The intensity of recent events – the Foundation Establishment breakthrough, the confrontation with Commander Trinh, and the initiation of his crew's cultivation training – had consumed Lâm Minh entirely.
Days blurred into a cycle of clandestine meetings with Yan, rigorous personal cultivation, and overseeing the initial, often painful, attempts of Hạnh, Cường, and Tuấn to absorb Spirit Essence.
He hadn't set foot in his Sector 7 apartment for what felt like an eternity, though in reality, it had only been a little over a week.
A pang of guilt struck him.
His parents.
He had left with a vague excuse about a long-term, high-paying job with the salvage crews, sending a runner with a small sum of credits a few days prior, but he knew they would be worried.
They were simple, hardworking people, their lives already burdened by the war and the daily struggle for survival.
He, their only son, vanishing for extended periods, even with the promise of money, would only add to their anxieties.
Now, with a temporary lull in his direct operational duties as Trinh's analysts pored over the data from the Skulls' ledger and the Crimson Dream samples, and his crew settling into the initial phase of Qi Refining under Yan's discreet supervision at a secure facility, Lâm Minh found a rare window of opportunity.
He needed to see them.
He needed to reassure them.
And, with the significant resources he now commanded, he could finally do something to ease their hardships.
He requested a brief leave from Yan, citing personal matters.
Yan, understanding the need for operatives to maintain some semblance of a normal life, however fabricated, readily agreed, providing him with a fresh set of untraceable civilian clothes and a generous sum of untagged ASEAN credits – far more than his parents could earn in a year.
"Maintain a low profile, Minh," Yan had cautioned.
"But attend to what you must. A clear mind is essential for the tasks ahead."
As Lâm Minh walked through the familiar, crowded streets of Sector 7, the stark contrast between his current life and his origins was jarring.
He was now a Foundation Establishment cultivator, an operative in a shadow war, privy to secrets that could shatter the fragile peace of the ASEAN bloc.
Yet, these were the streets of his childhood, filled with the mundane struggles and quiet desperations he had once shared.
His apartment block looked even more dilapidated than he remembered.
The smell of poverty, dampness, and cheap cooking oil was a familiar, almost nostalgic assault on his senses.
He climbed the worn stairs to their small unit, his heart a little heavier than usual.
He knocked.
The door creaked open, and his mother, Mai, stood there.
Her face, already etched with worry, lit up with a mixture of overwhelming relief and tearful reproach when she saw him.
"Minh! Oh, my son, you're back!" She pulled him into a tight embrace, her small frame trembling.
"Where have you been? We were so worried! That money you sent… it helped, but…"
Lâm Minh hugged her back, a lump forming in his throat.
"I'm sorry, Mom. The job… it took me further away than I expected. But I'm okay. I'm fine."
His father, Ba, emerged from their tiny living area, his face, usually stoic, showing clear signs of strain and sleepless nights.
But upon seeing Lâm Minh, a wave of relief softened his harsh features.
"Minh. You had us scared, boy."
"I'm sorry, Dad," Lâm Minh repeated, feeling a genuine pang of remorse for the anxiety he had caused.
He stepped inside.
The apartment was as small and cramped as ever, but his mother had managed to make it clean and relatively tidy.
He saw the new, slightly better-quality protein packs and the small bag of actual (though likely irradiated) vegetables on their tiny kitchen counter – evidence of the credits he had sent.
"The work has been… demanding," Lâm Minh explained, choosing his words carefully.
"But it pays well. Very well." He placed the large pouch of credits Yan had given him on the table.
It landed with a heavy, satisfying thud. "This is for you. For us."
His parents stared at the pouch, then at him, their eyes wide with disbelief.
Mai hesitantly opened it, gasping when she saw the thick stacks of high-denomination credit notes.
"Minh… this is… this is a fortune!" Ba stammered, his voice hoarse.
"Where did you get all this? What kind of job are you doing?" There was a new fear in his eyes, the fear that his son was involved in something dangerous, illicit.
"It's salvage and logistics, Dad, like I said," Lâm Minh lied smoothly, drawing on the cover story Trinh's department had helped him establish.
"High-risk, specialized recovery operations in the dangerous zones. Sometimes we recover… valuable technology or materials for certain government contractors. That's why the pay is so high."
He tried to sound confident, matter-of-fact. "It's dangerous, yes, but I'm careful. And I'm good at it."
He saw the doubt still lingering in their eyes, but also a desperate hope that what he said was true, that this windfall wasn't tainted.
"With this," Lâm Minh continued, his voice softer, "you don't have to work those killing shifts at the hydroponics bay anymore, Dad. Mom, you can finally get that medical check-up you've been putting off. We can even… maybe look for a slightly better apartment, in a safer block."
The thought of easing their burdens, of giving them a measure of comfort and security in this brutal world, filled him with a quiet satisfaction.
This was a different kind of power than his cultivation, but no less important.
This was the power to care for his family.
Mai was crying softly now, tears of relief and disbelief.
"Oh, Minh… are you sure? This is too much."
"It's not too much, Mom," he said gently, taking her hand.
"You and Dad deserve it. You've worked hard enough your whole lives."
He spent the rest of the evening with them, eating a simple meal his mother had prepared with some of the new supplies.
He listened to their worries, their small joys, the gossip from the neighborhood.
He spoke little about his "job," offering only vague, reassuring details.
He could see the pride in their eyes, mixed with an undeniable anxiety.
They knew their son had changed, had become someone… more, but they didn't, couldn't, understand the true extent of it.
Before he left late that night (he couldn't stay; his operational tempo was too unpredictable, and his presence could inadvertently draw unwanted attention to them), he made them promise to use the money for themselves, to find a better place, to ease their lives.
He also subtly used his Qi Sense to scan their bodies for any underlying health issues.
His father had some chronic joint inflammation from years of hard labor, and his mother showed signs of nutritional deficiencies.
He made a mental note to procure some specialized, Qi-infused medicinal herbs or supplements for them through Yan or Old Feng, things that could genuinely improve their health beyond what normal medicine in their sector could offer.
As he hugged his mother goodbye, she clung to him.
"Promise me you'll be careful, Minh. No amount of money is worth your life."
"I promise, Mom," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'll always be careful."
Walking away from the apartment block, back towards the shadows and the dangers of his other life, Lâm Minh felt a renewed sense of purpose.
His fight wasn't just against the Madakaros, or for humanity's survival in an abstract sense.
It was for them.
For the chance for simple, hardworking people like his parents to live without constant fear and crushing hardship.
His cultivation, his dangerous missions, the alliances he was forging – they all served this deeper, more personal goal.
He was Lâm Minh, the Foundation Establishment cultivator, the intelligence operative.
But he was also Lâm Minh, the son.
And he would not fail either duty.
This brief respite, this reconnection with his roots, had grounded him.
It reminded him of what was truly at stake.
And it strengthened his resolve to face whatever horrors the Maka Legion and their human puppets would unleash next.
The fight was far from over, but now, he had even more reasons to win.