In the days that followed, Lin Jianguo never left his mother's side.
His father couldn't stop him, couldn't manage him, but his mother could. His mother's heart was soft; she listened to him. When he said, "Don't go out," she truly didn't go out. Day after day, she stayed at home, not going anywhere.
Lin Jianguo felt a little more at ease.
But he knew this wouldn't last long.
One morning, his mother was busy in the kitchen. Lin Jianguo sat on the doorstep, lost in thought. The sunlight shone on him, warm and gentle, but he felt a chill in his back.
Suddenly, the door was pushed open.
His father entered, looking not very well. He looked at Lin Jianguo briefly, said nothing, and walked straight into the house. He rummaged through a cabinet and took out a cotton-padded coat.
It was his mother's coat—old, blue fabric, the collar worn out. She wore it when she went out in winter, though she usually didn't like to wear it, keeping it tucked away in the cabinet.
Lin Jianguo stood up. "Dad, what are you doing with that?"
His father didn't answer. He took the coat and headed outside.
"Dad!" Lin Jianguo called after him.
His father paused, turned back. He looked at his son's face, silent for a moment, then said, "Your mother wants to go out."
Lin Jianguo was stunned.
"I won't allow it," his father said. "But she has to go."
Lin Jianguo turned and ran toward the kitchen.
His mother was standing by the stove, packing a basket—several steamed buns, a pot of water, and a small bag of salted vegetables. She was wearing that old coat—the one his father had just taken—and it was already on her.
"Mom!" Lin Jianguo shouted.
She turned around and looked at him.
"Where are you going?"
She didn't reply.
"Don't go!" Lin Jianguo ran over, grabbing her sleeve. "You promised me not to go out!"
His mother looked down at his hand, then up at his face. Her eyes held many emotions—pity, reluctance, guilt, and something else.
"Jianguo," she softly said, "your dad is over there."
Lin Jianguo's hand stiffened.
"There's been an accident at the farm," his mother said. "Someone's been hurt, and your dad has to go help. I have to go too."
"I'll go!" Lin Jianguo shouted. "I'll help! Don't go!"
His mother shook her head. "You're just a kid. What can you do?"
"I can!" Lin Jianguo clung to her sleeve. "I can work, I can carry things, I can…"
"Jianguo," she interrupted softly but firmly, "I know you're worried about me. But that's your father. He's there, and I have to go."
Lin Jianguo looked into her eyes, speechless.
His mother reached out and gently touched his face. Her hand was rough, hard, but warm.
"Be good," she said. "Stay at home and wait. I'll be back soon."
She pried his hand loose, grabbed the basket, and stepped outside.
Lin Jianguo stood there, watching her back, watching her wearing that old coat, walking away step by step.
When she reached the door, she turned back and smiled at him.
That smile was the same as always—curved eyes, a pressed mouth. It looked like nothing was wrong, like she was just going to visit a friend and would be back soon.
Then she pushed the door open and went out.
Lin Jianguo froze for a second, then ran after her.
The sun was already setting in the west, casting long shadows. He saw his mother walking ahead, walking quickly, that old coat billowing in the wind. His father had somehow caught up and was walking beside her, shoulder to shoulder, heading toward the mountain.
Lin Jianguo chased after them, running breathlessly.
"Mom! Dad!" he called.
They turned around and saw him, both stunned.
"Why are you here?" his father asked.
Lin Jianguo didn't answer. He ran into the middle of them, grabbing each by the arm.
"I'm coming with you," he said.
His father and mother exchanged glances.
"Let's go," his father said.
The three of them headed up the mountain together.
The sun was sinking lower, casting longer shadows. Lin Jianguo walked in the middle, with his father on his left and his mother on his right. Neither of them spoke; only the rustling of footsteps on fallen leaves.
Halfway up the mountain, Lin Jianguo suddenly caught a whiff of a smell.
Smoke.
Very faint, very light, but definitely smoke. He raised his head and looked up the mountain.
In a valley, a wisp of smoke was rising. It wasn't the faint, barely-there smoke from before, but thick, black, curling upward.
His heart clenched tightly.
"Dad!" he shouted.
His father saw it too. He stopped, stared at the smoke, and his expression changed.
"Run!" he yelled, then sprinted up the mountain.
His mother followed, running too. Lin Jianguo chased behind, lungs burning.
At the mouth of the valley, they saw the fire.
It wasn't a big blaze, just a patch burning in the bushes. But the wind was strong, blowing the flames wildly, flickering in all directions. The fire line was expanding, slowly spreading toward them.
Nearby, several workers from the forest farm held branches, trying to beat out the fire, but it was too large.
His father rushed over, grabbed a branch, and started beating the flames. His mother hurried to help.
Lin Jianguo stood there, watching the fire and his parents' figures.
He saw the flickering light reflected on their faces, sometimes bright, sometimes dim. He saw his mother's old coat shining in the firelight. He saw the silver hairpin on her head flash once, then again.
And then he saw something else.
The fire suddenly surged higher, rushing toward them—not at them, but toward the tree nearby. The tree caught fire, flames leaping higher than a person. A gust of wind blew, sending the flames toward them.
The corner of his mother's garment was licked by the flames.
Just a tiny lick, but he saw it.
He remembered the first cycle, the golden butterfly on his father's coat. The second cycle, the charred hole on his mother's coat.
Different.
This time, different.
He rushed forward, grabbing his mother and pulling her back.
"Mom!" he shouted.
His mother staggered from his pull, nearly falling. She turned to look at him, confusion on her face.
"What's wrong?"
Lin Jianguo didn't answer. He just held her tightly.
His mother, bewildered, patted his back. "What's wrong? It's nothing, Mom's fine."
Lin Jianguo buried his face in her embrace, smelling the familiar scent—firewood, soap, a hint of sweat.
He thought—this time, he had held her.
He had held her, and he wouldn't let go.
But he didn't know that a bigger fire was approaching from the distance, burning toward them.