In the dealership's reception room, young Sheng Fang had a car purchase contract laid out before him. He pushed it toward his niece: "Take a look."
Sheng Fang was the legal heir of the Sheng family. Though still a minor, the will left by his grandfather was surprisingly lenient—aside from prohibiting asset transfers, there were almost no restrictions on his daily expenses. After all, when Sheng Wenchang had drafted the will, he could never have anticipated that both he and his wife would pass away unexpectedly, nor that their second daughter would end up imprisoned, leaving only a young child with no one to rely on.
Of course, he couldn’t have foreseen that the shattered Sheng family would eventually be held together in an entirely unexpected way. His long-lost granddaughter, Zhu Qing, had become his son’s legal guardian. Fate had bound them together, and gradually, the lives of this uncle-niece pair stabilized, their quality of life improving significantly.
Zhu Qing’s slender fingers flipped to the last page of the contract. Meeting the child’s hopeful gaze, she gave a slight nod.
Sheng Fang’s eyes sparkled. "So I can buy it?"
"Whatever."
Selling a car wasn’t that easy. The sales consultant had already braced herself for disappointment. Just last week, a Mr. Jiang had sat in the driver’s seat, running his hands over the steering wheel again and again—yet he still hadn’t finalized the purchase, likely due to financing issues. And now, with the indifferent Miss Zhu before her, the consultant had even lower expectations.
With her experience, she could tell at a glance that this deal wasn’t going through. Still, out of professionalism, she courteously attended to the two clients—one big, one small. But when the child asked her to print the contract, she hesitated. And now, the possibility of a sale seemed to be growing.
Suppressing her excitement, the consultant pulled out a pen and respectfully handed it to them. When she watched the client smoothly sign the contract, she nearly fainted from the sudden wave of joy, warmth rushing to her head.
This seemingly impossible deal had actually closed.
"Congratulations, Miss Zhu." The consultant’s practiced smile widened into something genuine. She enthusiastically shook Zhu Qing’s hand, then bent down to solemnly shake Sheng Fang’s as well. "And congratulations to you too, young man!"
"I’ll go prepare the paperwork for pickup. Please wait just a moment."
The consultant turned and walked away, her high heels clicking cheerfully against the floor, her entire demeanor radiating the thrill of hitting the jackpot. After a few steps, she turned back, still beaming. "We have freshly squeezed juice and handmade cookies for our younger guests. Would you like some?"
Sheng Fang held up two fingers. "Two juices!"
"I’ll have them brought over right away."
The boy flipped through the contract, not quite understanding it, and pushed it aside in favor of the dealership’s glossy brochure. Earlier, he had been instantly captivated by the ad—this car was huge, perfect for a family. Though their household was small—just him, Zhu Qing, and Aunt Ping—it didn’t matter. His eldest sister would wake up eventually. With four people, a spacious car would be practical.
Propping his chin in his hands, Sheng Fang leafed through the brochure with great interest.
Meanwhile, Zhu Qing remained fixated on the yellowed old newspaper in her hands.
From Uncle Li, she had learned for the first time about the Cheng family case from seventeen years ago. The same modus operandi, similar crime signatures—this wasn’t the first incident. Back then, the police had already identified the suspect. During the pursuit, the mentally ill perpetrator had dashed into the road and been struck by a truck. When authorities searched his home, they found the murder weapon. The evidence was airtight, and the case was swiftly closed.
But with the killer dead, the trail for the Cheng family’s youngest son went cold. The article mentioned another victim—Cheng Xinglang, who had been two years older than his missing brother. At the time, he was only eight. The killer had bludgeoned his head with a blunt object, likely assuming he was dead and leaving him for dead. That was how he survived.
The case had caused a sensation that year. The most baffling aspect was the six-year-old’s inexplicable disappearance. According to those familiar with the killer, he was violent and erratic—so why had he spared the child?
At the crime scene, the two adult victims had struggled desperately. Their will to survive was evident in the blood smeared from the master bedroom to the living room, the gruesome drag marks leaving a harrowing sight. The blood trail abruptly ended in the hallway leading to the children’s rooms. Investigators theorized that the parents must have clung to the killer’s legs, begging him not to harm their sons. Deep scratches still marred the floor where the blood trail stopped, a heartbreaking detail.
