Side Story-6
February 4, 2019
Lunar New Year's Eve
Grandmother's Home – Anhui Province, China
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Liang Rui had always loved this house.
It was old and drafty in the winter, with faded wallpaper and a stubborn stove that never quite heated the corners—but it held generations of memories.
Every year, no matter where life took them, the family came back here. For red envelopes, steaming dumplings, bad karaoke, and the warm kind of chaos only a Chinese New Year could bring.
And for the first time in years, Han was here too.
He had flown in just before the New Year, taking advantage of the short break in Sacramento's schedule before the All-Star weekend.
He told everyone it was for family, for tradition.
But Liang Rui knew better.
It was guilt.
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The house was packed. Cousins, uncles, aunts, neighbors—even people she barely remembered came just to see the Han Sen, the pride of the province, now lighting up the NBA with the Kings.
He handled it all with poise.
He greeted elders with polite bows. Sat next to Grandpa during dinner. Let the little ones climb on him like a jungle gym. Even performed a no-look chopstick trick for the kids that sent them into a frenzy.
On the surface, it was perfect.
Too perfect.
---
She watched closely.
When Aunt Meiling brought up how Han used to sneak candy from the kitchen and hide it in his cousin's shoes, Han blinked—then laughed.
But it was half a second too late.
When his uncle teased him about the time he cried over losing a game of Chinese chess, Han smirked and said, "Must've been my cousin, not me."
The room erupted with laughter. It didn't matter.
But it mattered to her.
Because she remembered that moment. The way he threw the pieces and stormed out, ten years old and dramatic, vowing never to lose again.
He had cried.
He had yelled.
And now he didn't even recognize it.
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Later that evening, the family pulled out the photo albums.
Old, glossy pictures—some wrinkled, some sun-damaged—made their way around the room.
There was one of Han at seven years old, with a giant red scarf wrapped around his neck and sticky rice dumplings in both hands. Grinning with missing teeth.
"Remember this?" his cousin nudged him, laughing. "You got sick from eating six of them!"
Han looked down at the photo.
Then up.
"Must've blocked that memory out," he joked, smiling.
Everyone laughed again.
Except Liang Rui.
Because he wasn't joking.
She could tell.
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That night, after the meal had ended and most of the relatives were passed out or playing mahjong, she found him sitting alone in the side room, phone in hand, watching a Kings highlight reel on mute.
The fireworks outside lit up his face in flashes of red and silver.
She walked in without knocking and sat down beside him.
He glanced at her, then back at the screen.
"You don't sleep early anymore?" he asked, half-teasing.
"You don't remember the scarf," she said softly.
Han froze.
She didn't look at him when she spoke.
"You don't remember the dumplings, or the chess game, or your uncle's old van that used to break down every winter. You pretended, but I could tell."
A long silence.
The window rattled from a distant firework.
"I've been gone a long time, Ma," Han said. "Some things… fade."
She turned to look at him.
"This wasn't forgetting," she said quietly. "This was never knowing."
Han's jaw tensed.
Liang Rui didn't cry. She didn't raise her voice.
She just looked at him the way only a mother could.
"I don't know what happened to my son, Han Sen. I don't know if you're him. Maybe part of you is. Maybe not."
He didn't respond.
So she reached out and gently placed her hand over his.
"You don't have to tell me everything. I don't need answers."
Pause.
"But if you're hurting… if you're alone in this—I don't want you to carry it by yourself anymore."
Han stared at their hands for a long time.
Then nodded—barely.
That was enough.
She gave his hand a light squeeze, stood up, and left the room.
Outside, someone lit a new round of fireworks. The sky bloomed in color again.
And for the first time in a long time, Liang Rui allowed herself to hope.
Not for clarity.
Not for explanations.
Just for connection.
Whoever he was now… she still loved him.
(End of Chapter)
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Translator's note:
I'm really sorry for ghosting you all… again.
I should've said something earlier. I could've. But I kept putting it off—telling myself I'd post tomorrow, then the next day, and the next… until silence became easier than explanation.
After Ramadan, my final semester was coming to a close—exams, deadlines, all that pressure. And once it was over… I finally had time.
But I didn't come back.
I got lazy. I kept avoiding it. And that's on me.
I became the one thing I always said I'd never be—someone who drops a story without a word.
You have every right to be disappointed. I deserve the hate.
But even with all that, some of you never stopped showing support.
MakarHunt, MartialG0D, and others I might've missed—you were still giving me stones, even while I was gone. That really meant a lot.
And to Rheizz, Raid_Zulfakar, and those of you who checked in—whether on Discord or in the Webnovel comments—thank you. Truly. That kind of kindness sticks with you.
I'm back now. And this time, I'll see it through.
No more running.
Thank you for sticking around.