It was an ordinary morning, yet for Huaijin, it felt like standing at the crossroads between two lifetimes.
She could still remember her last morning from her previous life, the one before the landslide. She had been running late for work, gulping down the stale coffee, as she stared at the empty chair across from her. That chair had always felt heavier than anything else in the world, because her father's absence sat there.
And now, here he was again, alive and breathing, humming the same old folk song he used to sing when he was in a good mood.
Her heart twisted painfully and sweetly at once.
'Come to think of it, I never really told him that I loved him.'
Not even once.
In her last life, she had thought there would always be time, after her exams, after her first job, after she made enough money to buy him that house he always dreamed of. But time was cruel. One moment, she had been promising herself that she would treat him better, and the next, she had been kneeling beside his hospital bed, staring at his still hand, realizing that she had missed her chance forever.
The guilt of it had followed her like a shadow for twenty years.
Now, in this life, she could fix that.
Even if her voice trembled, even if her heart felt too full to bear, she wanted to say the words she had never said before.
Her father, Chi Yuanfeng, came out of the kitchen a few minutes later, balancing a tray in his hands.
"Breakfast's ready," he announced with a proud smile.
In the tray were two simple bowls of millet porridge, a small plate of pickled vegetables, and a fried egg that looked slightly burnt on one side. The scent of this homemade food coming through the air was comforting.
"Daddy made this all by himself, so no complaints," he added teasingly as he placed the tray down on the small table beside the bed.
Huaijin's lips curled up unconsciously. He always said that whenever he cooked. Even when the rice was half raw or the soup too salty, he would puff out his chest and act like the greatest chef in the world.
She nodded obediently and took the spoon he handed her.
Her father sat beside her on the bed, picking up his own bowl. "Careful, it's hot," he warned.
She blew gently on the spoonful before taking a bite. The porridge was bland, but warm, so warm that tears pricked her eyes again.
He watched her, mistaking her silence for discomfort. "Not good?" he asked nervously.
She shook her head quickly, swallowing the lump in her throat. "It's… delicious."
He smiled in relief, his eyes softening. "You've become such a good girl," he said fondly. "When you were younger, you'd cry if there weren't enough pickles."
Her lips curved faintly. "Then I'll eat more pickles today," she said.
He chuckled.
They ate in silence for a while. The sound of their spoons clinking against the bowls was the only thing that filled the air, gentle and rhythmic.
But Chi Huaijin's heart was pounding.
She wanted to say it, those three words that had been trapped in her chest for so long. But every time she tried, her throat tightened.
She glanced up at him secretly. He was focused on his food, the sunlight catching on his hair, highlighting strands of chestnut-brown. His side profile was calm and steady, the same face she had memorized from childhood photos, and later wept over at his funeral.
Her fingers clenched around her spoon.
She was six years old again, but she was also twenty-six, carrying the grief and wisdom of two decades. She couldn't stay silent anymore.
'Say it,' she told herself. 'Say it before it's too late again.'
"Dad," she called softly.
He turned to her, his expression immediately gentle. "Hmm?"
She hesitated. Her small lips pressed together, trembling slightly.
"I…" she began, then stopped, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
He blinked, waiting patiently.
'It's fine! I can do it! I'm still a child now! Every child loves their parents; it's perfectly normal, right?!'
Finally, she took a deep breath, her little chest rising and falling. Her voice came out clear but trembling, the voice of a child holding the weight of an adult's heart.
"I love you, Dad."
The words slipped into the air like drops of sunlight, soft, pure, but carrying the force of years of silence behind them.
For a moment, her father just stared at her.
His spoon froze halfway to his mouth.
"What… did you say?" he asked, his voice strangely hoarse.
Huaijin's cheeks turned pink, but she didn't back down. She looked straight at him with serious eyes that seemed too deep for a six-year-old.
"I said… I love you," she repeated, slower this time.
There was a heartbeat of silence.
And then, her father's eyes widened slightly before softening into disbelief and warmth. A slow smile broke across his face, the kind of smile that reached his eyes, trembling slightly at the corners.
For a long moment, he didn't say anything. He just looked at her, as if trying to imprint that moment into his soul.
Finally, he let out a shaky laugh and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Ah, what's gotten into my little girl today?" he murmured, half flustered, half amused. "You're being so sweet all of a sudden."
His ears were a little red.
Huaijin bit back a giggle. In her past life, she had forgotten how easily he blushed when she complimented him.
He cleared his throat, pretending to be calm, and reached out to pinch her cheek gently. "Kids your age sure know how to make their fathers' hearts melt, huh?"
"I mean it," she said softly.
The seriousness in her tone startled him again. He looked at her carefully, really looked. For a brief second, he thought he saw something beyond her childish face, a deep melancholy, a tenderness that didn't belong to a six-year-old.