Qiu Yingying is reborn and bound to a learning system.

The June wind carried the heat unique to early summer, blowing through the glass curtain wall of the office building and into the open blinds of Meng Yanchen's office. He had just finished a two-hour video conference when his phone vibrated on the table, and the word "Mom" appeared on the screen.

Meng Yanchen's fingertips paused for a moment before pressing the answer button, his tone as calm and restrained as ever: "Mom."

The voice on the other end of the phone was Fu Wenying's signature, slightly authoritative voice, but it was less sharp than usual and had a hint of gentleness: "Yanchen, come home for dinner this weekend."

Meng Yanchen frowned slightly. Since he moved out of the old house and started living independently, Fu Wenying rarely invited him home for dinner, unless it was a holiday or something important. He subconsciously asked, "What happened?"

"What could possibly have happened?" Fu Wenying's voice carried a hint of reproach, but lacked its usual assertiveness. "I just asked you to come back for a meal. What, are you so busy with work that you don't even have time to come home?"

"No," Meng Yanchen softened his tone, "I have no plans for the weekend, I'll be going back."

After hanging up the phone, Meng Yanchen stared at his phone screen for a few seconds. He knew Fu Wenying too well; she was always elegant and self-possessed, always mindful of propriety and propriety, and never did anything meaningless. This sudden invitation for him to come home for dinner, coupled with her unusual tone, made him uneasy. Had something happened at the company, or were her parents unwell?

This lingering doubt persisted until the weekend afternoon. Meng Yanchen finished his work early and drove to the old house. As the car entered the familiar tree-lined road, sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The old house's gate was ajar. He pushed it open and went inside. The living room was quiet; there was no sign of the usual busy housekeeper, nor the aroma of food.

"Mom?" Meng Yanchen called out.

Fu Wenying walked out from the direction of the kitchen, wearing a plain-colored loungewear set with an apron, and her hair was simply tied back. Her face carried a somewhat unnatural seriousness, and her usually meticulous makeup was much lighter.

"You're back." Fu Wenying looked at him, her eyes no longer scrutinizing and critical, but instead carrying a hint of barely perceptible unease. "Sit down, dinner won't be served for a while."

Meng Yanchen sat down on the sofa as instructed, his gaze unconsciously sweeping over the empty kitchen, his doubts deepening: "Where's Auntie?"

"I gave her two days off." Fu Wenying sat down on the sofa opposite him, her hands folded on her knees, maintaining her elegant posture, but her tone was somewhat solemn. "Yanchen, Mom has been practicing her cooking skills recently."

Meng Yanchen was stunned, clearly not expecting this answer.

"I've been practicing for a while now, and I think I'm doing alright, but I always feel like something's missing." Fu Wenying's cheeks were slightly flushed, as if she were giving some important report. "Your dad is the kind of person who says everything I cook is delicious, so it's not a reliable indicator at all. That's why I wanted you to come back today to give me an objective evaluation."

Seeing his mother's serious expression, Meng Yanchen's doubts instantly vanished, replaced by a smile. Perhaps it was because he was happy to be able to eat a meal cooked by his mother.

"Okay," he nodded, "then you can continue with your work, I'll go upstairs and take a look first."

The second floor of the old house was still the room he lived in back then, with almost no changes to the furnishings. His college-era photo was still on the desk. He stood by the window, looking at the flowers and plants in the courtyard below, and his thoughts drifted back to his childhood.

Back then, he wasn't the quiet and reserved person he is now. He would pester his mother to tell him stories, and play badminton with his father in the yard. Laughter never stopped filling the house.

But he didn't know when it started, as he grew older, his parents' expectations rose and their demands became stricter. Those carefree and happy times seemed to be gradually replaced by endless tutoring classes, strict family rules, and plans for the future. And then Xu Qin came along, and he could no longer find the happiness he once had.

He was lost in thought when he suddenly heard the piercing sound of a smoke alarm going off downstairs, followed by faint coughing. Meng Yanchen's heart tightened, and without thinking, he rushed downstairs.

A light mist filled the living room, originating from the kitchen. He hurried over and saw the kitchen exhaust fan humming, but it couldn't stop thick smoke from billowing out from the stove, shrouding the entire kitchen in a white fog. Fu Wenying stood in front of the stove, one hand covering her mouth and nose, coughing violently. Her face was covered in several black stains, and her once-neat pajamas were now stained with oil. She had never looked like this before, but she appeared somewhat adorably disheveled.