What defied logic was the stark contrast between the older brother’s room and the younger’s. While Cheng Xinglang’s room showed signs of intrusion, his brother’s was eerily untouched—pristine and orderly, as if the horror outside had never breached it.
Cheng Xinglang lay in a coma for three days before waking.
The moment he opened his eyes, he knew he had lost his parents forever. Yet in a cruel twist of fate, his memory of the incident was fragmented—he hadn’t witnessed the full brutality of the attack.
The high-profile case was eventually shelved in the police archives, forgotten by most.
Zhu Qing couldn’t fathom how Cheng Xinglang had grown up alone after such trauma, nor how he had buried those dark memories deep enough to become the cheerful man he was today.
After the case was solved, public attention shifted, and no media outlet followed the surviving boy’s life. Even Uncle Li, over time, had nearly forgotten about it—until years later, when he met the accomplished young forensic doctor and only recognized him after spotting the name on his ID.
That was when Uncle Li realized Cheng Xinglang had never given up searching for his brother.
He had been collecting clippings of major crimes, scrutinizing any case with even the faintest connection to his own.
Zhu Qing closed the newspaper.
When she looked up, Sheng Fang was watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite place—some mix of approval and contemplation.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Qing finally knows how to spend money!"
Earlier, after getting her driver’s license, Sheng Fang had dragged her to the dealership to buy the off-road vehicle he’d seen advertised.
But Zhu Qing had other plans. She had taken a detour through an alley to an antique market, searching for—and eventually purchasing—this very newspaper. The boy had watched as the vendor shamelessly overcharged her, yet she had merely raised a brow and paid without hesitation.
Though Zhu Qing had only spent money on a newspaper... at the very least, she remembered her identity as the young lady of a wealthy family and didn’t hesitate to spend. Just this bit of progress alone deserved hearty praise from her little elder.
Now that his niece had found her answer and her brain had stopped its frantic calculations, Sheng Fang tapped the corner of the table.
"Qing, can you drive us home?"
Sir Liang rarely drove the family car—he was a menace on the road. When he took the wheel, Fang Fang would cling tightly to the overhead handle in the backseat to avoid being flung out the window.
As for their Qing—
She had only gotten her driver’s license an hour ago. Could she really manage to drive the new car home safely?
Zhu Qing scoffed, "Underestimating me?"
Then, considering the child’s feelings, she reassured him, "Don’t worry."
The young master of the Sheng family wasn’t worried.
He merely tilted his head, his tone innocent and clueless—
"If we crash into a railing, can I still go to kindergarten tomorrow?"
"Pah! Pah! Don’t say such unlucky things—children’s words carry no weight!" The sales consultant hurried over, patting her own mouth repeatedly. "This car will bring you good fortune—guaranteed safety and smooth sailing!"
Zhu Qing lightly tapped Fang Fang’s forehead. "Hear that? Safe travels."
The uncle-niece duo swiped their card, completed all the formalities, and took the car keys.
There were two keys in total, and Fang Fang insisted on joining the fun, pocketing one for himself while Zhu Qing took the other. He patted his pocket with his small hand.
The dealership staff had already moved the brand-new display car to the delivery area. The sales consultant escorted Zhu Qing and the little boy to the car and opened the door for them.
Stepping back, she beamed with genuine delight. "New car on the road—smooth journeys ahead!"
...
Sheng Fang realized that having the family chauffeur drive was a completely different experience from having Zhu Qing behind the wheel.
His mother, Qin Lizhu, and his second brother-in-law, Chen Chaosheng, were both car enthusiasts. His mother loved flashy sports cars, while his brother-in-law prioritized performance and understated luxury. The family garage frequently welcomed new additions. Back then, the young master of the Sheng family couldn’t have cared less. But today was different—he and his niece—
Had their own car now!
Their family had a car. No more hitchhiking—from now on, the uncle-niece pair could go wherever they pleased with ease.
Fang Fang grinned from ear to ear, but standing by the car door, he immediately hit a snag.
First, Qing wouldn’t let him sit in the front passenger seat.
