Chapter 24

Through the window glass, The Tri-Colored Trio huddled together. They neatly folded the IOU note and carefully tucked it into a pocket.

Lin Zao paid no mind to that. He casually picked up his own IOU note and held it in front of Lin Xiaobao, blocking the boy’s little face.

“Little Bao?”

“Mm…”

Lin Xiaobao was moping because he was just a little illiterate kid who couldn’t sign his name like the grown-ups.

He slumped against Dad, wrapping both arms around his leg in utter listlessness.

Only when he heard Dad call out did he lift his head limply. “What…”

Before he could finish, the familiar paper caught his eye.

“Wow!”

Lin Xiaobao’s eyes lit up in a flash, and his little body snapped straight.

“Dad, are you giving this paper to me?”

“That’s right—for you to keep safe.”

Lin Zao held the IOU note out toward him and cleared his throat.

“By the grace of heaven, Dad hereby decrees—”

“Little Bao Bao receives the decree!”

Lin Xiaobao thrust both little hands high in the air. “Receive! Receive the paper! Receive receive receive!”

“You have to keep it safe, okay?” Lin Zao cautioned. “No doodling on it, and no tearing it up.”

“Don’t worry!” Lin Xiaobao puffed out his chest with confidence. “Mission guaranteed!”

He pinched the two corners of the paper and carefully took the IOU note from Dad’s hand.

This was the paper all the grown-ups had been passing around. It had to be super precious—super important!

Let him take a look…

Lin Xiaobao peered at the paper with glee.

Hmm…

It was nothing but words—no pictures at all!

Grown-ups were so lame. Why just write words and never draw anything?

He couldn’t read it, except for Dad’s name.

Whatever. It was definitely super important anyway.

Dad had trusted him with this big task. He wouldn’t let Dad down!

Lin Xiaobao bowed his head and put on a serious little face as he tried to fold the paper.

But the other two corners dangled in the air, and he couldn’t catch them.

He didn’t know how to fold paper in midair. He only folded it flat on a table.

So Lin Xiaobao spun around, hopped off the little stool, and dashed away on his stubby legs.

“Dad, Grandpa Zhang, Red Bro, Yellow Bro, Green Bro—I’m gonna fold this paper and tuck it in my little backpack!”

“Okay!”

Lin Zao called back.

He turned to the four people on the other side of the window and gave them a smile.

Sometimes, coaxing the little cub was that simple!

Lin Zao thought for a moment. “So, you three—when do you plan to head out?”

He had been cooped up at home for nearly a month now with barely any talk from outsiders.

Brother Cheng just went “roar roar roar,” and Little Bao was still too young—his baby talk was cute, sure.

But something always felt missing.

The Tri-Colored Trio snapped to attention and chimed in one after another.

“Probably the next couple of days.”

“The longer we wait, the worse it gets out there. Supplies get scarcer.”

“We’ll rest up a day, recharge, then hit the road.”

“Makes sense.” Lin Zao nodded and added his advice. “Dress warm when you go. Pack some dry rations too. Things are chaotic outside—you might not make it back in a day.”

Grandpa Zhang chimed in. “You three—can you even cook?”

The Tri-Colored Trio scratched their heads sheepishly. “A little. We can at least get rice cooked.”

So Lin Zao and Grandpa Zhang taught them how to make dry rations.

“Use that pot you boil instant noodles in. Add extra water and cook the rice until it’s done. Too much water’s fine as long as it cooks through.”

“Drain the rice, wipe the pot dry, add a splash of oil. Salt the rice, form it into balls, and pan-fry them low and slow.”

“Fry until they’re dry and crispy—like little cakes.”

“Sprinkle on some cumin powder, chili flakes… Hey, don’t you have those instant noodle seasoning packets? A bit of that works too.”

“That way, it’s portable. Out there, no need to build a fire—just eat.”

Lin Zao broke down the rice cake recipe step by step, nice and clear.

On the other side, The Tri-Colored Trio scribbled on paper with pens, their three heads crammed together in a frenzy.

“‘Pot’… How do you write ‘pot’ again?”

“Lemme see. I’ll do it! Hiss… Nah, I can’t either…”

“Pinyin it then!”

“Can’t write pinyin.”

“So how do you text your online crush?”

“Random smash.”

“And that gets you a girl?”

“Hey! Quit bickering! Brother Lin, slower—please!”

Grandpa Zhang finally couldn’t take it and snatched their paper and pen to write “pot” for them.

Lin Zao shared everything he knew, utterly sincere and straightforward.

Grandpa Zhang treated them like little kids. Seeing them so clueless yet ready to brave the world left him worried and helpless.

“Don’t put all the dry rations on one person or in the car. Everyone carry some. That way, if you get separated or someone loses theirs, it’s not a total disaster.”

“Layer up thick—no catching colds. It might even block those things a bit. Ditch the skinny jeans; pile on the long pants.”

