“Dad…”
“Yeah?”
“You’re acting weird.”
“Weird how?” Lin Zao asked. “Weirdly handsome?”
“Ew—” Lin Xiaobao scrunched his face. “Weirdly silly!”
“You little rascal, sassing your dad? You’re done for!”
Lin Zao scooped him up and tickled him mercilessly.
Lin Xiaobao wriggled and fought back with all his might, but he couldn’t escape Dad’s clutches!
He ended up pinned on the bed like a little dried salted fish, helpless against the onslaught.
Damn it! Bad Dad!
If only Big Daddy were here!
No, Big Daddy wouldn’t help—he’d side with Dad.
If only he had more belly fat!
Then Dad’s tickles wouldn’t get him so bad!
Lin Zao spent his days cooking and delivering meals, organizing supplies, and training Little Bao.
At night, after the boy was asleep, he’d bundle up in a coat, grab his keys, and patrol the house.
But that white light sweeping past the window that one night? It never came back.
Sometimes Lin Zao wondered if he’d imagined it.
Maybe there was no light at all—just a hazy dream from a restless night.
Or perhaps a car had driven by, its headlights briefly sweeping over the house.
Weird.
Though doubt crept in, Lin Zao didn’t let his guard down. He stayed vigilant.
As for Fu Cheng, Lin Zao kept up the three meals a day.
After that scolding, Fu Cheng was on his best behavior.
Whatever Lin Zao sent, he ate—and polished off every bite.
Lin Zao even sent down a set of clean clothes through the window for him.
But Fu Cheng didn’t put them on. He grabbed one, gave it a tug, and ripped it to shreds.
Having wrecked it, Fu Cheng looked downright pitiful, gazing at Lin Zao with big, wronged eyes.
Fine. Staying indoors kept him from getting filthy anyway, so Lin Zao let it slide.
One night before bed, though, Lin Zao suddenly remembered something—
There was no toilet in the utility room!
How did Fu Cheng handle his business?
His eyes flew wide at the thought.
He snatched a flashlight and rushed to the first-floor window, shining it into the utility room.
Oddly, it was spotless.
Just as it’d been before—no trash, no filth anywhere.
The beam swept over Fu Cheng in the corner, fingers tapping at the wall, mouth rumbling with gurgles.
Like he was chanting a spell—or practicing something.
Lin Zao filed the oddity away.
The next morning, he peeked through a curtain gap at the other zombies.
The street was clean too—just scattered debris, no waste.
So…
Zombies probably didn’t need to poop.
Lin Zao jotted the discovery into his Zombie Husband Feeding Diary.
And so, the little family of three passed three peaceful days.
That morning,
Lin Zao tied on his apron as usual and hauled out a large basin.
Inside were a pig’s head and heart that had soaked overnight.
This big pig head had long been Lin Zao’s “nemesis.”
He’d fretted over it endlessly—worried it’d spoil if he didn’t cook it, or go bad if he waited too long.
Finally, last night, he’d mustered the courage to thaw it and soak it in water.
With the cold weather, an overnight soak drew out the blood and gamey smell without spoiling.
By morning, it was ready to cook.
Lin Zao fished out the head and heart, patted them dry, then bent to light the gas stove. He skewered the head with chopsticks and held it over the flame to scorch off the fine hairs.
It wasn’t a whole head—Fu Cheng had separated the ears, nose, and face, all cleaned.
But some fuzz remained, needing a quick singe.
Lin Zao had just finished the two ears when light footsteps pattered down the stairs.
Lin Xiaobao came bounding up.
“Dad!”
“You’re back?” Lin Zao set down the charred ears and picked up the nose to burn. He was busy and didn’t turn around. “Did you tell Grandpa Zhang?”
“I did.” Lin Xiaobao scurried to his dad’s side, standing on tiptoe to peer at the stove. “I told him Dad’s making braised pig head today, so Grandpa doesn’t need to stir-fry—just boil rice for dinner.”
Braising the pig head meat took quite a bit of time. Lin Zao figured it wouldn’t be ready by noon, so he had told Grandpa Zhang they would eat it that evening.
“How did Grandpa Zhang respond?” Lin Zao asked.
“Grandpa Zhang said he didn’t want any and told us to eat it ourselves,” Little Bao replied.
“And what did you say?”
“I told him that Dad and I don’t like fatty meat.” Little Bao puffed out his chest confidently. “Grandpa Zhang has to help us eat it, or it’ll go bad before we finish it!”
Lin Zao chuckled and turned the pig’s nose to roast the other side.
“Dad said we can’t waste food,” Little Bao continued. “So Grandpa Zhang has to help us share the load!”
“You’re right,” Lin Zao said with a nod. “That makes perfect sense.”
“That’s exactly what Grandpa Zhang said too,” Little Bao added. “He told us to do it like before—just put the food on the windowsill, and he’ll come get it.”
“Then I told him that Dad’s braised pig head meat smells so good that if we leave it out, someone else might smell it.”
“So Grandpa Zhang suggested we come up with a secret signal. Whenever I knock on the window from outside, he’ll come right over and take the pig head away.”
Lin Zao gave him a thumbs-up. “Well done, Little Bao.”
“Hee hee.” Little Bao beamed with pride for a moment before turning shy again. “Dad, let me help you.”
“Sure thing. You can help Dad brush the pig ears and scrub off all the charred bits.”