The saleswoman had been too talkative, insisting that the front seat wasn’t safe for children and that the backseat was better.
The little master scowled but didn’t want to argue with Qing in front of outsiders. With a huff, he turned and marched to the backseat.
Then came the second hurdle—his short legs struggled to climb up.
Dignity was everything to young Fang Fang. Just as he was pondering how to board gracefully, he suddenly found himself airborne.
His niece lifted him into the car—plop—his pride shattered on the spot.
The back door closed with a thud.
The feel of their new car was nothing like the training vehicle, and the view was different too. Zhu Qing fastened her seatbelt and started the engine. As their new car slowly merged onto the road, Sheng Fang cheered from the backseat.
Zhu Qing’s lips curled into a smile.
Was this really the temperamental young master Aunt Ping had described? Every time his little face fell, it only took three minutes for his grin to return.
Sheng Fang rolled down the backseat window.
He obeyed his niece’s rule—no sticking his head out—but resting his chin on the window frame was fine. Qing drove steadily, the speed just right. The warm breeze brushed against his cheeks, and Fang Fang couldn’t have been more thrilled.
Zhu Qing held the steering wheel lightly, driving her little uncle home, a warm sense of fulfillment swelling in her chest.
The joy in her heart came from the feeling of control—the car carried her most important family member, and they were headed toward a wonderful journey.
At a red light, she, like Fang Fang, curiously examined the various buttons inside the car.
Zhu Qing told the child to close the window, shutting out the hot air. Cool air streamed from the vents as she adjusted the dials, and the sound of the car radio filled the space.
Back when she rode the minibus, she never paid much attention to the radio, only occasionally noting tomorrow’s weather or storm warnings.
But now, she immersed herself in the broadcast’s soothing voice.
Outside, traffic flowed endlessly, but inside the car, it was cozy and comfortable. Sheng Fang chattered away like a happy little sparrow, and even the songs played on the radio seemed to echo his excitement.
Soft melodies lingered—this was their own small, warm world.
Zhu Qing wasn’t as talkative as her little uncle, but she listened with a constant smile.
The past had been too quiet, so silent she could almost hear time slipping away. Now, with the growing liveliness around her, she realized she didn’t have to force herself to adapt—she genuinely loved days like these.
The radio melody faded, and at the top of the hour, the electronic chime of the time signal rang out.
Commercial break arrived, and the young master of the Sheng family was an easy target for outrageous product pitches.
Sheng Fang perked up, listening intently.
"Qing, should we buy the magical magnetic energy bracelet? It cures headaches and insomnia!"
"Order the Slimming Tea today—lose eight pounds in five days! Marysa definitely needs this."
"Wow—hang the Wong Tai Sin car charm to ward off accidents and bad luck!"
Zhu Qing had heard these ads before. Back then, the radio blared with impassioned sales pitches, and the order hotlines were always catchy enough to turn into jingles...
She used to wonder—what kind of fool would fall for these ads and bring such nonsense home?
Now she knew—the target audience was none other than the young master of the Sheng family.
"I don’t get headaches or insomnia."
"Marysa already ran away."
"Wong Tai Sin is too busy to babysit our car."
But young Fang Fang wasn’t ready to give up. The exaggerated ads had captured his imagination.
Just as he was about to beg his niece to order something for him, the radio’s background music suddenly turned eerie. An ethereal, haunting chime echoed, as if drifting from afar yet right beside their ears.
"Dear listeners, we have exciting news," the host’s voice turned ghostly. "A brand-new supernatural program, Yin Yang, is coming soon. Every Monday at 10 PM... the ghosts are waiting to meet you. Don’t forget to tune in—we’ll see you there."
The abrupt program teaser startled Zhu Qing. Worried it might scare Sheng Fang, she moved to turn it off—but the kid was already fascinated.
"What kind of ghost?" Fang Fang asked. "Mirror ghosts, hanging ghosts, and the elevator granny... I know them all!"
A chilly gust blew from the AC vent.
Zhu Qing realized that knowing too much didn’t traumatize children—on the contrary, he was thoroughly enjoying himself.
But TV programs really should have age ratings—how does he know so much about these urban legends?