“Grab anything useful from there—pots, bowls, ladles, towels, blankets.”

“Keep an eye on the car’s fuel. Refuel first if it runs low.”

The old man went on and on, his nagging endless.

The Tri-Colored Trio didn’t mind a bit. They stood in a neat row, listening obediently, nodding now and then with a “Got it.”

“Yes, Grandpa—we’ve got it all.”

The group talked for nearly an hour.

It was getting late, and The Tri-Colored Trio needed to prep.

Before they left, they approached Grandpa Zhang and spread their arms for a hug—but hesitated. Arms up, down, up, down.

After a few tries and some waffling, they settled for a light pat on the old man’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Grandpa Zhang!”

They turned to Lin Zao and cupped their fists.

“Thanks, Brother Lin!”

That was the code of the brothers!

They shouldered yesterday’s flour haul and grabbed the rice Grandpa Zhang had already portioned out.

“Brother Lin, we’ll leave the flour by your back door. Grab it later. We’ll divvy up the rest of the rice with the others.”

“Got it.”

The three gave Lin Zao and Grandpa Zhang one last wave, then shouldered their loads and headed out the back door.

Lin Zao bid Grandpa Zhang farewell and shut the window.

He waited downstairs a bit until the outside went quiet, then opened the back door and hauled in the flour.

Ten jin of flour—not too little, not too much.

Lin Zao checked the expiration date. Plenty of time left, so he left the bag sealed for now.

Save it for when he felt like making dumplings or buns.

He hugged the flour sack and headed upstairs.

“Little Bao, where are you? Come help Dad.”

“Right here!”

Lin Xiaobao poked his head through the stair railing.

Your Little Bao Bao had arrived!

He scampered downstairs, raising his little hands to help hold up the flour sack.

“I’m here!”

“Wow, Little Bao’s a real powerhouse.”

“You bet!”

Father and son hauled the flour upstairs together.

Meanwhile, in the utility room.

Fu Cheng leaned against the back of the iron door, still clutching the congee Lin Zao had brought him.

A good bit of congee remained—not because Little Zao had overfilled it, but because he had only taken two or three bites.

He liked listening to Little Zao talk. He liked hearing Little Zao chat with others.

He couldn’t make out every word or quite follow, but he loved it anyway.

He loved Little Zao’s soft, gentle voice—like a spring breeze.

While Little Zao was out chatting with the neighbors, Fu Cheng’s hands started to itch.

He wanted to go out there, fetch a stool for Little Zao to sit on while he talked, maybe rub his legs or shoulders, pour some water, cut up some fruit.

But he couldn’t open the door.

Little Zao made it look so easy—just grip the handle and press down.

Fu Cheng had the strength for it, but his hands were too stiff. Whenever he tried gripping the handle, they slipped right off.

So he just sat on the floor behind the door with his bowl and eavesdropped on Little Zao’s voice.

He got so absorbed that he forgot to eat.

Lin Zao and Lin Xiaobao headed upstairs.

Lin Zao reheated the half bowl of congee Lin Xiaobao had left and had him finish it.

He tied on an apron and got to work on dinner.

The whole family had slept in late. It was already past three.

Lin Zao opened the freezer and rummaged around until he found a bag of pig dragon bone.

Pig dragon bone was just pork spine bones—lean on meat, perfect for soup.

The bag was huge, already chopped into chunks by Fu Cheng ahead of time.

Lin Zao took out a small portion and dropped it in a basin to thaw in cold water.

Pig dragon bone needed a good partner, so he opened their dry goods cabinet and pulled out a small bag of cordyceps flower.

Cordyceps flower—not the fancy cordyceps they couldn’t afford.

Orange-yellow strands, like skinny enoki mushrooms.

Perfect for soup: nourishing and tasty, just right for an injured Fu Cheng.

Lin Zao grabbed a handful and added it to the basin to soak, picking out any shriveled or bad bits along the way.

With the bones thawing and the flowers soaking, Lin Zao pulled the uneaten pork heart and pig head meat from the fridge.

The braised meat and juices had chilled solid together.

A quick reheat, slice it up nice, and they had their meat dish for dinner.

They had two stoves: a gas one and an induction cooker.

They used to alternate—stir-fry on one, simmer soup on the other.

Lin Zao had done the same before.

But after the zombie outbreak, one night it hit him: if they kept it up, the power would cut out someday.

From then on, he locked the gas valve tight and never touched it.

Except that one time burning pig hair—a couple minutes at most.

Now he cooked rice in the cooker and used the induction for everything else.

Less convenient, sure, but he hoped the electricity would hold out longer.

Lin Zao filled a pot with water and blanched the thawed pig dragon bone to remove the scum.

Five minutes later, he fished out the bones and rinsed off the foam.

Fresh water in, bones back in to simmer.

Simmer an hour to melt out the marrow, add the cordyceps flower, then another hour.