"Mom!" Meng Yanchen rushed over, turned off the gas, and pulled Fu Wenying out of the kitchen. "Get out of there!"

Fu Wenying was pulled into the living room by him, still coughing incessantly. It took her a while to recover. Pointing towards the kitchen, she said with a hint of annoyance and resentment, "The fire was too high. The tutorial said to simmer it on low heat. I think I set the wrong setting." As she spoke, she took out her phone from her pocket, opened the cooking tutorial, and began to carefully review the process, her brows furrowed as if she were analyzing an important business case.

Looking at the black stains on her face and then at her serious expression, Meng Yanchen felt both annoyed and amused. He turned and went into the kitchen, put on the heat-resistant gloves hanging on the wall, and carefully lifted the lid of the pot on the stove. A burnt smell instantly wafted out. The soup in the pot had long since boiled away, leaving only a dark, hard lump stuck tightly to the bottom, looking exactly like a legendary refined elixir.

He shook his head helplessly, picked up the spatula and tried to scrape the "elixir" off, only to find that it had already blended into the bottom of the pot and was not moving at all.

Just then, the sound of a key turning came from the doorway, and Meng Huaijin pushed the door open and walked in. As soon as he entered, he frowned, choked by the faint smoke and burnt smell in the living room. He looked up and saw Meng Yanchen standing in the living room, then glanced at Fu Wenying, whose face was covered in soot and who was still studying the tutorial. Then, recalling the faint smoke alarm he had heard earlier, he instantly understood what was going on.

The three of them stood in the living room, looking at each other. Fu Wenying's face was still stained with black marks, and her eyes showed a hint of embarrassment; Meng Huaijin had a smile on his lips, his gaze shifting back and forth between the two of them; Meng Yanchen was still wearing heat-resistant gloves, and seeing his mother's disheveled appearance, the corners of his usually tight lips couldn't help but turn up slightly.

First, Meng Huaijin couldn't help but laugh out loud, then Meng Yanchen followed suit. Fu Wenying paused, then, seeing the father and son's smiles, couldn't help but laugh along. The laughter in the living room grew louder, dispelling the lingering smoke and the usual somberness and distance. This relaxed and joyful atmosphere hadn't been present in this home for far too long.

Meng Huaijin smiled and walked to the sofa to sit down. Looking at Meng Yanchen, his eyes were full of relief: "It's been a long time since I've seen you smile like this, just like when you were a child."

Fu Wenying sat down beside her, reaching out to wipe the black stains from her face, but the more she wiped, the more smudged it became. Her tone was somewhat wistful: "Yes, you were such a lively and cheerful child when you were little, always greeting everyone you met, chattering like a little sparrow. The older you get, the more taciturn you become, and you always have a stern face when you come home, not saying much to us."

Meng Huaijin nodded, his eyes softening as he recalled the past: "I remember when you were little, you had a fever. I was away on a business trip, and your fever reached over 39 degrees Celsius. You were delirious and kept calling for your mother. Your mother was frantic. Despite the heavy rain outside, she carried you on her back and ran to the hospital, crying the whole way, afraid that something might happen to you. At the hospital, she stayed by your side for three or four days, never leaving your side, feeding you water and medicine, until your fever subsided. But she herself fell ill from exhaustion and had a persistent high fever."

Meng Yanchen still had some vague memories of these past events, but he had never heard such detailed descriptions from his parents. He looked at Fu Wenying, who turned her face away, pretending to tidy up the cushions on the sofa, but her ears were secretly turning red. She was obviously embarrassed because her husband's words had stirred up memories.

At that moment, emotions that had been building up in Meng Yanchen's heart for many years suddenly surged up. He had always thought that his parents' strictness towards him was a form of control, meant to satisfy their vanity, and to make him a "perfect son" who met their expectations, following the path they had planned for him.

He had complained, resisted, and even deliberately distanced himself, but he had never truly calmed down to understand the deeper meaning hidden behind their strictness. More than once, he wondered if his parents really loved him, or if, as Xu Qin said, they just wanted to control him.