"Do you recognize any of them?" Sheng Fang leaned closer.
"Only the Hungry Ghost," Zhu Qing said. "I starved to death."
"Wow, Qing actually tells jokes now." Sheng Fang played along. "Hilarious."
"Thanks." Zhu Qing smoothly parked the car. "Let's eat."
...
Aunt Ping knew Zhu Qing was taking her driving test today, so before the niece-uncle duo returned, she scouted out parking spots in advance.
Private cars weren’t that common yet, but older districts like Yau Ma Tei had tricky parking situations. Aunt Ping found an open-air spot nearby, checked the rates, and waited downstairs early, clutching a bag of discounted vegetables from the market.
The elderly woman always thought ahead—far more than her younger brother or niece.
At the sound of a car horn, she hurried to the curb.
Settling into the back seat, Aunt Ping beamed. "Such a pretty car... and the seats are so big and comfy."
She handed Zhu Qing a notebook listing nearby parking locations and rental prices.
"Just buy one!" The little rich boy waved a hand.
But purchasing a parking space wasn’t that simple. Zhu Qing picked a nearby open-air lot from Aunt Ping’s notes and drove over.
"Qingqing, this one has 24-hour security—monthly rates are already written here—"
"And you have to park in the designated spot. If you risk illegal parking, the cops ticket you sharp at 8 every night!"
Little Fang pointed at Zhu Qing. "So what? She is a cop."
Zhu Qing: "..."
Where did this kid pick up such street-smart lingo?
Inspector Mo owed Zhu Qing a day off, and she finally cashed it in.
Even on her day off, she didn’t stop moving. Back home, she tossed her car and house keys onto the entryway console.
Hong Kong’s nightscape was stunning, and Sheng Fang tried coaxing his niece into a late-night drive.
Qing pressed a hand on his shoulder, dead serious. "Joyrides can wait. Early bedtime tonight."
Aunt Ping chimed in, playing along. "And why’s that?"
"Because tomorrow," Zhu Qing said, "is Fang’s first day of kindergarten."
"If Fang behaves well at school—" she continued, "joyride up the Peak, rollercoasters at the amusement park, feeding seals at Ocean Park... take your pick."
Sheng Fang pressed his lips together, silent.
He knew better. When Qing called him "Fang" in that sweet tone, trouble always followed.
TV said this was called "sugarcoated bullets"—a trap kids shouldn’t fall for.
...
Later, Fang realized that even if you dodged sugarcoated bullets, school was non-negotiable.
Monday morning, dressed in his uniform with a tiny backpack and water bottle, he stood by his bedroom door to negotiate.
"Peak drive, amusement park, and Ocean Park—still my pick?"
Zhu Qing: "Offer expired."
Fang’s eyes widened, a hand clutching his little chest.
This was a bolt from the blue. He should’ve taken the deal yesterday.
"Fine, all three." Zhu Qing ruffled his hair and dragged him out. "Just kidding."
Fang scowled. "Not funny."
After much dawdling, Sheng Fang finally embarked on his first kindergarten journey.
Qing had promised to personally escort him, but after taking a week off, she said he needed to catch up—the other kids already knew each other and the school bus routine.
Stepping out of the elevator, Fang froze.
"School bus?" he muttered. "Our brand-new car’s just sunbathing in the parking lot!"
They followed the bus route, waiting roadside.
Qing kept him chatting until the topic of her driving to work came up. Fang finally perked up.
But after some thought, his niece said she wouldn’t be using the car.
"The station has official vehicles. I can request one anytime."
Before getting her license, she’d always hitch rides to crime scenes. Now, with her CR license, she could finally share driving duties—no more bumming rides from the coroner during emergencies.
"As for private cars—" Zhu Qing explained, "even if we commute in them, we use police vehicles for fieldwork."
There were rare cases of chasing suspects in personal cars, but regulations discouraged it.
Fang, raised on cop dramas as bedtime lullabies, asked the expert question—
Wouldn’t arriving in marked cars blow their cover during surveillance?
"Ever heard of unmarked police cars?"
Fang shook his head like a rattle-drum.
Guess TV didn’t cover everything.
The kid was riveted. Unmarked cars for undercover ops? So cool!
