The next morning at breakfast, the smell of crispy bacon and buttered toast filled the kitchen.
Mom kept leaning over the table, her cool fingers brushing my forehead again and again.
"Are you sure you're feeling okay? No dizziness? No headache?"
I nodded each time, but for some reason she didn't look convinced.
Dad sat across from us, eyes fixed on the morning news playing low on the TV.
He glanced at Mom's worried face, let out a long sigh, and set down his fork.
"Alright," he said, "if you're really that concerned, we'll make time today and go to the hospital."
Mom's lips pursed into a pout. She shot him a sharp sideways glare, then, without warning, kicked him hard under the table.
Dad let out an exaggerated, theatrical yelp, clutching his leg as if he'd been shot. "Aiya! Murder attempt in broad daylight!"
I couldn't help it, and a soft chuckle escaped me.
Mom was only pretending to be angry; the corners of her mouth were already twitching upward.
There was something light and playful in the way she narrowed her eyes at him, like a cat swatting at a toy.
Watching them, a quiet warmth spread in my chest.
I found it kind of charming, the way she could turn worry into teasing in an instant, and how Dad played along so willingly.
It was moments like these, warm, familiar, full of playful teasing, that made our little family feel safe and alive.
Watching Mom's eyes crinkle with hidden laughter and Dad's dramatic grin as he clutched his leg, a soft happiness filled me.
But deep down, a small question tugged at the edge of my thoughts: Why did everything feel just a little too perfect today?
Or maybe I was just imagining it.
Maybe the warmth in Mom's smile, the easy teasing with Dad, the way she showed up at school so full of energy, it was all normal. Nothing unusual.
Just an ordinary day.
I told myself that as I finished my breakfast, as I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed to school.
…After school that afternoon, I stepped out of the school gate and immediately spotted Mom.
She was smiling brightly, waving one hand high above her head, but her wave seemed a bit too enthusiastic, like she was trying to mask some hidden urgency.
Her orange-red dress glowed like a flame against the heavy, gloomy sky, impossible to miss.
"Mom, are we going to the hospital now?" I asked as I walked up to her. "Lunch break might not be long enough, we'll need to eat, register, and wait in line. That'll take time."
I knew she was determined to go today, but I hadn't expected her to show up right at noon, and the surprise stirred a faint ripple of confusion in me.
"I already called your teacher and got you excused," she said with a grin. "You're skipping the rest of the afternoon, you little rascal."
She winked, and her whole face lit up with that familiar mischievous glee, the same sparkle she got whenever she pulled a harmless joke, but today the sparkle felt sharper, almost forced, like it was hiding a shadow behind her eyes.
Seeing it, a quiet smile warmed me from the inside, though it was tinged with an odd chill that I couldn't quite shake.
When I was younger, I hadn't paid much attention to how carefree and comical my parents could be.
But over the past couple of years, I'd started to notice it more and more, and lately, it made me wonder if their playfulness was a cover for something deeper, something unspoken.
Ironically, I was the one who felt old beyond my age, weighed down by all the books I'd read, while they still acted playful and light-hearted, like kids who refused to grow up, but now that contrast felt unsettling, as if I was missing a piece of the puzzle.
Mom waved her hand toward the street. Maybe it was the bright color of her dress, or maybe just luck, but a taxi pulled up almost instantly.
She opened the back door, slid across the seat, and patted the spot beside her.
"Hurry up and get in! I took the whole afternoon off, so let's not waste time. Lunch first, then straight to the hospital."
I climbed in after her, pulling the door shut as the cab merged into traffic.
As we rode in comfortable silence, Mom humming softly beside me, that warm feeling lingered.
But beneath it, a tiny thread of unease tugged at me, quiet, almost unnoticed, growing stronger with each passing street.
Why was she in such a rush today?
As the driver pulled away from the school street and approached the intersection, I glanced out the window.
Half-hidden behind modern shops stood the old building with weathered gray tiles and curved eaves, Xiang Temple.
The sight sent a quiet jolt through me. Priest Pingshan's warm smile and his words about fate or connection flickered in my mind.
I leaned forward slightly. "Sir, what's the name of that street? The one with the old temple."
The driver glanced over.
"That's Xiang Road. Xiang Temple's been there forever. It's basically next to your school, how've you never noticed it before?"
My cheeks warmed with mild embarrassment.
"I… haven't been at this school long," I said quickly. "Still getting familiar with everything."
Mom gave me a small, knowing smile but didn't say anything.
The truth was, I'd been here over a semester already.
I just always hurried home with my head down, eyes on the ground, closed off from the world around me. Streets and buildings blurred past unnoticed.
A few minutes later, the taxi slowed and stopped in front of the hospital's towering main gate.
Mom paid the driver quickly, then wrapped her fingers around my wrist, tighter than usual, almost urgent, and pulled me out onto the sidewalk.
The sky hung low and heavy, the color of wet ash.
A cool wind swept across the pavement, carrying the sharp, unmistakable smell of hospital from the entrance ahead.
We grabbed a quick lunch at a small shop next door, barely tasting the food, then headed straight into the hospital to register.
The lobby hit us like a wall of noise and bodies: long queues snaking toward every counter, tired faces, the constant murmur of complaints.
I stood there speechless for a moment, and Mom's brow creased in a small frown.
But the worry didn't last.
Neither of us was truly concerned about the wait.
Mom's old classmate, Uncle Jun, was the vice president of City General Hospital.
We'd never had to stand in those lines.
As always, she took my hand and led me past the crowds, through a side door, and across a quiet hall to a separate single-story building nestled among thick green bushes.
The vice president's office.
When we reached it, the heavy wooden door was firmly shut.
