That afternoon, Liu Jinxia and her three mahjong friends had already finished lunch and were starting their next round.
Li Juxiang smiled as she lifted the red lid on the kitchen table, revealing a specially saved meal. “Little Yuanhou, come eat. I’ll heat up the soup for you.”
“Auntie, I’ll go home to eat.”
“Be good, don’t be polite with Auntie. I never stood on ceremony with your mom either. And besides, Cuicui waited on purpose so you two could eat together.”
“Thank you, Auntie.”
“Yuanhou-gege, sit here.” Cuicui sat down first, while Li Zhuiyuan went to grab bowls and chopsticks from the side counter.
“Shoo, sit down. Auntie will get them.”
“Okay, Auntie.”
Li Zhuiyuan came back and sat down. Soon, Li Juxiang placed a bowl filled with rice and chopsticks in front of him.
Though the dishes were served in small porcelain bowls and the portions weren’t large, it was more than enough for two kids: two meat, two vegetable dishes. The bowl of braised pork with potatoes stood out—the potatoes were just garnish, the rest pure meat, clearly set aside on purpose.Li Juxiang brought over a bowl of stewed fish soup, drizzled with sesame oil and a splash of vinegar, the aroma rich and enticing.
She also opened a can of mixed fruit cocktail and poured a bowl each for the two kids.
By village standards, this was a feast.
“Little Yuanhou, stay for dinner too. I’ll make something extra good,” Li Juxiang said with a smile.
Li Zhuiyuan put down his chopsticks and replied, “This is already more than enough. Thank you for the trouble, Auntie.”
“Hehe, don’t stop now, eat up.”
Li Juxiang patted his head, secretly envious of how well Li Lan had raised him—such a polite, thoughtful child was lovable anywhere.
“Little Yuanhou, does your mom cook for you at home?”
Li Zhuiyuan shook his head, resting his chopsticks on the bowl. “No, she doesn’t.”
“That’s because she’s busy with work, right?”
“Yeah, she’s really busy.”
“How about your grandparents? Don’t they cook for you?”
“I don’t visit them often.”
“Then where do you usually eat?”
“At the neighbors’.”
Usually after school, in the staff housing complex, the retired or off-duty grandparents would often bring him over to their homes to eat.
“Sigh, poor kid.” Li Juxiang stopped asking, told them to continue eating, and took the thermos to refill water at the card table.
Just then, a voice called from outside:
“Hello? Is this Granny Liu’s house?”
Hearing the voice, Li Zhuiyuan’s hand slipped—the chopsticks he had just picked up fell to the ground.
Clatter!
…
In the main hall, Liu Jinxia threw down her mahjong tiles and clapped her hands. “Game over.”
Her three companions nodded and stood up, clearly used to this kind of interruption.
Before leaving the hall, they each walked to the corner where a basin sat. It was filled with plantain leaves; they used them to wipe their hands, shook them dry, then dried off with towels hanging on the rack.
This ritual was to dispel bad luck—Liu Jinxia’s own invention. She no longer cared what the villagers thought of her, and even leaned into the mysterious vibe.
Li Zhuiyuan and Cuicui entered the hall just as Liu Jinxia stood up from her chair.
“Did you eat already?” she asked.
“We’re eating now. Just came out to have a look,” Cuicui replied.
“Nothing to see. Never mind. Little Cuicui, help Grandma clean up the tiles.”
“Okay, Grandma.”
With that, Liu Jinxia headed deeper into the house toward her dimly lit office.
“Watch your step—there’s a threshold here,” Li Juxiang’s voice called out from outside. She had gone to greet the visitor.
“Alright, alright, I’m fine.”
Li Zhuiyuan looked toward the main entrance. He saw Li Juxiang helping an old man over the threshold.
The old man leaned forward, hunched, with his hands clasped behind his lower back—he was a hunchback.
Or rather... it looked like he was carrying someone invisible on his back.
“Are these your kids?” the old man asked with a smile, looking at the two children.
“The girl’s mine, the boy is my sister’s. My mom’s waiting for you—go in, turn right, all the way at the end.”
“Okay, okay, I’m going. Can’t keep Granny Liu waiting.” The old man continued walking inside.
Li Zhuiyuan’s gaze stayed fixed on that hunched back.
The old man stepped through the inner doorway and turned right. He should have kept walking—but instead, he suddenly stopped.
Because of his stoop, everything above his shoulders was now hidden by the wall, leaving only that hunched back visible.
Then—
The hands behind his back began to rise. His left arm pressed down, his right arm lifted. His hips scooted forward, shoulders twisted out, and his face pressed to the wall.
Li Zhuiyuan stared at his bare back, and in that moment, it felt like someone was there—someone invisible, perched on his back, turning to “look” at him.
“What’s wrong?” Li Juxiang asked.
The old man’s gruff voice suddenly took on a strange, rasping edge. He said:
“This little one…”
Li Zhuiyuan’s hands clenched in nervous fists. He suddenly remembered once, when his mother had taken him to see a mural. He’d asked why a big section had been left blank, and his mother replied:
“Little Yuan, that’s called negative space—it’s left blank so you can imagine for yourself. That makes it more powerful.”
Back then, he hadn’t understood. Now, maybe he did.
“Go on, she’s waiting for you inside,” Li Juxiang urged again. She really didn’t get why he’d stopped there. But then again, the man was a hunchback—he looked odd even just standing still.
“Mhm.” The old man responded but suddenly squatted down, leaning back slightly, bracing his hands against the floor.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
Li Juxiang reached out to help him, but he was heavier than he looked. Though thin and bent, he was surprisingly solid—she couldn’t lift him. Luckily, he managed to balance himself with his hands, squatting without falling.
Li Zhuiyuan stumbled back a few steps.
That posture—it looked just like someone setting a person down from their back.
Sunlight streamed into the hall, reflecting faintly on the old patterned floor tiles, creating only dim contrasts of light and shadow.
Li Zhuiyuan’s eyes dropped to the floor. Near the doorway, two footprints appeared—darkened patches the size of feet.
Barely noticeable, so faint he thought he might be imagining it.
But then—two more dark patches appeared, closer now.
And closer still.
Until, finally, two footprints stopped right in front of him.
And stayed.
A chill wind brushed his face, chest, hands, and feet. But he was facing inward—where could that wind have come from?
The rear halves of the footprints faded. The front halves deepened. The chill intensified.
Li Zhuiyuan swallowed.
His eyes darted away, instinctively refusing to stare straight ahead—as if, right in front of him, an emaciated old woman was leaning in, her face pressing closer.
He bit down on his lip.
Suddenly, the chill on his left cheek grew sharper, like ice touching skin. His scalp tingled—prickling with waves.
The old man, still crouched, turned his head and completed his earlier sentence:
“This little one… is real sweet-looking.”
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