"Just take an unmarked car daily," Zhu Qing said.
A pause. Then—why did they even buy a car?
Eh, too rich to care. Buy one just in case.
The little tycoon waved it off. "Whatever. It’ll come in handy."
Now he was more curious about the official vehicle process.
"Qing, do you really call them ‘unmarked cars’?"
"Is the siren sound adjusted differently?"
As Fang mentally scanned Yau Ma Tei Station’s lot for "undercover" vehicles, a yellow school bus rolled up.
His smile vanished. Instant scowl.
Zhu Qing had already coordinated with his teacher. Time to board.
When Fang dug in his heels, Qing didn’t waste words.
Madam knew takedown moves. One light yank, and he was aboard.
Seated by the window, Fang caught Qing pointing outside.
"See where we stood? That’s your daily pickup spot."
On busy mornings, Aunt Ping would escort him. He needed to memorize the location.
Fang turned his head away, ignoring her.
Zhu Qing gently held his little head with both hands, slowly turning it back.
"Remember this."
Sheng Fang's voice was muffled: "I remember."
The young master feared nothing in the world, except for kindergarten. After all, he had never experienced group life before—not a single child his age was familiar to him.
Now, surrounded by so many kids his size, all chattering nonstop with their little mouths never closing, the "Fangfang" kid pretended to be mature, covering his ears with both hands, playing the role of a cool little young master.
The school bus stopped, and Zhu Qing accompanied him as he got off.
"I'll pick you up after school this afternoon."
Hands in his pockets, the young master didn’t look back, walking alone into the kindergarten.
By the time Zhu Qing returned to the police station, she was just on time for her shift.
For the past month, the Serious Crimes Team B had been so idle that Inspector Mo had them rummaging through old case files, dusting off long-forgotten cold cases to see if any new leads could be uncovered.
When Zeng Yongshan heard it was Sheng Fang’s first official day at kindergarten, she immediately pulled Zhu Qing aside the moment she arrived at the station, bombarding her with questions.
"How was the little one when he entered kindergarten?"
"Did he cry? Was he lonely? Pitiful? Or—"
Zhu Qing replied, "Like a duck being forced onto a perch."
Zeng Yongshan burst out laughing.
A sulky little duck, head drooping as he trudged through the school gates…
Who knew how he was doing now?
……
Sheng Fang sat at his desk, his little chin propped in his hands, shaking his head.
Kindergarten was truly kindergarten—the activities arranged were far too childish.
Teacher Ji’s voice was gentle and pleasant, and every classmate was just like him—tiny, sitting in a little cluster.
When the lesson began, Sheng Fang found himself among the group of little ones, following the teacher’s instructions along with them.
It was a game—sorting blocks by color, shape, or quantity.
Though the other children had joined the group a week earlier than Sheng Fang, he noticed they hadn’t made friends either.
Everyone played alone, ate alone, and napped alone.
In the nap room, the small beds were arranged in bunk beds. Teacher Ji, accommodating the new student, pointed to the empty beds and let Sheng Fang choose his spot.
Without hesitation, Fangfang picked the top bunk.
By snack time in the afternoon, Sheng Fang felt like he could almost see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Little Fangfang munched on his pastry, gulped down his milk in one go, patted his round little belly, and finally mustered the courage to ask the teacher:
"What time is my niece coming to pick me up?"
Teacher Ji reached out to ruffle his hair, but he dodged—a move John had taught him, the "evasion technique."
Her hand hovering in the air, Teacher Ji couldn’t help but smile.
The little one had already slung his backpack over his shoulders, asking solemnly—yet with a hint of worry—when his "niece" would arrive.
Qing had promised to pick him up, but she hadn’t specified whether she’d be first in line.
If she didn’t come before dark, he wouldn’t know the way home.
"Soon," Teacher Ji reassured him. "See that short hand on the clock? When it moves two more notches—"
The young master cut her off: "Four o'clock?"
The other children turned their heads in unison.
"You can read a clock?!"
"So impressive—"
Sheng Fang lifted his chin proudly. "Is it really that hard?"
The other three-year-olds gasped in awe.
