Qiu Yingying is reborn and bound to a learning system.

As dawn broke, rustling sounds could be heard coming from the stairwells of the old residential building.

Qiu Yingying's car was parked downstairs with the trunk open, and she was bending over to stuff things in—her mother's floral quilt, her father's set of repair tools that he couldn't bear to throw away, and the potted green ivy that she had raised for more than ten years, with its roots wrapped in old towels, for fear that it would be damaged on the road.

My mother was still clutching a blue and white porcelain bowl, which was part of her dowry when she married into the family. She wiped it clean and cleaned it again before finally stuffing it into her cloth bag.

"Old Qiu's family, you're leaving already?" Aunt Zhang came out of the building with a shopping basket on her shoulder and came over as soon as she saw them.

Her mother quickly grabbed her hand, and before she could say two words, her eyes welled up with tears: "Yes, go to Shanghai and stay with Yingying. Come visit us anytime; we have room for you!"

"That's great! I've never been far from home in my life, I'll definitely come to see you when I have the chance," Aunt Zhang patted her hand, her voice booming. "Yingying is so accomplished, you two should enjoy your retirement now! Keep up the good work with our video calls, I'm looking forward to seeing the skyscrapers of Shanghai."

Grandpa Wang, who was standing nearby, also came over, carrying a bag of oranges, and insisted on stuffing them into his mother's pocket: "Eat them on the road, eat them on the road. It's a long drive, don't go hungry."

My father stood at the entrance of the building, not saying much, just staring at the building. The sycamore tree at the base of the wall was planted the year he moved in; now its branches reach all the way to the third floor.

On the wall at the corner of the stairs, there's still a crooked little duck that Qiu Yingying drew when she was a child. It's half covered by paint from later renovations, but you can still make out the general shape. He raised his hand and touched the wall, his rough fingertips brushing against the mottled paint, muttering, "Thirty years have passed. Time flies." It feels like just yesterday that he and Yingying's mother took a picture of Yingying downstairs with her in their arms when she was little.

"Dad, Mom, it's time to go." Qiu Yingying closed the trunk and called to them. Her mother nodded, then looked back at the neighbors peeking out from the stairwell, took her father's hand, and walked towards the car, looking back every step of the way.

The neighbors stood downstairs waving, shouts of "Have a safe trip!" echoing throughout the building. The mother got into the car, tears finally streaming down her face, falling onto the cloth bag on her lap. The father didn't cry, but gripped her hand tightly, his Adam's apple bobbing, and said, "Let's go, our daughter's here."

The car slowly drove out of the residential area. The familiar vegetable market, the small park where my father often went, and the open space where my mother danced all receded into the distance. My mother leaned against the car window, wiping away tears, yet she couldn't help but look out again, as if trying to etch these familiar scenes into her heart.

Looking at them in the rearview mirror, Qiu Yingying understood her parents' love for their hometown. She knew she should come back more often; this was their home too. Smiling, she said, "Dad, Mom, when we get to Shanghai, I'll take you to eat pan-fried buns and xiaolongbao. They have thinner skins and more juice than the ones back home." Her father hummed in agreement, and her mother smiled through her tears, "You silly child, all you ever think about is food."

The drive took less than three hours, until they arrived in Shanghai. Skyscrapers stretched out in the distance, densely packed. Her mother peered out the car window, clicking her tongue in amazement, "So many buildings, like building blocks!" Qiu Yingying took her parents for a quick meal, then continued home. Smiling, she turned into a residential complex, "We're here! This is Yujingyuan. Across the street is my apartment complex, Huanle Song. If you miss me, just cross the street and I'll be there."

The car was parked in its designated spot in the underground garage, and Qiu Yingying led her parents up to the second floor. She handed a set of keys to her father: "Dad, open the door, this is our new home."

Father held the key, his hand trembling slightly, and it took him a while to open the lock. When the door opened, it wasn't the ordinary home he had imagined, but rather a refined and gentle atmosphere that rushed out. Mother instinctively exclaimed "Ah!" and stopped in her tracks.

The living room was paved with light gray marble tiles that shone like mirrors. In the corner stood a pot of glossy areca palm leaves, next to which stood a walnut-colored antique display shelf, on which were arranged several simple and elegant celadon vases and small purple clay teapots, exactly the styles that my father had seen in picture books and talked about many times when he was young.

