Eating Melons in the Police Station

Summer arrives early in Haishan. Though it's only March, the weather is already pleasantly warm—neither too hot nor too cold, with a gentle breeze making it the most comfortable season in Haishan.

Every year around this time, the grassy field in front of the People's Square becomes crowded with people. Some fly kites, others play fetch with their dogs, and some spread out picnic mats, gathering in small groups to bask in the sun and eat.

This weekend, Zhong Jin finally had a day off. Qiu Sheng prepared a picnic mat, and by 10 a.m., when the sun had warmed the grass, the family of three drove to the field.

Little Tong brought Sang Biao along too. To keep the chicken from running off, they tied a thin string around its leg and secured it to a small tree near the picnic mat.

The field wasn’t too crowded yet. While Qiu Sheng spread out the mat, Zhong Jin walked a short distance away with a butterfly-shaped kite, tossing it into the wind and letting out the string bit by bit until the kite soared high.

Little Tong ran over and clung to Zhong Jin’s leg, trying to grab the kite. Worried the fishing line might cut her, Zhong Jin told her to step back.

The chubby child pouted and stomped away, grumbling unhappily.

Luckily, a vendor nearby was selling miniature kites with long handles, perfect for kids. Qiu Sheng called out, "Sweetheart, do you want to try one of these small kites?"

The child’s attention was quickly diverted. She happily ran over to pick one out, finally settling on a Squidward-patterned kite.

The cheaply made little kite was rough around the edges, but Little Tong had a blast with it, running wildly while holding the handle, the kite flapping chaotically behind her in the wind.

Zhong Jin handed the larger kite to Qiu Sheng and came back to guide Little Tong. "You have to run against the wind so the kite catches the breeze. That’s how it flies properly," he explained, then frowned. "Why is your kite so ugly?"

Little Tong calmly replied, "This is Squidward. How do you not know Squidward?"

Under Zhong Jin’s guidance, her small kite managed to lift off, though its short string kept it from flying too high. Meanwhile, their big kite drifted farther and farther away.

Once Little Tong realized Squidward couldn’t soar very high, she quickly lost interest.

She whined to play with the big kite instead. Zhong Jin handed her the spool, but the kite tugged so hard that she wobbled unsteadily. Deciding it wasn’t fun either, she gave it back.

Zhong Jin effortlessly held the spool, releasing more line to let the kite climb higher.

Little Tong wandered around the field and spotted a girl playing frisbee with a corgi. She stood nearby, watching with interest.

The girl invited her to join. Little Tong immediately took the corgi’s side, declaring excitedly, "You throw, and I’ll catch!"

The girl laughed. "Oh, so you’re the one catching?"

The corgi, who had been playing happily before, rolled its eyes and stepped aside, clearly annoyed but not daring to protest.

The girl was much gentler with Little Tong, softly tossing the frisbee right to her.

At first, Little Tong tried to catch it with her teeth, but Zhong Jin yelled at her to stop. Reluctantly, she switched to using her hands.

While running for the frisbee, she tripped over some weeds and fell. The grass was soft, and she popped right back up, diving back into the game, so no one paid it much mind.

After a while, Little Tong grew tired and noticed a stall where kids could "fish" for plastic toys in a small inflatable pool. She begged to try it.

The game was simple—a pool filled with water and magnetic plastic fish, with a fishing rod that had a magnet attached. When the magnet touched a fish, it "caught" it.

Despite how dull it seemed, the kids loved it.

Little Tong sat on a tiny stool, plucking the fish off her line and dropping them into a red bucket at her feet. Over an hour later, the bucket was overflowing with colorful plastic fish.

By noon, the sun grew intense. Zhong Jin reeled in the kite and called for Little Tong to head home. She dragged her feet, squeezing in another ten minutes of play before finally agreeing to leave.

Back home, while washing Little Tong’s hands, Qiu Sheng noticed a small scrape on her palm—likely from her earlier tumble.

"Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell us you got hurt?" Qiu Sheng asked.

Little Tong stood on the step stool by the sink, hiding her hands behind her back and staying silent.

Hearing this, Zhong Jin came over and inspected the scrape. He glared at the troublemaker.

"You didn’t say anything because you didn’t want to stop playing, huh?"

Little Tong yanked her hand back, puffing her cheeks in defiance.

Zhong Jin warned, "Keep acting up, and if it gets infected, you’re going to the hospital for a shot."

"No shots!" she muttered under her breath.

Zhong Jin carried her to the living room sofa, telling Qiu Sheng to fetch the first-aid kit.

When the iodine stung her wound, Little Tong tried to pull away. Zhong Jin held her fingers firmly until she gave up struggling.

The tiny scrape looked much worse once stained brown, spreading redness across her palm.

Since it wasn’t bleeding, Zhong Jin didn’t bother with a bandage, only reminding her to keep it clean and dry—or else face a hospital visit.

Little Tong stared at the reddened skin, growing anxious.

She cupped her hand, tucking it into her sleeve for protection, then went to Qiu Sheng again.

"Mommy, please give me a bandage wrap."

At first, Qiu Sheng didn’t understand. After some explaining, she realized Little Tong wanted the wound wrapped for safety.

Though the injury didn’t need it, Qiu Sheng humored her, fetching a strip of white cotton and fashioning a sling to cradle the "injured" hand.

Once bandaged, Little Tong became convinced her wound was serious. She refused to ride her tricycle, demanded to be fed, and kept checking her palm nervously.

When Aunt Liang returned with groceries in the afternoon, Little Tong rushed over, proudly displaying her hand.

"Aunt Liang, I got hurt!"