Since it was Sheng Fang’s very first day of school, Inspector Mo granted Zhu Qing early leave.
At exactly four in the afternoon, she stood waiting at the kindergarten gates. Among the crowd, the young policewoman stood out.
She was Sheng Fang’s niece, but also his guardian—inevitably, she had to interact with the teacher.
Teacher Ji was endlessly patient, her voice soft, a warm smile always on her lips.
"Little Sheng Fang behaved wonderfully during mealtime. He even remembered to wipe his mouth with a handkerchief—just like a little gentleman."
"After forty minutes of post-lunch rest, we headed to the nap room. Sheng Fang chose the top bunk on his own, but since it was his first time, he kept gripping the railing and looking around. At home, you might encourage him more—our safety measures are thorough, so there’s no risk of accidents."
"Though he did tire himself out a bit, stubbornly refusing to nap and keeping watch over everyone like a tiny patrol officer."
Little Sheng Fang, noticing the smile tugging at Qing’s lips, puffed up with pride.
He had practiced eating on his own for so long—today, he finished his lunch properly and got praised for it.
As for the napping issue, Teacher Ji was clearly making a subtle "complaint." But Sheng Fang didn’t catch on, blinking innocently as he slipped his tiny hand into Qing’s palm.
The teacher had called him a patrol officer—how cool was that?
……
A child’s first day at school was a big deal. Aunt Ping had prepared Sheng Fang’s favorite honey-glazed chicken wings and potato cakes, waiting for his return.
The moment the door clicked open, she rushed to greet him.
"How was it? Did you eat enough at kindergarten?"
"Did you get along with your classmates?"
"Did you nap at noon?"
Aunt Ping’s questions came rapid-fire.
Qing answered for him—Fangfang stayed silent, quietly listening to his own glowing review.
Aunt Ping beamed. "That’s wonderful! I was worried the young master wouldn’t adjust."
Little Sheng Fang trailed behind his niece all the way home, grinning so wide his tiny milk teeth might’ve tanned under the sun.
But in truth, Teacher Ji had mentioned that he hadn’t smiled once all day in class, his little face perpetually sullen.
Still, as Teacher Ji advised, encouragement was key after bringing him home.
Zhu Qing took the ketchup from the fridge and squeezed a cheerful smiley face onto Fangfang’s potato cake.
When she was little, she too had carried her backpack and stepped into school, day after day. No one ever asked if she was adjusting—she just learned to cope on her own.
Before she knew it, she had made it through.
Now, watching tiny Fangfang, Zhu Qing felt like she was seeing her own childhood.
"Well done," she murmured.
Sheng Fang’s mouth formed a perfect little "O."
He blinked in surprise, the corners of his lips curling into a shy, barely-there smile.
For once, he looked almost bashful.
Zhu Qing watched the happiness he couldn’t quite hide.
If someone had said those two simple words to her back then, maybe that lonely little girl would’ve felt a tiny flower bloom in her heart too—just like Fangfang.
She would’ve remembered it for years.
And so, Sheng Fang’s first day of kindergarten came to a quiet close.
Turns out, school wasn’t as bad as he’d imagined—though it wasn’t exactly fun either.
Before bed, Sheng Fang lay on his little bed, stretching a foot toward the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.
Too far—he could never quite reach.
Qing had promised they’d visit the children’s store in Causeway Bay soon, to buy new glow-in-the-dark stars for his walls.
"Really?" Sheng Fang's chubby little fingers pointed at various corners of the wall. "Stick them here, here, and here..."
He wanted to sleep under a sky full of stars!
Perhaps because it was his first day venturing out into the world alone, Sheng Fang grew increasingly excited, chattering nonstop.
Zhu Qing listened as he whispered mysteriously about the happenings at kindergarten—like how he chose the top bunk because he thought the bottom bunk was risky. If the kid "upstairs" wet the bed, it would definitely be like a fountain... Or how he skillfully peeled a whole egg during lunch, while none of the other kids could...
These were just trivial snippets of kindergarten life, but the child's innocent, bubbly words filled the entire nursery like colorful soap bubbles.
