—During the Spring Festival holiday, influenza cases are surging. Citizens are urged to wash their hands frequently, keep rooms well-ventilated, and prevent the flu starting from the little things.
—The “New Year’s Eve Fireworks Show” originally scheduled for February 4, 3000, at People’s Square has been canceled due to unforeseen circumstances.
—Level One Alert! Level One Alert! All citizens, stay home starting immediately, minimize outings, and avoid crowded areas…
Static crackled… Static crackled…
A shrill, piercing electrical hum erupted, the channel scrambled, and the broadcast cut off.
In its place came the soft, soothing voice of a young man singing.
“Let time rush on by, I only care about you, willing to catch your vibe…”
In a plain, boxy three-story self-built house.
A slender, handsome young man with his sleeves rolled up, wearing a goose-yellow apron patterned with tiny flowers, stood at the kitchen stove on the second floor.
A small iron pot sat on the gas burner, flames roaring beneath it, the half-full pot of water bubbling and churning.
The young man had a gentle expression, his movements slow and careful. He grasped a wooden spoon, scooped half a spoonful of brown sugar from a jar, and added it to the water, stirring it gently until it dissolved.
“Life is short, to find a soulmate makes even losing one’s life worthwhile, so I…”
The brown sugar melted, turning the clear water a rich reddish-brown.
The young man turned his head, his eyes crinkling in a smile, and asked warmly, “Little Bao, do you want peanut-filled tangyuan or sesame-filled ones?”
A three-year-old toddler sat at the dining table behind the young man, clutching a crayon and scribbling on a calendar.
Hearing Dad speak to him, the little boy looked up at the ceiling, thinking hard. “I want both!”
“Which do you want more?”
“Um…” The little boy hesitated, poking at his fingers. “Eenie, meenie, minie, moe, and it lands on…”
“Hurry, the water’s about to boil dry.”
“That’s it! Sesame!”
“Then how about two sesame ones and one peanut? Sound good?”
“Good, thank you, Dad.” The little boy nodded vigorously, then asked, “Dad, why are we eating tangyuan today?”
The young man turned back, squeezing two rock-hard frozen tangyuan from the bag into the pot, and answered patiently, “Because today is the fifteenth of the first lunar month, Lantern Festival.”
“What about Big Daddy? Isn’t Big Daddy coming back to celebrate with us?”
“Big Daddy…” The young man’s movements paused for a moment. “Big Daddy’s away on a business trip.”
“When’s Big Daddy coming back? Does he get tangyuan on his trip?”
“Of course he does. When he gets back, Dad will cook fresh ones for him.”
“Okay.”
Steamy vapor wafted from the kitchen into the dining room.
With his back to the table, the young man gripped the wooden spoon, stirring the plump white tangyuan in the pot with focus.
The little boy clutched his crayon, lowering his head to gaze at his unfinished drawing.
He was drawing fireworks.
First, he covered the whole page in black crayon, then added fireworks in other colors.
Red, green, yellow, and…
What other colors?
The little boy looked up, peering through the slats of the kitchen blinds at the pitch-black night sky outside, lost in a daze.
Today was February 19, 3000—the fifteenth day of the first lunar month, Lantern Festival.
His name was Lin Xiaobao. His dad was Lin Zao, a kindergarten teacher. His big daddy was Fu Cheng, who owned an auto repair shop. They lived at No. 3 Happiness Street in the new district of the small city. Their phone number was 2792…
Dad and Big Daddy had promised to take him to People’s Square for fireworks on New Year’s Eve.
And they had gone.
Big Daddy drove the pickup truck, Dad sat in the passenger seat, and he rode in the child safety seat in the back.
The roads were jammed, the streets buzzing with excitement, red lanterns hanging everywhere, New Year’s songs blasting.
Just as they were about to reach the square, a fight broke out there.
A crowd gathered, pushing and shoving.
They shouted, brawled, and something red splattered up, streaking past the car window.
Before he could see clearly—
Dad unbuckled his seatbelt, lunged to the back seat, and covered his eyes.
Big Daddy cursed, yanked the wheel hard, and floored the gas.
He hadn’t seen a thing before Dad and Big Daddy brought him home.
Big Daddy rushed upstairs and locked every door and window tight.
Dad held him close and said the red stuff he’d glimpsed was probably watermelon juice or ketchup.
He wanted some too, but Dad said no watermelon juice in winter—it would give him a tummy ache—and no plain ketchup without fries.
Okay.
From that day on, their lives turned upside down.
The next day, New Year’s Day, Dad and Big Daddy didn’t take him visiting. The neighbor grandpa, uncles, and aunts all kept their doors bolted shut.
On the third day, roars like tigers and lions echoed from the streets. Dad and Big Daddy drew the curtains so he couldn’t look out.
On the fourth day, his favorite cartoon Pleasant Goat and Big Big Wolf stopped airing, replaced by news he didn’t understand.
On the fifth day, Big Daddy took the pickup truck out exploring and came back with three bags of flour, five bags of rice, and two bags of veggies.
