoken pressure to prove she belonged in the elite creative circles of the country.
But this was the first time in weeks she felt her heartbeat slow.
Here where rice was always hot, where Muffin lay asleep by the kitchen door, and where her names wasn't followed by credentials.
Just Yue.
Their daughter.
Their sister.
"I'll think about it," she said firmly, her voice quiet but honest.
Her mother smiled. Her father nodded once like he'd won a long game. Her brother gave her a secret thumbs-up under the table.
And for the rest of the evening, no one talked about makeup, or celebrities, or career choices.
Just old movies, school gossip, and which one of them always left dishes in the sink.
The world could wait. At least for tonight.