After AFK for five years, I returned to be number one in the entire server.

Lin Ye's mother, Zhou Qiaoyun, has a habit of thoroughly cleaning the house every three months.

Besides sweeping and wiping the table, she would also take everything out of the cabinet, handle each item one by one, throwing away what needed to be thrown away and keeping what needed to be kept.

Lin Changhe said she had obsessive-compulsive disorder, and she didn't deny it.

It was Saturday, and Lin Changhe went to work overtime, leaving her alone at home.

She moved the coffee table in the living room, pushed the sofa against the wall, took down the curtains and stuffed them into the washing machine, and then began to deal with the drawer under the TV cabinet that was crammed with miscellaneous items.

The drawer was full of all sorts of things: an expired supermarket membership card, an old wallet that Lin Changhe used to own, and a bunch of keys that he didn't know which door to open.

Her fingers touched something hard, and when she pulled it out, she found it was a photo album.

Zhou Qiaoyun turned to the first page.

The first photo was taken when Lin Ye was a month old. She was holding him while sitting on the sofa. She was only twenty-five years old at the time, and her eyes were curved into crescent moons as she smiled.

Turning to the second page, there are photos of Lin Ye from age three to five. He is riding a tricycle, squatting in the yard playing in the mud, wearing a red cotton-padded jacket during the Chinese New Year, holding a candied hawthorn in his hand, and his mouth is covered with syrup.

At that time, Lin Changhe was still working in a factory. His salary was not high, but he lived a stable life.

Every year on her birthday, she would take Lin Ye to a photo studio in town to take a picture, without fail.

The photographer's surname is Fang. He likes to tease children. Every time Lin stands in front of the camera, Mr. Fang says, "Smile, little one." Lin smiles, a very well-behaved smile, showing a few little tiger teeth.

Zhou Qiaoyun's finger stopped on a photo, which was Lin Ye's first-grade entrance photo when he was seven years old.

He was wearing a white short-sleeved shirt, the collar buttoned up neatly, and his hair, which she had combed with a wet comb that morning, was parted in a neat three-seven split.

He stood under the old locust tree at the school gate, with the sign "Linhai No. 7 Primary School" behind him.

His expression was interesting; the corners of his mouth were turned up, but his eyes were wide open, as if he wanted to laugh but was a little embarrassed. In the end, his smile turned into a slightly stiff but serious arc.

Zhou Qiaoyun recalled that day; before leaving home that morning, Lin stood in front of the mirror several times, asking her, "Mom, is this dress okay?"

She said, "Yes, I look very energetic."

He grunted in agreement, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and headed out. But at the door, he turned back and asked, "Mom, do you think our homeroom teacher is fierce?"

"Not fierce at all. Your homeroom teacher is a very kind and gentle old teacher."

Only then did he feel relieved enough to leave.

Zhou Qiaoyun found it funny at the time; how could this child's schooling be like going to war?

Later, I learned from chatting with the neighbors that Lin had spent more than half an hour the night before asking the kid across the street about everything that happened at school.

Turning the pages, I came across photos of Lin Ye in third or fourth grade of elementary school, one of which was taken secretly by her.

That day, Lin came home from school, threw his schoolbag on the sofa, rummaged through the closet and found one of his black T-shirts. He then found a bamboo pole, put the T-shirt on the pole and used it as a flag. He carried the bamboo pole on his shoulder and walked back and forth in the living room, muttering to himself.

She came out of the kitchen carrying the dishes and asked him what he was doing.

Lin blushed and hid the bamboo pole behind her back: "I didn't do anything."

She put the dishes on the table without asking any questions, but took a picture with her phone when he wasn't looking.

In the photo, Lin is carrying a bamboo pole wrapped in a black T-shirt, her face turned to the side, her expression both serious and embarrassed.

Later she learned that Lin had been watching an animated film about an ancient general during that time, and one of the characters carried a black flag. Lin particularly liked that character and thought he looked very cool carrying the flag.

She laughed at him for a long time about this, and every time it was brought up, Lin would lower his head and his ears would turn red.

Flipping further, you see photos from fifth grade.

In the class photo, he was standing fourth from the left in the third row. The class had over thirty students, dressed in all sorts of outfits, but he was wearing a T-shirt with a cartoon image of a sword.

That outfit was something Lin Ye and she bought together at a shopping mall one time. They passed a store selling anime merchandise and he couldn't stop looking at it. He stood outside the shop window, his eyes fixed on that outfit.

She said, "Buy it if you like it."

He shook his head: "Too expensive."

She glanced at the price tag; eighty yuan, which was indeed not cheap.

Lin Ye's expression clearly showed that she probably felt embarrassed to let her family spend money, but in the end she still bought it.

On the way home, Lin also carried the paper bag, glancing down at it every now and then, as if afraid it would grow wings and fly away.

The next morning he put it on, stood in front of the mirror for a long time, and asked her, "Mom, what do you think the words on this mean?"

She said, "I don't know them."

After thinking for a long time, he gave his understanding very seriously: "It should be a very powerful move."

Zhou Qiaoyun chuckled and continued scrolling down.

In the sixth-grade graduation photo, Lin also stood in the line. He was half a head taller than two years ago, and the baby fat on his face had faded a bit, and his features were beginning to look like a teenager.

He pursed his lips, looked at the camera, and his smile was much more restrained than when he was a child.