Soup took power and time. If it weren’t to nourish Fu Cheng, Lin Zao wouldn’t bother.

With the soup simmering and the pig head meat warming on top, Lin Zao propped his head on his hand and sat quietly at the dining table to wait.

Lin Xiaobao toddled over, hugging his crayons and wall calendar book.

“Dad.”

“Hm?” Lin Zao snapped back and turned to him. “You finish drawing the lettuce for today?”

“All done!” Lin Xiaobao showed off the wall calendar book. “Turns out lettuce really drinks water. Yesterday’s water level went down.”

“Yep.” Lin Zao smiled. “So we keep it up and see if we can draw new leaves sprouting.”

“Mm.” Lin Xiaobao nodded, then called out again. “Dad…”

“What else?” Lin Zao pinched his chubby cheek. “No need to hem and haw with Dad.”

Lin Xiaobao raised a little hand. “Dad, teach me to write!”

“What do you want to write?” Lin Zao’s eyes twinkled as it clicked. “Your own name?”

“Uh-huh!” Lin Xiaobao bobbed his head hard. “I wanna learn my name so I can sign with you all!”

“Alright, Dad’ll teach you.”

Lin Zao stood, scooped up Lin Xiaobao, and plopped him in the baby chair.

“Get your posture right first. Ready?”

Lin Xiaobao straightened his little back, sitting ramrod straight. “Ready!”

Dinner was almost ready, and Little Bao was so eager, so Lin Zao skipped the full lesson on strokes.

He just grabbed a black crayon and wrote “Little Bao” on a blank page of the wall calendar.

“That’s your name. Dad’ll add the stroke order too—watch close, then you try.”

“Okay!”

Lin Xiaobao fixed his eyes on Dad’s hand, unblinking.

But soon he was fidgeting. “Dad, I got it! Super easy! Lemme try!”

“Here.”

Lin Zao handed over the crayon, went to the kitchen to wash his hands, lifted the lid for a peek.

Pig head meat was hot—time to take it off before it steamed away.

The pig bone soup had turned golden from the cordyceps flower. Lifting the lid released a fresh, savory aroma.

Just a bit of salt and a few more minutes.

Lin Zao replaced the lid, pulled out the prepped head of cabbage, and started chopping for a veggie stir-fry.

Meat, soup, veg—dinner set.

Lin Xiaobao sat behind him, gripping the crayon and carefully forming letters.

“Little… Little… Little…”

He wrote “Little” three times and waved his hand triumphantly.

“Dad, look at my writing!”

“Keep that page—Dad’ll check in a sec.”

“Okay.” Lin Xiaobao twisted his little head this way and that, admiring his work from every angle.

His letters looked just like Dad’s.

Writing was a breeze!

Dad had held out on him with something this easy.

Buoyed by confidence, Lin Xiaobao gripped the crayon tight and tackled the next character—

“Bao… Bao…”

Why? Why was “Bao” so complicated?

Why was “Bao” way harder than “Little”?

Why did it look so weird and twisty?

Lin Xiaobao’s eyes went wide in disbelief.

His writing hand trembled on the crayon.

Forget it. Learn “Little” today—”Bao” tomorrow!

Like Dad always said, you can’t get fat from one bite.

So today, he’d write “Little” a hundred times!

Lin Xiaobao set his jaw, hunched over the page, and scribbled away furiously.

Not long after, Lin Zao carried the sliced pig head meat and stir-fried cabbage to the table.

“Little Bao, you’ve been writing for so long. Take a break, wash your hands, and come eat.”

Lin Xiaobao raised the wall calendar with both hands and held it up in front of him.

“Dad, look at the characters I wrote!”

“Alright, let me see.”

Lin Zao wiped his hands on his apron and peered closely.

“Uh… this…”

Rows of tiny black characters covered the wall calendar. They started out as big as Lin Xiaobao’s palm, then shrank to the size of his thumb, and finally dwindled into little black dots.

Like ants, clustered in neat lines.

“Little Bao, can you tell Dad why you made the characters get smaller and smaller?”

“Because this one’s the character for ‘small’!” Lin Xiaobao declared righteously.

The “small” character had to be written small!

It was such a simple question—Dad was just asking to be polite!

Lin Zao pressed on. “Then what if you were writing ‘big’?”

Lin Xiaobao spread his small hands wide. “Then it’d have to be big!”

“What about ‘black’?”

“Write it with a black pen.”

“And ‘white’?”

“With a white pen.”

“But you can’t see white ink on white paper.”

“Just color the paper black with a black pen first!”

Lin Xiaobao let out a sigh. Dad was so silly—he didn’t even get this.

“Alright.” Lin Zao stifled a laugh and nodded. “You’ve got a point. This piece has real style. We should treasure it.”

“Of course.”

“Come wash your hands and help Dad grab the chopsticks.”

“You got it!” Lin Xiaobao chirped, mimicking the waiter from TV.