Sixth day, seventh day…
Lin Xiaobao counted on his fingers.
He only had ten fingers, so anything past ten stumped him.
Suddenly, inspiration struck. He lowered his head, forehead to the table edge, rubbed his short little legs together, kicked off his cotton shoes, and pointed to his big toe hidden in his fuzzy sock.
Eleven!
On the eleventh day, Big Daddy had gone out exploring again in the truck.
And he still hadn’t returned.
He and Dad both missed Big Daddy terribly.
Just then, the tangyuan were done.
Lin Zao bent down and turned off the gas canister valve.
“Little Bao, put your things away. Time to eat.”
“Okay.”
Lin Xiaobao agreed obediently, closed the calendar, put the crayons back in their box, and finally held up his little hands to Dad.
Lin Zao untied his apron, walked over, slipped his hands under the boy’s armpits, and lifted him out of the baby chair.
He looked down and froze. “Where are your shoes?”
Lin Xiaobao gave an embarrassed grin, trying to change the subject. “Dad, I can count to eleven now!”
Lin Zao smiled warmly, playing along. “Really? That’s impressive!”
“Of course!” Lin Xiaobao puffed out his little chest.
Lin Zao set Lin Xiaobao in the dining chair, crouched down, reached under the table, and picked up the kicked-off cotton shoes.
Lin Xiaobao took them and put them on himself.
“Go wash your hands.”
“Okay.”
Lin Xiaobao slid down from the chair and toddled into the bathroom, climbing onto his special step stool, turning on the faucet, and scrubbing his hands diligently.
Lin Zao turned back to the kitchen and brought out dinner.
They had food left, but not a ton.
They needed to ration it.
So Lin Zao made a pot of fragrant stewed rice using one fist-sized potato, half a carrot, a chunk of lap cheong sausage, and half a cup of rice.
The potato and carrot were from Fu Cheng’s last outing.
The sausage was from ten pounds of pork leg Fu Cheng had bought before Spring Festival and had processed at the market.
Lin Zao first fried the sausage to release its smoky aroma and fat, then tossed in diced potato and carrot to stir-fry together, finishing with a splash of soy sauce for flavor.
Those simple ingredients made the rice gleam with oil, grains distinct and tempting.
Since it was Lantern Festival, Lin Zao followed the ancient tradition and boiled six tangyuan for good luck.
Lin Xiaobao finished washing his hands, hopped down from the stool, and ran to Dad, holding up his hands for inspection.
Lin Zao checked them, lifted him back into the baby chair, and tied on a matching goose-yellow flowery bib.
He ladled half a bowl of rice for Lin Xiaobao and set it in front of him. “It’s hot—blow on it before you eat.”
“Mm.” Lin Xiaobao didn’t need help; he steadied the bowl with his left hand, scooped rice with his right spoon, blew twice, and shoved it in his mouth. “Whew—it’s so good! Dad’s the best!”
“Eat slowly, no rush.” Lin Zao pulled up the dining chair and sat beside him, starting his own meal.
The potato was soft and glutinous, the carrot tender, the sausage savory-sweet with great chew.
The rice soaked up all the flavors, each bite utterly satisfying.
He wondered…
Where was Fu Cheng right now? Had he eaten? And what?
Lin Zao sighed, eyes dropping, spoon set aside.
Fu Cheng had been gone nearly five days—no signal when he tried calling. He had no idea…
“Dad, I want seconds!”
“Huh?” Lin Zao snapped back, meeting Lin Xiaobao’s raised empty bowl. “Sure.”
He refilled Lin Xiaobao’s bowl, then gripped his own spoon tight, shoving in a big mouthful of rice.
Chew chew chew, swallow hard.
Times were tough now—he had no time or energy for sighing.
Eat well, stay healthy—that was priority one.
After dinner, father and son washed the dishes together.
The TV had been snow for days.
Even when it worked, no cartoons for Lin Xiaobao.
So Lin Zao sat with him to finish the fireworks drawing from before dinner.
“Dad, what other colors do fireworks have?”
“Gold, blue, orange. Like last year when Dad and Big Daddy took you to see them.”
“But I forgot.” Lin Xiaobao asked softly, “When can we go see fireworks again?”
“Not yet. If you want to see some…” Lin Zao propped his head, thinking. “Last Spring Festival at the square, Big Daddy filmed it with the DV cam. Want to watch that disc?”
Lin Xiaobao’s eyes lit up. “Yeah!”
“First, bath time—a nice hot one. Then clean pajamas, snuggle in bed, and watch fireworks. How’s that?”
“Awesome!” Lin Xiaobao was thrilled.
“Let’s go!”
Lin Zao took his little hand and led him to the third-floor bathroom.
They hadn’t left the house, so it wasn’t dirty.
Lin Zao filled a basin halfway with warm water, gave Lin Xiaobao a quick wipe-down, and changed him into green Small Dinosaur fleece pajamas. Done.
He carried Lin Xiaobao to bed, tucked him in, and told him to wait, glancing back every step as he dashed into the bathroom for a quick shower.
