The Way that can be spoken of is not the eternal Way.

"I'm almost home. I'll hang up now."

Withered and curled plane tree leaves blanketed the ground, lending a hint of autumn to the otherwise impersonal expanse of concrete. Bai Jinyan pulled his school jacket tighter around himself as he stood at the wide intersection, informing the person on the other end of the line that his journey had reached its end.

Chen Ruowen gave a noncommittal response.

"Why do you have to hang up just because you’re home? Don’t tell me you’ve got a secret lover at home you’re hiding from me?"

"What nonsense are you spouting..." Bai Jinyan couldn't help but laugh and cry at the same time. "You know my family situation. It’s not convenient for me to answer your calls at home."

Bai Jinyan’s family situation... Chen Ruowen racked her brains for a while, trying to recall what was so special, before bursting out in amused disbelief.

"Seriously? You're in your final year of high school and your grandpa still insists on all that?"

Bai Jinyan sighed, nodding with a look even more helpless than when trying to stop Chen Ruowen's antics. "It’s been this way since I was a kid. What can I do?"

"Haha, now I really want to eavesdrop. Put me on speaker and slip your phone in your pocket—let me listen just once! I promise I won’t make a peep, please?"

"Chen Ruowen!"

At last, Bai Jinyan stopped in his tracks, standing under the dim yellow streetlamp, lips pressed together as he stared at the screen, watching the girl on the other end shake with inexplicable laughter. It was hard to say whether his expression was more annoyed or embarrassed.

"Why are you yelling at me?"

"..."

Bai Jinyan instantly deflated. "I... wasn’t..."

"Then why’d you call me by my full name so loudly?" Chen Ruowen immediately turned the tables, climbing to the moral high ground.

"..."

Alright, why am I even arguing with her? Am I just looking for trouble? Bai Jinyan rapped his forehead, realizing how poor his response had been just now.

"Alright, I’m almost home. Talk later."

Chen Ruowen huffed, clearly reluctant. "Then call me tomorrow."

"Okay."

"I’ve told you a hundred times, don’t just say 'okay'!"

"...Fine."

"What do you mean, 'fine'?"

"I’ll call you tomorrow..."

"And how will you address me?"

"...Wenwen."

"That's better."

Sometimes Bai Jinyan really regretted ever seeking out Chen Ruowen in the first place. When she got in a mood, no one could handle her, though... once her temper cooled, she actually was quite endearing.

After crossing the last tree-lined avenue, Bai Jinyan finally arrived at his own front door.

Ever since he’d refused the family’s chauffeuring, this was the downside—whether by bus or taxi, the farthest he could get was the entrance to the compound. The distances between villas here were considerable, and walking inside was a chore.

He was fortunate his house wasn’t far from the entrance; if he lived where Chen Ruowen did, in the very center, it would be impossible to stay low-key without a car.

A beep as his fingerprint registered, and the door opened. He slipped into the cotton slippers the housekeeper had set out, rounded a corner—and ran straight into his grandfather, Qi Ziyi, sitting on the living room sofa with a newspaper.

Qi Ziyi, hearing the door, glanced at the clock in the corner, then looked away.

"You’re a quarter of an hour later than usual today."

Bai Jinyan made a sound of acknowledgment, set down his backpack, and sat beside Qi Ziyi.

"I was delayed a bit."

Walking and talking on the phone had slowed him down, and Chen Ruowen was never short on things to say...

Only a quarter of an hour late—Bai Jinyan figured he owed that to the taxi driver’s lead foot today.

Qi Ziyi didn’t dwell on it. He folded his newspaper, put it on the coffee table, and straightened his slightly stooped back.

"Let’s begin."

Bai Jinyan sighed inwardly, habitually glancing at the framed calligraphy in the center of the living room: "Too many words lead to exhaustion; better to keep to the center." Then, numbly, he began:

"The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao; the name that can be named is not the constant name. Nameless, it is the origin of heaven and earth; named, it is the mother of all things. Thus, ever desireless..."

Qi Ziyi was a devoted disciple of Laozi, a fact evident even in the name he’d chosen for Bai Jinyan. Before retiring, the old man had taught at the city’s most renowned university. Having spent half his life as a scholar, he’d acquired a vexing occupational habit: insisting his children—and even his grandson—share his passions.

If you didn’t like it, he’d lecture you until you did.

Bai Jinyan’s mother, Qi Faran, had endured years of being tormented by the Dao De Jing, reciting it daily after school. Not until she left for university in another city did she finally escape that nightmare.

Then the cycle turned: the child inheriting the mother's ordeal. Barely able to talk, while other children were learning "I raise my head to gaze at the moon, lower it to think of home," Qi Ziyi began having his grandson recite—and memorize—the entire Dao De Jing.

He’d been reciting it for fourteen years, rain or shine, no matter how overwhelming his schoolwork, no matter if he was sick or feverish—not a day missed.

Others thought Bai Jinyan was extremely self-disciplined, but no one knew the kind of pressure that discipline had been forged under. Whether it would lead to future defiance or eventual breakdown—only time could tell.

"...The way of heaven is to benefit without harm; the way of the sage is to act without striving."

When he reached the end, Bai Jinyan felt like a music box winding down at last—snapping out of his mechanical trance and returning to himself.

Qi Ziyi nodded with satisfaction, picked up his newspaper, and gave Bai Jinyan a silent cue that he was free to go.

But though one ordeal was over, another was just beginning. When Bai Jinyan returned to his room, he found himself face-to-face with his mother, Qi Faran.

Qi Faran placed a cup of warm milk on his desk, seated herself gracefully across from him, and began her customary interrogation.

"Jinyan, I spoke with your teacher Wu this afternoon. I heard the results for the autumn assessment came out today?"

Bai Jinyan replied with a noncommittal sound, not even looking up, continuing to solve his physics problems.

Qi Faran frowned slightly.

"When speaking to someone, you should look them in the eye. Have you forgotten the etiquette I taught you?"

"Mom, I haven’t finished my homework. Can you please not distract me?"

"I'm just concerned for you—how does that become a distraction?" Seeing her son still silent, Qi Faran gave up on the lecture and returned to her main point.

"How did you do this time?"

Bai Jinyan paused, reached into his bag and pulled out a neatly stacked set of test papers, tossing them in front of her without a glance, then returned to his work.

Qi Faran finally quieted, pulling out the math paper first. One look at the score and her brow furrowed.

"One forty-five?"

"Yeah. Got a multiple choice wrong."

Qi Faran skimmed the densely packed questions, her gaze finally settling on the single red X. Her expression darkened further.

"How could you get such a simple logic question wrong?"

"They misprinted the options. I didn’t notice when I answered." Bai Jinyan explained simply.

Qi Faran set the paper down and, with forced patience, began to instruct him.

"It’s not as if our family needs you to ace the college entrance exam, but I was a math teacher myself; if you were weak in another subject, that’d be one thing. But in math, how can you never get a perfect score?"

"Didn’t I get a full mark on the October test?" Bai Jinyan was growing impatient.

"We’re talking about this exam, not the one in October."

Bai Jinyan listened numbly as his mother launched into yet another round of admonishments and exhortations. Not until the door finally closed again did he cap his pen, throw himself onto his bed in frustration, and grab a pillow to smother his head, as if determined to suffocate himself in the bedding.

When would this life—so tightly controlled—ever come to an end?