Little Bao tied on his special little apron, slipped on his sleeve guards, and climbed onto a small stool in front of the sink.
He grabbed a little brush, gritted his teeth, and scrubbed vigorously at the pig ears.
“Ya! I’m Super Strong Man!”
Before long, Lin Zao had singed all the parts of the pig head.
He turned off the induction cooker and joined Little Bao at the sink to scrub together.
Soon the kitchen filled with the sound of rushing water, the swish-swish of scrubbing, and Little Bao cheering himself on.
And then—
“Sweet honey, you smile so sweetly,
like flowers blooming in the spring breeze,
blooming in the spring breeze.”
Lin Zao’s voice rose softly, warm and tender.
His cold hadn’t fully cleared up yet, so his throat was a bit hoarse.
But that was fine—the raspy tone only added a unique charm to the old tune.
Little Bao looked up and saw his dad with his head bowed, carefully brushing the pig ears while humming gently.
Lin Zao sensed his gaze and turned. “What’s up? Does Dad sound bad? Should I switch songs?”
“No!” Little Bao exclaimed. “Dad sounds great! I was just thinking lately it felt like something was missing.”
“Dad’s been sick and hasn’t been singing, so you’re not used to it, huh?”
“Uh-huh!” Little Bao nodded vigorously.
Whenever Dad sang—no matter the song or the situation—it always made him feel safe and secure.
When Dad didn’t sing, their lives felt dry and tense, like danger was about to strike at any moment.
That was how it always went on TV—whenever things were safe and happy, music would play!
Lin Zao smiled. “Then Dad will sing more from now on.”
He cleared his throat and continued.
“Where? Where have I seen you before?
Your voice sounds so familiar, but I just can’t place it.
Ah, in my dreams—in my dreams I’ve seen you.”
It took the father and son half an hour to clean every part of the pig head thoroughly.
But it still wasn’t ready to braise yet. They needed to soak it in cold water, scald it over high heat, and then blanch it in hot water to remove any remaining gamey smell.
Only after those three steps was it fully prepped.
Next, Little Bao teased apart the pig ears while Lin Zao heated oil in a pot and began frying the caramel coloring and spices.
Frying the caramel gave the meat a better color.
Frying the spices released their aroma, making the braising liquid even more fragrant.
They always braised things for the New Year, so their fridge held not just various spices but also a big pot of old braising liquid from previous batches.
Lin Zao switched to a larger pot, added the old braising liquid, and slowly heated it to melt. Then he topped it up with water, along with the fried caramel and spices.
Since Little Bao would be eating it too, he kept the heat mild—just two small red chilies for a subtle kick.
The old braising liquid was already salty, so no extra salt was needed. A bit of soy sauce for color, and it was perfect.
Once the braising liquid came to a boil, in went the prepped pig head and pig heart.
Using a metal ladle, Lin Zao pressed them down to the bottom of the pot and let it simmer gently.
Braising required patience—the longer, the better.
Once done, it was best to keep the meat submerged, soaking slowly so the flavors seeped into every nook and cranny.
This batch of pig head meat braised for two hours, then soaked for three more.
At noon, when it hadn’t soaked long enough, Lin Zao secretly fished out the meat and cut off a small piece for Little Bao to try.
Little Bao chewed on it and shook his head. “Dad, it’s not that great. No flavor—only the skin has any taste.”
So Lin Zao didn’t dare slack off. He let the meat keep soaking, stir-fried a couple of quick veggie dishes, and the family made do with a simple lunch.
It wasn’t until six in the evening that Lin Zao finally dared to lift the lid again. He poked the pig head meat with a chopstick—it wasn’t effortless, but it slid in without much resistance.
This was perfect—not too mushy, not too tough and under-seasoned. The texture had turned gelatinous: not greasy, with a delightful chewiness.
The pig heart had tightened up even more during the soak, tasting just like lean meat.
Lin Zao switched to a cutting board for cooked meats and grabbed a fresh knife. He lifted out a piece and sliced it thin.
His knife skills were decent—the slices were paper-thin, almost translucent when laid out by the window. Flick one with a finger, and it jiggled.
He cut a row of pig head meat, then a row of pig heart, scraped them onto a plate with the cleaver, arranged them neatly in a basin, and drizzled a ladleful of braising liquid over top.
The color was vibrant, the aroma mouthwatering.
Lin Zao wasn’t stingy. He prepared a big basin of tender meat for Grandpa Zhang and a large box for Fu Cheng, both generously sauced, then headed downstairs with Little Bao to deliver them.
By now, they had delivering food down to a science—whether to Fu Cheng or Grandpa Zhang.
It took less than ten minutes.
By the time they got back, night had fallen.
Lin Zao and Little Bao could no longer contain their excitement and dashed upstairs.
“Braised piggy, here I come!”
“Finally our turn to eat!”
The father and son rushed into the kitchen.
They divided the tasks efficiently: Lin Zao sliced and plated the meat, Little Bao scooped the rice.
“Dad, hurry!”
“Coming, coming!”
Lin Zao lifted Little Bao into the baby chair and untied his apron.
They had just sat down, chopsticks in hand, and picked up their first piece of meat.
In the next instant, a series of massive thuds erupted from downstairs—
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Something was slamming against the metal garage roller door.
Lin Zao and Little Bao instinctively whipped their heads around and peered out the window.
A second later, rough shouts from several men echoed outside—
“Open up! You old fart, open the damn door!”
