The Weight of a Father's Silence

White, snow-white walls. The glow of energy-saving fluorescent lights. The pale green, explosion-proof glass reinforced with welded iron bars.

Li Huowang, wrapped in two layers of restraint suit, quietly and earnestly observed everything around him.

The monotonous environment seemed, at this moment, to be brimming with vitality in his eyes. It was as if the very saturation of the colors had increased.

This was because everything was real. Not fake.

From Hong Zhong’s memories, Li Huowang had learned the terrifying power of a Heart-Element. The innate pneuma within him was not some mere internal energy—it was a fragment of the Heavenly Dao itself.

Just as a Heart-Turbid could tear the world apart, a Heart-Element, if their ability was perfectly utilized, could likewise cultivate the false into reality.

When he understood this, the bewilderment in Li Huowang’s heart vanished completely. He no longer had to distinguish between true and false. As long as he cared about it, whether it was real or not, he could make it real.

With a loud clang, the sound of the iron door drew Li Huowang’s gaze toward the entrance.

First, two burly guards walked in from outside, their police batons in hand, wearing stab-proof and bulletproof vests. They stood one on each side like a pair of door gods.

Between them walked in Sun Xiaoqin, carrying a lunchbox. She seemed quite displeased with their presence.

“You youngsters, honestly! I told you, as long as I’m here, there’s absolutely no danger. You still had to follow me. One wasn’t enough—you had to send two. Are you all that bored in this prison?”

The guards, for their part, were equally full of complaints. “Auntie Sun, please don’t make this harder for us. It’s a direct order from upstairs. Don’t get us wrong—we’re government employees, stable pay and all—but we only make a few thousand a month. Do you know how much property is per square meter now? For this kind of money, it really isn’t worth losing our lives to deal with your son.”

Sun Xiaoqin was about to continue her complaining, but when she saw Li Huowang looking at her, she perked up and hurried over with the lunchbox. “Son? You’re awake! Come on, eat! Today I made your favorite—winter melon and spare rib soup!”

Li Huowang studied her face. That face that was so familiar, yet so incredibly warm.

A plastic-handled spoon scooped up half a spoonful of rice from the lunchbox, picked up half a rib and a piece of winter melon, and finally brought it to Li Huowang’s lips.

Li Huowang put the simple but delicious food into his mouth and began to chew slowly.

He calmly enjoyed this rare delicacy, no longer having to agonize over whether what he was eating was winter melon and ribs, or rusty nails and mud.

Looking at the crow’s feet at the corners of Sun Xiaoqin’s eyes, Li Huowang said softly, “Mom, you don’t need to hover around me twenty-four-seven. You should take some time to rest. I’m going to get better from now on.”

“Nonsense! This is exactly the time when you can’t be left alone!”

Hearing this, Li Huowang did not argue further. He knew that given her temperament, it was useless to try.

The meal passed with rare, unexpected calm. There was no accident halfway through.

Just as the two guards at the door were letting out a sigh of relief, they saw a colleague leading a man in his forties or fifties into the ward.

“It’s fine. That’s the father of Bed 13.”

All three guards simultaneously watched the man, who was carrying a red net bag of small oranges, walk toward the bed of the violent madman.

“Dad.” Li Huowang stared at this somewhat unfamiliar man. He didn’t have many clear moments, and the times he found his father by his side could be counted on one hand.

“Why are you here? Why didn’t you let me know before you came?” Sun Xiaoqin scolded her husband, grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward the door.

Through the window with the iron bars, Li Huowang saw his parents huddling together, whispering to each other, occasionally stealing glances in his direction.

Li Huowang watched their backs with a complex expression. The clothes they had bought in the past now seemed a little loose on them. They had both lost weight.

Five minutes later, Li Huowang saw his father walk back into the room, while his mother left, carrying the lunchbox.

“Want an orange?” Two small, gritty tangerines were taken out of the red net bag.

Seeing Li Huowang shake his head, his father peeled one and placed it on the bedside table.

“How have you been lately?”

“Not bad. The environment here is pretty good.”

“How’s your illness?”

“Almost better. I mean it.”

“Oh, that’s good, then.”

They made small talk, but gradually, neither of them said anything.

The thread of their conversation had broken. It seemed natural enough. Compared to his mother, who played the ‘good cop’ at home, he hadn’t had many heart-to-heart talks with his father, the ‘bad cop’.

Li Huowang silently observed him. The bloodshot eyes and faint dark circles were proof of his lack of sleep.

The slightly yellowed collar and the oil-stained cuffs showed that the clothes he was wearing hadn’t been changed in a while.

And on his slightly balding head, the white hairs were much more numerous than before. He also hadn’t shaved in a few days.

This man was his father. Li Jiecheng.

Looking at his son, who was tightly bound to the hospital bed, and the scar that ran across his entire face, Li Jiecheng let out a deep sigh. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a dry, crumpled pack of cigarettes, took one out, put it between his lips, and lit it with a green transparent lighter.

He took a deep drag, then slowly exhaled the smoke. It was as if the smoke had stung his eyes, making them look a little moist.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but smoking is strictly prohibited in the entire detention area right now. Please cooperate.”

Hearing the guard’s reminder at the door, Li Jiecheng quickly put out the cigarette, looked around, found no ashtray, and finally wrapped the butt in the peeled orange peel.

“Dad, didn’t you quit? Why did you start again?”

Li Jiecheng gave a wry smile, stuffing the lighter back into his pocket. “Got a lot on my mind. It’s fine, this tobacco’s cheap, not much money.”

“I wasn’t talking about the money. I was talking about your health.”

After a long silence, Li Jiecheng let out another deep sigh. “It’s your father’s fault. I didn’t find out about your condition sooner. I checked online; mental illnesses are best treated early. If I’d found out earlier, maybe it wouldn’t have—”

“Dad! This has nothing to do with you!” Li Huowang couldn’t help but interrupt him.

“This is a matter of constitution. Since I’m a Heart-Element, this is my fate. There’s no escaping it. You don’t have to blame yourself. I’ll handle it. Don’t worry.”

When he saw the corners of his father’s mouth begin to tremble, Li Huowang knew he shouldn’t have explained it to him.

He didn’t understand the other world at all. Telling him about being a Heart-Element would only make him more convinced that his son’s illness hadn’t improved.

“Huowang.” Li Jiecheng’s voice was full of exhaustion and bitterness. “I know you can’t tell the difference. It’s okay. It doesn’t matter if you can’t tell. Your father doesn’t blame you.”

“If you prefer to stay over there, then stay over there. If it makes you feel better inside, don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything here. Your father can still handle it.”

Hearing this, Li Huowang’s heart ached, but he didn’t say anything more. He was afraid that the moment he opened his mouth, the tears in his eyes would also spill out.

The father and son continued to sit in silence like this until the guards came to ask them to leave. Only then did Li Jiecheng, exhausted but with a stubborn strength still holding him up, stand up, gently touch Li Huowang’s head, turn around, and leave the ward.