Outside the room, the sound of shuffling footsteps echoed—Aunt Ping was pacing the living room with her old-fashioned radio in hand. She had a habit of listening to the radio, tuning in to Cantonese opera programs at this hour every day. But today, the radio kept crackling. She adjusted the antenna, held it up by the window, then crouched by the coffee table, yet the stubborn static persisted.
"A block-sorting game?" Zhu Qing asked from the nursery. "How do you sort them?"
Sheng Fang peeked out from under the covers, his tiny head barely visible.
"Red blocks be friends with red blocks."
"Two green blocks be friends."
"And then, blocks with similar colors held hands."
The little boy recounted his morning lesson in a sweet, milky voice.
Meanwhile, in the living room, Aunt Ping finally found a clear signal.
"Hello, dear listeners. Welcome to our brand-new program—Yin Yang."
"I'm your host, Situ Peiling."
The radio emitted distant waves crashing, echoing as if a woman was humming a tune.
The host lowered her voice, speaking in a breathy whisper—
"Tonight on Yin Yang, we’ll share a story soaked in water."
"Has anyone here ever been pulled underwater by a ghost?"
It was already 10 p.m. The living room was dark, save for a small light in the hallway.
Aunt Ping shuddered at the radio’s eerie content and quickly switched channels.
Zhu Qing caught snippets of the broadcast.
Yesterday, while driving, she had heard the program’s unsettling teaser.
"Really?" She raised her voice slightly, trying to drown out the strange noise from the radio. "Were there any other rules?"
Sheng Fang nodded, his plump cheeks wobbling.
He was more than happy to share his kindergarten adventures with his niece, though when Zhu Qing called them "funny stories," he shook his head vigorously—he absolutely disagreed.
"Triangles, circles, squares—each shape goes in its own basket."
"When the teacher counts to three, we take out three blocks..."
In the living room, the radio program continued.
Aunt Ping tried to change the station, but the malfunctioning device only crackled, the host’s voice persisting.
"Now, let’s connect with our first caller."
"Good evening. Say hello to everyone."
The broadcast dissolved into the sound of running water.
The trickling noise mixed with phone static, creating an eerie, almost melodic chant.
"Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong..."
Aunt Ping smacked the radio’s casing. "Damn it, why won’t it stop?"
"Host," a woman’s voice emerged through the static. "This is You Minmin. I’m dead."
The host paused briefly, not breaking the unsettling atmosphere. She played along.
"I’m You Minmin. I’m dead."
The woman’s voice repeated.
The radio transmission was choppy, crackling with static, occasionally leaking a few chilling words before Aunt Ping’s frustrated smacks drowned them out.
Little Sheng Fang, still nestled under the covers, babbled away, oblivious to the strangeness.
Zhu Qing prompted, "When the teacher counts to five..."
The boy stretched out five tiny fingers. "Take five blocks!"
From the living room, the faint murmurs of the broadcast drifted in—
"Bathtub at 17 Tail Corner Street, Western District."
"That’s where I died."
The host’s voice turned brittle. "Miss You, you’re saying... you died in a bathtub?"
A sudden rush of water gurgled through the phone, as if something was climbing out of the tub.
Then—click—the call abruptly disconnected.
The host turned away from the mic, her hushed tone laced with panic. "This isn’t in the script..."
Zhu Qing’s gaze lifted slowly.
The fragmented whispers she’d caught earlier had been too indistinct, but now, her nerves tightened instinctively.
Aunt Ping’s footsteps halted abruptly.
She finally managed to press the faulty button, switching to the Cantonese opera channel. The melodic strains of traditional opera filled the living room.
Muttering to herself, she inspected the radio. "Must be haunted..."
The pager Zhu Qing had tossed onto the sofa earlier suddenly lit up.
The beep made Aunt Ping flinch, unease creeping into her chest.
She stared at the flashing screen.
Why was the police station paging at this hour? Was it urgent?
Meanwhile, in the nursery, Zhu Qing pushed her suspicions aside for now.
"Wow, so many activities."
Sheng Fang yawned sleepily, his eyelids drooping.
"Sorting by color, by number, by type?" Zhu Qing exaggerated her enthusiasm. "Your kindergarten games are really—"
The little boy’s head bobbed as he mumbled drowsily, "Silly."