When Aunt Liang first saw the bandage, she was genuinely startled. She quickly set her vegetable basket on the ground and crouched down to examine Little Tong's arm. "What happened? Weren't you perfectly fine when you left this morning?"

Little Tong unfolded her cupped palm and showed it to Aunt Liang, pouting tearfully. "Auntie, it's really bad."

Aunt Liang: "...It's so bad that we need to wrap it up immediately. Otherwise, it might heal before we even get the chance to bandage it."

All that worry for nothing.

Aunt Liang picked up the vegetable basket and headed into the kitchen.

As she washed the vegetables, she recalled Little Tong's dramatic expression and couldn't help but chuckle.

Kids were all like this—they had no sense of scale when it came to injuries. The tiniest scrape could convince them they were on death's door.

Once, a little boy Aunt Liang had taken care of got a mosquito bite and solemnly stuck a band-aid over it. He then obediently stayed in bed for two full days, convinced he needed serious recovery time.

That afternoon, Qiu Sheng had work at the studio and left after lunch. Aunt Liang, planning to buy free-range eggs from a fellow villager, also packed up and went out.

Zhong Jin leaned back on the sofa, reading a book, when Little Tong climbed up and nestled against his chest. "Daddy, can you read me a story?"

Ever since he'd introduced her to detective stories, opening a whole new world for her, Little Tong had lost interest in children's picture books. Now, her bedtime stories were all crime thrillers, and her tolerance had grown so high she could even handle the gory details.

Zhong Jin picked up the novel he'd been reading to her the day before, flipped to the bookmarked page, and continued where they'd left off.

After finishing a short chapter, Little Tong piped up again, "Daddy, can you peel an apple for me?"

"Why the sudden craving for an apple?"

She gave him a pitiful look. "Patients need fruit to recover properly."

Zhong Jin laughed at her exaggeration but set the book aside anyway. He lifted her off his lap, settled her on the sofa, and went to the fridge for an apple.

By the time he returned with the apple and a fruit knife, Little Tong was already video-calling Qiu Chen on Zhong Jin's phone. The moment Zhong Jin approached, he heard Qiu Chen's furious voice through the speaker:

"How could your parents let this happen? How badly are you hurt? Is that a bandage? Did you break something? Don’t worry, Uncle’s flying over right now to see you!"

Unfazed, Zhong Jin sat back on the sofa and leaned toward the screen. Calmly, he said, "Zhong Yuntong, show your uncle your injury."

Little Tong immediately opened her palm. Zhong Jin held her wrist and angled the tiny scrape toward the camera.

"Here, let Uncle see just how serious this life-threatening wound is."

A deathly silence fell on Qiu Chen's end.

Zhong Jin went back to peeling the apple. The ceramic knife was new, its blade razor-sharp. The moisture on the apple skin made it slippery, and before he realized it, the blade nicked his index finger. A white line appeared on his fingertip, followed by a bead of blood.

He hissed softly in pain. Little Tong turned at the sound and, spotting the blood, immediately dropped the phone and lunged forward, taking his finger into her mouth.

Zhong Jin cupped her head and pulled his hand back, but not before she gave it a lick. The blood was gone, leaving only a damp mark on his skin.

Little Tong clutched his knee, her big eyes wide with worry. "You're hurt! Does it hurt?"

"No, it doesn’t."

Zhong Jin stood, fetched the first-aid kit, cleaned the cut with iodine, and covered it with a band-aid.

Little Tong watched anxiously, then scrambled to pick up the phone. Kneeling on the carpet, she told Qiu Chen, "My daddy got hurt too."

Qiu Chen’s voice crackled through the speaker. "Zhong Jin! What happened? Are you okay?"

"It’s nothing. Just a nick from the fruit knife."

After the call ended, Zhong Jin called Little Tong over. "Why did you suck on the cut when you saw blood?"

"Because that’s what you and Mommy do when I get hurt."

Zhong Jin remembered her original world—medical care probably wasn’t as advanced there, and kids likely treated minor scrapes with spit. She must’ve picked up the habit.

"From now on, don’t use your mouth on wounds, especially not other people’s. Understand?"

Little Tong pointed at the iodine on the coffee table. "If I get hurt, I should use this."

"Exactly. If you’re hurt at home, tell an adult right away. If it happens at school, tell your teacher. No more licking, got it?"

Still uneasy, Zhong Jin pressed further. "You haven’t done this before, have you? When other kids bled, you didn’t lick them?"

Little Tong waved her hands. "No, they never bled."

Somewhat reassured, Zhong Jin made her repeat the proper first-aid steps. Once satisfied, he let her go play.

Little Tong scampered back to her dog bed and dozed off almost instantly.

Sang Biao tried to squeeze in after her, but her round head completely blocked the entrance. Now that Sang Biao had ballooned into a chubby fluffball, his bulk was impossible to ignore. Frustrated, he pawed wildly at Little Tong’s hair.

Zhong Jin walked over, lifted the roof of the dog bed, and scooped Little Tong out, letting Sang Biao take her spot.

He settled her on the sofa, tucking a blanket around her.

Noticing the bandage still dangling from her hand, Zhong Jin carefully unwrapped it and checked the scrape again.

But ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‍her palm showed no trace of injury—only a faint stain from the iodine. The broken skin had healed completely, leaving no mark.

He turned her other hand over. It, too, was flawless, not even a hint of iodine.

Zhong Jin wondered if he was seeing things. He ran his thumb over the spot where the scrape had been—the skin was smooth and unbroken.

He hurried to the bathroom, dampened a towel with warm water, and wiped away the iodine residue.

What lay before him was a small, soft, perfectly unharmed hand—as if nothing had ever happened.