There are significantly fewer photos from those three years of junior high school. One reason is that Lin doesn't like taking pictures anymore; every time she raises her phone, he turns his head away or covers his face with his hand.

On the other hand, Lin Changhe's job transfers and family matters kept her from having much energy during those years.

Among the few photos available, one is of Lin Ye participating in the school sports meet when she was in the second year of junior high school.

He was wearing a white sports vest, his bib number pinned crookedly to his chest, standing behind the starting line.

The students around him were all warming up, some were stretching their legs, some were jumping in place, but he was standing straight with his hands on the seams of his pants.

Zhou Qiaoyun was in the stands at the time, watching him from afar as he looked so nervous and stiff, feeling both sorry for him and wanting to laugh.

A shot rang out.

He wasn't fast and ended up in fourth place, failing to make the top three.

After crossing the finish line, he bent over, his hands on his knees, panting heavily.

She went down from the stands to find him and handed him a bottle of water.

A classmate ran over and patted him on the shoulder: "Lin Ye, you were slow at the start, otherwise you would definitely have made it into the top three."

Lin wiped the water from the corner of his mouth and smiled, "It's okay, we'll run again next year."

When he said "it's okay," he really meant it. Zhou Qiaoyun knew her son well; he wasn't the kind of child who would be upset for a long time over a setback. If he lost, he lost; he could just try again next time.

The photo was taken by the classmate's parent and later posted in the parents' group chat, which she saved.

In the photo, Lin Ye has just finished running. His face is covered in sweat, and his hair is messed up by the wind, but his expression is very peaceful, and even shows a hint of the exhilaration of finishing the run.

Lin Ye now rarely shows any extra expression on his face, like a deep pool of water, its surface completely still.

The last photo from junior high school is a group photo of Lin Ye and several classmates. It seems to have been taken on a Friday afternoon in an alley behind the school.

Lin stood slightly to the left of the center, next to a chubby boy and on the other side a tall, thin man wearing glasses.

The three people put their arms around each other's shoulders, and Lin was sandwiched in the middle, her shoulders sinking down a little from the pressure on both sides.

His expression was somewhat awkward, but there was no rejection in his eyes.

Zhou Qiaoyun remembered the chubby boy, surnamed Liu, who lived in the next neighborhood and would sometimes come to her house to play with Lin Ye.

Every time I come, I stand at the door and call out, "Lin Ye, are you coming or not?" If Lin Ye is doing her homework, she will say "Wait a minute," and if she is not doing anything, she will reply with "Okay," change her shoes, and go out.

Zhou Qiaoyun wasn't quite sure what they did, but they probably played games at internet cafes or wandered around the school playground.

Sometimes when she came back late, smelling of barbecue, I knew she had gone to the street behind the school again.

She never asked them what they did specifically; as long as they came home on time and nothing happened, that was fine.

Lin wasn't the type of kid who would actively call out to friends, but he rarely refused when others invited him.

By high school, there were even fewer photos. The few that were available were official photos from the first-year military training and sports meet, saved from the class group chat.

One of the photos is from the end-of-military training performance, where all the students are standing on the playground in camouflage uniforms.

Lin was also in the formation, his hat pulled low, only half of his face showing.

Zhou Qiaoyun closed the photo album and placed it on her lap. She heard the sound of a key turning at the door.

Lin Changhe walked in carrying a bag of groceries. Seeing the living room ransacked, he casually changed his shoes and said, "Cleaning again?"

"Um."

He put the groceries in the kitchen, then came out and saw the photo album on her lap: "What are you looking at?"

"Lin Ye's old photos."

Lin Changhe walked over, sat down next to her, picked up the photo album and flipped through it. When he found the photo of Lin Ye carrying a bamboo pole, he smiled and said, "I remember this one. You took it secretly."

"Back then, he would carry a bamboo pole around the house every day, and I had no idea what he was acting out."

"They're just like that, being immature and juvenile." Lin Changhe said. "That's how kids of their generation are."

Lin Changhe flipped through a few pages, closed the album, and handed it back to her: "Missing your son?"

"He's doing fine in Ningchuan, what's he thinking?"

She put the photo album aside, stood up, and moved the coffee table back to its original position.

Lin Changhe was washing vegetables in the kitchen, the tap running loudly.

Zhou Qiaoyun took the curtains out of the washing machine, shook them out one by one, and hung them on the clothesline on the balcony.

Lin has changed too.

She wasn't sure exactly when it started to change, but it seemed to have started in high school, or maybe even earlier.

By the time she realized it, he was no longer the child who would stand in front of a shop window and refuse to leave because of a T-shirt with a sword printed on it.

He became very quiet, with a hint of detachment.

She asked him if something had happened.

He did not answer.

Once, she asked him a few more questions on the phone, and after a few seconds of silence, he said, "Mom, I'm really fine."

The tone was flat, as if stating a fact that did not require proof.

She didn't ask any more questions, afraid that he would get annoyed if she asked too many.

Sometimes that's how it is when you're a mother; when your child is young, you understand everything.

He cried because he was hungry, made a fuss because he was sleepy, and stood in front of the shop window because he wanted that dress.

Pick him up, comfort him, or grit your teeth and buy him the clothes, and he'll smile.

As he grew up, he stopped crying and making a fuss, and you understood him less and less.

Zhou Qiaoyun hung up the last piece of clothing, patted the water off her hands, and turned to go back into the house.

The photo album was still on the sofa, its red plastic cover slightly warm from the sun.