His throat tightened, and after a long silence, he finally couldn't help but ask the question that had been buried in his heart for many years. His voice trembled slightly: "Dad, Mom, why are you so strict with me? From childhood to adulthood, my life has been arranged by you. What major I study, what job I do, even what friends I make, all require your approval. Sometimes I feel like a robot with a pre-programmed routine, with no right to choose at all. It's really... suffocating."

This was the first time he had expressed his feelings to his parents so frankly. After he finished speaking, he felt both nervous and uneasy, staring intently at them, waiting for their response.

Fu Wenying stiffened, her expression becoming complex, a mixture of surprise, guilt, and helplessness. She remained silent for a moment, her voice choked with emotion, lacking her usual assertiveness: "Yanchen, Mom knows you've suffered these past years."

Meng Huaijin held his wife's hand and patted it gently. He looked at Meng Yanchen with eyes full of apology: "We don't want to control you. It's just that we've taken too many detours and suffered too much. We don't want you to repeat the same mistakes. You are our only son. We just want you to suffer less, avoid unnecessary detours, and live a smooth life."

"Parents who love their children plan far ahead for them." Fu Wenying continued, her tone tinged with helplessness and relief. "We always felt that with our experience, we could give you the best arrangements and help you avoid all risks. But we forgot that you have your own thoughts and your own pursuits. Our good intentions have become shackles that bind you."

"We were too stubborn," Meng Huaijin sighed. "We always thought that giving you the best was the best thing for you, but we ignored your feelings. Actually, you are already very outstanding, much better than we were back then."

Listening to his parents' words, Meng Yanchen's eyes gradually welled up with tears. He had always thought that his parents didn't understand his pain at all, but he never expected that such a profound love was hidden behind their seemingly heavy strictness.

They simply used the wrong approach, taking their own experience as the standard for measuring everything, forgetting that everyone's life has its own trajectory, and some detours can only be truly learned by walking them oneself.

He sniffed, trying to calm himself down, and his tone softened: "I know you mean well."

Over the years, his parents' strictness has indeed fostered his self-discipline and resilience, enabling him to achieve good results in his studies and work, and giving him the ability to face life's ups and downs. He has always complained about the pressure brought by this strictness, but he has overlooked the confidence that this strictness has given him.

"Before, I always felt that your arrangements were a burden, and I always wanted to escape," Meng Yanchen said slowly. "Now I understand that you were just loving me in your own way. Although this way made me feel suffocated, it is undeniable that it is because of your strictness that I have achieved what I have today and have the ability to choose my own life."

Fu Wenying finally couldn't hold back her tears. She raised her hand to wipe them away, looked at Meng Yanchen, and her eyes were full of relief: "It's good that you understand. Your parents' methods were wrong, and we apologize to you. From now on, you are in charge of your own life. Whatever decision you make, your parents will support you."

"Yes," Meng Huaijin nodded, "Take a break when you're tired from work, come home when you miss home, and talk to your parents anytime if you have any problems. Your family will always be your support."

Looking at the gray hair at his parents' temples and the wrinkles on their faces, Meng Yanchen was overwhelmed with emotion. He stood up, walked to them, and gently hugged his mother, then his father. This embrace, though many years overdue, dissolved the long-standing estrangement and misunderstanding that had accumulated in their hearts.

The atmosphere in the living room became exceptionally warm and cozy. Sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing the three of them in its warmth. Fu Wenying looked at her son, then suddenly remembered something and slapped her thigh: "Oh dear, the food in the pot hasn't been cleaned up yet!"

Meng Yanchen couldn't help but laugh: "I'll go tidy up, you and Dad can rest."

He walked into the kitchen, looked at the blackened "medicine" in the pot, and recalled his mother's disheveled yet earnest expression. A smile involuntarily crept onto his lips. He picked up a spatula and carefully cleaned the stains from the bottom of the pot. The range hood was still humming, and the lingering burnt smell in the air gradually dissipated, replaced by a long-lost, homey aroma.

After tidying up the kitchen, he came out. His mother had already washed up and changed. She saw his parents sitting on the sofa, talking quietly, both with smiles on their faces. Meng Huaijin saw him and beckoned him over: "Yanchen, what would you like to eat tonight? Let's go out to eat."