Less than five minutes later, he emerged in matching Medium Dinosaur pajamas.
“Ready, Little Bao?”
“I’m ready!” Lin Xiaobao was impatient. “Is Dad ready?”
“Dad’s getting ready.”
Lin Zao and Fu Cheng’s bedroom had a TV.
Lin Zao squatted by the TV stand, opened the drawer, rummaged through burned discs, and found last Spring Festival’s.
Power was still on—no signal, but the DVD player worked.
He hit play and loaded the disc.
The “Small Dinosaur” wiggled over. “Dad, hurry!”
“Coming!” Lin Zao climbed into bed, slipped under the covers, and hugged Lin Xiaobao close.
Father and son leaned against the pillows, side by side.
Lin Zao’s cheek pressed to Lin Xiaobao’s chubby one as they watched intently.
—The video started, camera shaky.
A man’s rugged, resolute face suddenly filled the screen.
Lin Xiaobao pointed. “Big Daddy.”
Lin Zao held his little hand. “Yes, Big Daddy.”
—The man was tall and burly, buzz-cut, wearing only a worn black tank top despite the winter chill, exposing broad shoulders, a thick back, and muscled arms. He looked fierce.
He frowned darkly, eyes intense, fiddling repeatedly with the DV camcorder.
The little device looked like a toy in his hands.
Then he spoke—
“Wife, I can’t figure out this new DV. Wife, my cultured wife, come help me out.”
“Son, come show Big Daddy—is it recording like this?”
“Wife, son, why’s no one paying attention to me?”
Off-screen, Lin Zao’s voice came.
“I’m finishing lesson plans! Your son’s in the toilet! Quit bugging us!”
Lin Zao was always bold with him, voice louder, tone sharper.
“Oh.” The man grunted dully, figured it out himself, raised the camera, and filmed their home quietly.
This was the bedroom, this the study, this the living room.
The living room TV played Lin Xiaobao’s favorite cartoon.
Advancing the lens, the man narrated, “Son loves this, but he’s poo—er, using the toilet. Wife says talk fancy. I’ll show him this clip—I’m such a great Big Daddy.”
Halfway through the cartoon, Lin Xiaobao’s voice called from the toilet: “Big Daddy! Big Daddy—”
“Coming.” The man started toward it cam in hand, then remembered and set it down quick.
Can’t film son on the toilet.
In front of the TV, three-year-old Lin Xiaobao turned shyly, burying into Dad’s arms.
When do the fireworks start? Where are they?
He wanted fireworks, not himself pottying.
Lin Zao got it. “Fast-forward?”
“Mm…” Lin Xiaobao shook his head. “No.”
He turned back, hands over face, peeking through fingers.
Fine, a little peek.
—Fu Cheng filmed every inch of the house.
Until dusk fell, and the family of three headed out for fireworks.
Right before leaving, Fu Cheng was still filming.
“My favorite son, Lin Xiaobao. Adorable, super adorable.”
“My most, most, most beloved wife, Little Zao. A little sweet jujube, so incredibly cute.”
“I’m just a mechanic. I didn’t get much schooling, so I can’t put it into words. Anyway, now we’re off to watch the fireworks.”
Lin Zao and Lin Xiaobao stood helplessly in front of him, their foreheads bumping into the camera lens as they chorused in unison, “Brother Cheng! Big Daddy! Stop filming already—let’s get going!”
With their fair, round little faces, pursed pink lips, and big, shiny black eyes blinking and fluttering away, Lin Zao and Lin Xiaobao looked like they had been carved from the same mold.
The screen shook for a moment, and it was clear Fu Cheng had been utterly charmed.
“Alright, alright, alright. Let’s head out.”
At last, the family of three on the TV screen was finally off to see the fireworks!
But just then—
Lin Xiaobao’s eyes on the bed fluttered shut. His head lolled to the side, and he toppled over.
Big Daddy had talked way too much.
He just couldn’t hold on any longer.
Lin Zao stepped forward and gently pressed a finger under his nose.
He had simply fallen asleep.
Lin Zao let out a soft, helpless chuckle. He didn’t wake him, just quietly switched off the TV and the overhead light before scooping him up and tucking him under the covers.
Sleep then.
Lin Zao lay down beside Lin Xiaobao and patted his little chest through the blanket.
Sleep well. When you wake up, Big Daddy will be home.
Fu Cheng would… be home…
As he patted away, Lin Zao drifted off to sleep himself.
The world fell into pitch-black silence.
The clock on the wall ticked steadily away, its second hand and minute hand circling round and round, the hour hand advancing notch by notch.
Some time later, the sudden screech of car tires grinding against pavement sounded from outside the window.
Lin Zao jolted awake. Still groggy, he rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed, glancing around the room.
What was that? What sound?
The familiar roar grew more urgent, faster, closer.
Lin Zao snapped fully awake in an instant. He threw off the covers, not even bothering with his shoes, and bolted downstairs like a little bird taking flight.
“Brother Cheng!”