Mom knocked twice, sharp, confident, but no answer came.
Her foot tapped impatiently against the concrete. "Lian, stay right here," she said, voice low. "I'll go find out where Jun is."
With that, she turned and hurried back toward the main building, her orange-red dress flashing once between the bushes before disappearing.
I leaned against the cool wall beside the door, arms folded, listening to her footsteps fade.
Then… silence.
The little hall felt suddenly cut off from the rest of the hospital, no distant voices, no beeps of machines, just the faint rustle of leaves in the wind.
The quiet pressed in, thick and unnatural.
And then I heard it.
Very faint, almost swallowed by the stillness, but unmistakable, a soft sound drifting through the closed door from inside the office.
A muffled gasp. A low, rhythmic murmur.
My breath caught.
I shouldn't listen.
But my feet didn't move away.
Instead, I found myself edging closer, one hesitant step at a time, until my ear hovered just inches from the cool wood of the door.
My heart had started to beat a little faster, a quick, unsteady rhythm in my chest.
What was happening in there?
Curiosity pulled me the rest of the way. I pressed my ear fully against the door, holding my breath.
At first, the sounds were so faint I thought I'd imagined them.
Then they grew clearer: soft, rhythmic noises that didn't belong in an office at all.
"Mmm… ah…"
A low, breathy moan, followed by a muffled gasp.
Heat rushed to my face instantly, hot and prickling. At my age, those sounds were unfamiliar, yet not entirely unknown.
They stirred something deep in my stomach, a strange, fluttering warmth I didn't have words for.
Could Uncle Jun be in there? Alone? Or…
The thought hit me like cold water, followed immediately by a sharper, more confusing rush of heat.
All those books I'd read, late into the night under the covers, had taught me things far beyond school lessons.
The old writers always appeared so proper, so strict in their public lives.
But between their lines, hidden in metaphors and veiled phrases, were secrets about desire, about bodies, about things adults did when they thought no one was watching.
When I was younger, those passages had sailed right over my head. Now, the more I read, the clearer those hidden meanings became.
I had never seen it, never heard it in real life, but in this quiet moment, with my ear against the door and those soft sounds drifting through, everything suddenly clicked into place.
My breath came shallow. My cheeks burned.
Shock, embarrassment, and something else, something warmer and more troubling, twisted together inside me.
I knew I should step away, right then, before it went any further.
But my feet wouldn't move.
They stayed planted, ear still pressed flat against the door, as those faint, rhythmic sounds kept drifting through the wood.
If this had been anyone else, some stranger's office, I might have felt only mild curiosity, maybe a quick flush of embarrassment before walking off.
But this was Uncle Jun.
The man who had been part of my life forever, who brought me toys when I was small, who always ruffled my hair and asked about my grades with that easy smile.
The thought that he was in there, doing… whatever this was… twisted something sharp and confusing deep in my gut.
It wasn't just a shock.
Disbelief crashed against a hot, uneasy wave I couldn't name.
Then, cutting through the quiet like a blade, came the sharp click-clack of high heels on the concrete path.
Mom.
Getting closer.
Fast.
My heart slammed against my ribs. I jerked back from the door as if it had burned me.
Uncle Jun was inside, probably still… occupied. And here I was, ear glued to his door like some shameful little spy.
If Mom saw me like this, what would she think? What would she say?
Panic flooded me, hot and dizzying. My mind went blank.
Without thinking, I spun around, eyes darting wildly. The thick bushes lining the building were only a step away.
I dove into them, branches scraping my arms as I crouched low, heart pounding so loud I was sure it would give me away.
Leaves rustled around me, then settled into stillness.
I crouched deeper in the bushes, breath held tight, heart hammering against my ribs as I peered through the gaps.
Mom came hurrying back down the path, her expression tight with irritation.
She didn't look left or right; she clearly hadn't noticed I was gone from the door.
She stopped directly in front of the office and tapped the wood sharply with the heel of her shoe.
"Jun," she called, voice low but firm, "what are you doing in there? Stop pretending. I know you're inside. Open up."
Almost instantly, a loud crash came from inside, furniture scraping, something heavy toppling over, as if someone had jumped up in panic.
The door soon cracked open.
A slender young nurse slipped out, uniform slightly rumpled, hair disheveled, cheeks flushed bright red.
She gave Mom a quick, awkward smile, barely a twitch of the lips, and hurried away down the path without a word.
Mom watched her go, calm on the surface, but her eyes were sharp.
Then Uncle Jun appeared in the doorway, tie loosened, face flushed too, wearing an embarrassed, almost fawning smile.
"Luana…"
Mom folded her arms and tilted her head, voice dripping with slow, deliberate sarcasm.
"Looks like the esteemed vice president was truly busy…"
Uncle Jun glanced nervously up and down the empty path.
When he was sure no one else was watching, he reached out, caught Mom's hand, and gently pulled her toward the room.
"Let go! What are you doing?" Mom protested, sounding annoyed, but she didn't resist at all. Her fingers stayed loose in his grasp.
"Luana, come on," he murmured, voice softening into something almost pleading. "Whatever it is, let's talk inside. It's not good if someone sees us out here like this."
Mom let out a soft huff, half-laugh, half-scoff. "Pfft. If you're the one doing it, why worry about what others might say?"
Her tone had already lightened, the earlier irritation melting away. "Panicking like that over a little nurse…"
The teasing warmth in her voice, the same playful lilt she used at home with Dad, the one that always made her eyes sparkle, rose clearly now, aimed entirely at Uncle Jun.
She seemed to soften completely at his flustered attitude, the irritation fading into that familiar playful warmth she always had around him.
Then, I saw something I never expected…