Eating Melons in the Police Station

Qiu Sheng looked up—the quiet villa district was empty, save for some small creature that had just darted through the bushes, shaking snow from the branches.

"That’s not Daddy. Probably just a cat," Qiu Sheng crouched down, steadying Little Tong’s round belly as she spoke.

Little Tong insisted, pointing in that direction. "It’s Daddy. I smell him."

Qiu Sheng followed her finger and suddenly remembered: further ahead in that direction was Zhong Jin’s family home.

Zhong Jin’s parents had once lived in this villa district too. They were all part of the same social circle—several families had bought their villas together back then. Living nearby and attending the same school, it was often Zhong Jin’s mother who drove the kids around.

Qiu Sheng straightened up and took Little Tong’s hand. "Let’s go see."

She led Little Tong east along the cleared but still slippery snow-covered paths, careful with each step in her soft-soled slippers.

A few neighbors passed by, casting curious glances at the woman in just a sweater and slippers braving the cold.

After winding past several villas and crossing a central garden, they finally reached Zhong Jin’s house after a fifteen-minute walk.

Little Tong sniffed the air, clinging to her mother’s hand. "Daddy’s here."

A gust of icy wind stung Qiu Sheng’s nose, her eyes reddening instantly.

Pushing open the wrought-iron gate, they passed the neglected garden. The front door had a keypad lock—Qiu Sheng knew the code: Zhong Yan’s birthday. The door clicked open.

Inside, the house was silent, the heating long turned off. White sheets draped over the furniture made the space feel even colder.

Padding through the foyer in her slippers, Qiu Sheng froze when she spotted a figure slumped on the sofa.

He wore a black overcoat, tall and lean, hunched forward with his face buried in his hands.

Qiu Sheng’s throat tightened.

Little Tong let go of her hand, her tiny boots clacking against the hardwood as she ran to push at Zhong Jin’s knee. "Daddy."

Zhong Jin lifted his tear-streaked face.

Seeing him cry, Little Tong panicked. She cupped his eyes with her small hands. "No cry, Daddy, no cry!"

Zhong Jin wiped his face roughly and cleared his throat. "Why are you here?"

Qiu Sheng tried to smile but only managed something closer to a grimace. She turned away, letting the tears fall.

Confused by her parents’ tears, Little Tong darted between them—hugging Qiu Sheng’s leg, nuzzling against her, then scrambling back into Zhong Jin’s arms, resting her chin on his shoulder to study his face.

When his tears stopped, she asked, "Daddy, you sad-better now?"

Zhong Jin held her at arm’s length, cradling her chubby cheeks before pressing his forehead to hers, steadied by her warmth.

He glanced at Qiu Sheng—still standing there in just a fitted knit sweater—and stood to drape his coat over her shoulders.

Qiu Sheng punched his arm. "Zhong Big-Head, you liar. You said you were seeing Yu Feiyang."

Calmly, he replied, "It’s almost New Year’s. I thought... maybe they’d come back for it."

She pulled his coat tighter around herself, muffling her voice. "Then let’s look through the rooms together."

"No. Dead is dead. They’re not coming back."

For the first time, Zhong Jin truly accepted it.

They say the mind shields itself from overwhelming grief—numbing the pain to prevent collapse.

For months, Zhong Jin had existed in that hollow calm, aware his soul lingered in some abyss.

But standing in that house, the dam broke. Sorrow sliced through him like a blade.

Then—whether by fate or chance—Little Tong and Qiu Sheng found him, pulling him from the depths.

Now, Zhong Jin carried Little Tong while Qiu Sheng shuffled beside him in his oversized coat.

Noticing her slippers—soaked through at the toes—he moved to give her his shoes. She shoved him forward.

"Ugh, just hurry home already."

He sped up, only to turn and find her wobbling like a duck, the coat swallowing her frame.

Zhong Jin walked back, offering his arm. "Hold on."

With that support, she steadied.

Back at the Qiu family villa, Qiu Zhengrui and Tao Siyuan were at a charity gala, leaving only Qiu Chen and their uncle’s family.

Without a word to anyone, Qiu Sheng grabbed her coat, changed shoes, and prepared to return to their city apartment.

As they left, Qiu Chen followed, jacket in hand. "Mind if I crash at yours? Those demon spawn inside are melting my brain."

He meant their uncle’s kids—raised to shriek like banshees from dawn till dusk.

Perched on Zhong Jin’s arm, Little Tong wagged a finger. "New Year’s rule: no homework torture!"

Qiu Chen tweaked the furry ear on her tiger-striped hat. "Fine. Holiday amnesty."

Satisfied, she snuggled back into Zhong Jin. "Then we save this uncle."

In the car, they decided against dining out, opting for hotpot at home. Qiu Chen detoured toward the supermarket.

As they chatted, Qiu Sheng asked, "Why’s Uncle’s family still here? It’s been over a month."

Qiu Chen scoffed. "First, he tried palming off his grandson as my heir. When I refused, he hit Dad up for a ‘loan’—some overseas restaurant scheme. Dad said no, so now he’s squatting here, playing chicken."

Qiu Sheng remarked, "Those siblings of ours care too much about money—there's hardly any genuine affection between them."

Qiu Chen scoffed, "With a father like ours, who could possibly have real feelings for him? Once I get my shares, I'm moving out. I’ve had enough of him. He can’t go a day without berating me, as if putting me down is the only way he can prove his worth."