The walls were a light bluish-gray, adorned with a traditional Chinese ink painting of bamboo and rocks, its brushstrokes vigorous and powerful. Beside it hung a wooden-framed couplet that read, "Pine breeze brews tea, bamboo rain discusses poetry," the calligraphy gentle yet strong. What surprised them most was the furniture in the center of the living room—a set of dark brown solid wood modern Chinese-style sofas, the backrests and armrests carved with simple lotus scroll patterns, polished smooth and delicate, with a warm touch.

The coffee table is round with curved edges, and a small copper bell hangs from the bottom, making a crisp sound when touched lightly.

"This...this is...a modern Chinese style!" The father's voice trembled slightly. He had loved this elegant style since he was young, but he never had the means to realize it. He never expected that he would fulfill his dream in his old age. He reached out and touched the cushions on the sofa. The fabric was a delicate cotton and linen material with a subtle orchid pattern printed on it. It was so comfortable that he wanted to sit down immediately.

The mother was drawn to the restaurant's design—a rectangular solid wood dining table paired with four chairs with backrests, the carvings on the chair backs exquisite yet not fussy. Above the table hung a jade rabbit lamp adorned with osmanthus blossoms, its warm yellow light filtering through the openwork lampshade, creating a gentle and charming ambiance. "Look at this lamp, how beautiful it is!" The mother reached out to touch it, then hesitated, afraid of breaking it, her fingertips pausing in mid-air, her eyes filled with delight.

Qiu Yingying led them to the kitchen. The sliding door was frosted glass, faintly patterned with plum blossoms, orchids, bamboo, and chrysanthemums, and opened silently. The kitchen countertop was light gray quartz, paired with dark solid wood cabinets, the lines clean and simple. Opening the refrigerator, it was crammed full—strawberries were her mother's favorite, braised duck was what her father had been craving all the way there, along with fresh vegetables, eggs, and even her mother's favorite unsweetened soy milk. "I was worried you wouldn't be too lazy to buy groceries since you just arrived, so I stocked up a bit." Actually, it was all arranged by the system; Duoduo is a particularly meticulous system administrator.

She then pushed open the door to the storage room. Inside, the shelves were made of solid wood and held self-heating rice, instant noodles, toilet paper, laundry detergent, and even her father's favorite old-fashioned razor and her mother's Bee & Flower hair conditioner, all neatly arranged in boxes. "There's a supermarket right at the entrance of the community, a five-minute walk away. It's convenient to buy whatever I want."

Looking at everything in the living room, the mother turned to look at Qiu Yingying, her eyes instantly reddening: "Daughter, how did you know we liked this style?" She remembered mentioning to Qiu Yingying once that the neighbor's child's new Chinese style decoration was really beautiful, but she never expected her daughter to remember it and actually decorate such a set for them.

Qiu Yingying smiled and wiped away the tears from her mother's eyes: "Mom, you said before that you liked an elegant style, so I decorated it according to your vision, just to make you comfortable."

Father walked to the balcony, pushed open the glass door with its solid wood frame, and the evening breeze carried the fresh scent of the neighborhood's greenery. The balcony railing was made of solid wood, and next to it were two small rattan chairs and a small wooden table, just the right place to drink tea and enjoy the view.

The lights of Joyful Song across the street were bright, and Qiu Yingying's window was on the third floor. "From now on, your mother and I can drink tea and read the newspaper here." The father's mouth stretched into a big smile, his eyes full of satisfaction. He raised his hand to wipe the corner of his eye and muttered, "Good, really good. This house is even better than I imagined."

Holding Qiu Yingying's hand, her mother examined every detail of the house again and again, from the antique display shelves in the living room to the solid wood bed in the bedroom, from the toiletries in the bathroom to the bookshelves in the study, every place exuded elegance and care.

She knew that her daughter had put a lot of effort into this family, and this filial piety was more precious than anything else. The living room lights emitted a warm glow, illuminating the three of them. The food in the refrigerator smelled fresh, and the items in the storage room were neatly arranged. This newly opened Chinese-style warm nest was already filled with the warmth of family affection, fulfilling her parents' lifelong dream.