Zhong Jin caught onto a key point: "Qiu Chen, you mean to tell me you still haven’t gotten your shares yet?"

"Mm."

"Then you’re still just an heir yourself. What do you mean by ‘cultivating an heir’? An heir raising an heir—are you nesting dolls or something?"

Qiu Chen: "...Shut up."

After buying groceries at the supermarket, they ran into a magic mini-train on the first floor of the mall. Of course, Little Tong had to ride it a couple of times.

Qiu Sheng and the other two stood nearby, waiting. As the train passed by, Little Tong waved happily, and all three adults smiled in unison—only for their smiles to vanish just as quickly once the train moved on.

The mini-train in the capital was longer than the one in Haishan, and two laps took nearly half an hour.

By the time it was over, the adults were bored out of their minds. Qiu Sheng kept yawning, wondering how children never seemed to tire of riding the same thing over and over.

Back at home, Qiu Chen and Zhong Jin carried the groceries into the kitchen.

The makeshift bed from last night was still sprawled on the floor. Qiu Sheng curled up on it, knitting, while Little Tong lay beside her, watching cartoons on a tablet.

Between episodes, Little Tong turned around, plucked a preserved plum from the snack box, and popped it into Qiu Sheng’s mouth.

After Qiu Sheng finished eating, Little Tong held out a small bowl. "Mommy, spit the pit."

Qiu Sheng obliged, then patted her head. "Thank you, sweetheart," before resuming her knitting.

By 6 p.m., the sky outside had darkened, and snow began to fall again. The hot pot was brought out, steam rising in cozy swirls, instantly filling the house with a sense of warmth.

Since there was no high chair, Qiu Sheng placed a cushion on a dining chair so Little Tong could sit higher and reach the food.

Zhong Jin emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of vegetables, raising an eyebrow at the sight. "Are you holding court?"

Little Tong, not understanding what "holding court" meant, impatiently tapped her spoon on the table. "Serve the food, please!"

Zhong Jin portioned out cooked meat and veggies into her bowl, mixing it into a mush—"dog food style," as he called it—and let her eat on her own.

Qiu Chen walked out of the kitchen in a dress shirt and slacks, carrying a plate of freshly fried glutinous rice cakes, grumbling,

"Zhong Jin insisted on buying this greasy junk, and now my shirt’s covered in oil splatters."

Little Tong’s eyes lit up at the sight of the cakes. She eagerly held out her bowl. "One for me, please! Thank you."

Earlier at the supermarket, Qiu Chen had bought liquor. He fetched two glasses, poured a shot of Wuliangye for Zhong Jin and one for himself.

Lifting his glass, Qiu Chen clinked it against Zhong Jin’s. "Zhong Jin, I think this might be the first time we’ve ever had a drink together."

Zhong Jin picked up his glass, the rims chiming softly. "Happy New Year, Brother."

Qiu ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‍Chen downed his shot. "You never used to visit my place. Back then, I thought you were too aloof—figured we wouldn’t get along. Who’d have guessed we’d end up reunited because of a kid?"

Zhong Jin choked on his liquor, coughing into his hand. "Brother, that phrasing is a bit... questionable."

Qiu Chen raised another toast. "Thank you for bearing me an heir."

Zhong Jin lifted his glass again. "...Brother, let’s stop talking. It’s all in the drink."

From then on, to prevent Qiu Chen from saying anything else awkward, Zhong Jin preempted every toast with, "Brother, no more words—it’s all in the drink."

The two kept drinking, round after round, while Qiu Sheng sipped red wine on the sidelines, amused but staying out of their bizarre toasting ritual.

Little Tong, now full, set her empty bowl on the table and said to Qiu Sheng, "Mommy, I’m done. Please carry me down."

Qiu Sheng lifted her from the chair, glancing at the spotless bowl—proof of Zhong Jin’s strict upbringing. The child never left a single grain of rice behind, and the sight of her clean cartoon bowl was oddly satisfying.

Once on the ground, Little Tong surveyed the adults still eating and drinking, then toddled off to explore the house on her own.

The apartment was spacious, nearly 300 square meters—a vast frontier for a three-year-old with short legs.

Without her tricycle, she had to rely on her own two feet.

She pushed open the master bedroom door, stepping into the wide, quiet space. The glow of the snow outside cast a silvery sheen across the room, bright enough to see clearly even without the lights on.

Standing before the plush bed, Little Tong sniffed the air, recognizing the familiar scents of her parents. She liked it here.

So she rummaged for Qiu Sheng’s perfume and proceeded to "mark" every corner of the room with it.

Back in the dining area, the whiskey had begun taking its toll.

Qiu Chen pulled out his phone, calling employees one by one to wish them a happy New Year while spamming the company group chat with red envelopes.

This drunken generosity was routine for him. The moment alcohol hit, he’d start showering people with money. Back when Qiu Sheng was in high school and Qiu Chen had just joined the company, he’d gotten hammered at his first business dinner.

He came home insisting on topping up her streaming membership—and prepaid 50 years’ worth. To this day, she still used that account, half-convinced the subscription might outlive her.

Meanwhile, Zhong Jin was mopping the floor. Cleaning was his go-to stress reliever, and as the house grew tidier, so did his mood.

Noticing Qiu Sheng watching, he glanced up, flashed her a smile, then straddled the mop like a witch’s broom. With his usual composed, handsome face, he deadpanned:

"Look. I can fly."