Eating Melons in the Police Station-Chapter 91

When Zhong Jin got divorced, he left many of his belongings behind. His slippers, clothes, socks, and even his old Philips razor were still in the house.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he picked up the razor and pressed the switch—nothing happened. It must have run out of battery.

Zhong Jin opened the bathroom cabinet drawer and, just as expected, found the charging dock in its usual spot. He placed the razor on it, and the dock whirred to life.

The house seemed frozen in time, exactly as he had left it. Qiu Sheng probably hadn’t lived here after the divorce, though it was spotless—likely cleaned by the housekeeper before their return.

His old clothes were still there too, but they’d probably gathered dust by now. Instead, Zhong Jin grabbed fresh clothes from his suitcase.

As he unzipped it, he discovered Little Tong had secretly stuffed her silk-doll dog inside. Its head had been squashed flat, but when Zhong Jin pulled it out and shook it, the cotton inside fluffed back into shape.

After his shower, Zhong Jin stepped out in cotton loungewear, towel-drying his hair.

The living room rug had been dragged toward the floor-to-ceiling window, where Little Tong knelt, hands pressed against the glass, wide-eyed as she watched the snow outside.

Qiu Sheng sat cross-legged beside her, knitting what looked like another sweater for Little Tong.

Their apartment was the crown jewel of the complex, with an unobstructed view of the frozen artificial lake, the trees cloaked in snow. For the Lunar New Year, strings of twinkling lights lined the pathways, casting a warm glow over the icy landscape.

Little Tong caught Zhong Jin’s scent and turned. "I wanna sleep here tonight! I wanna watch Snow King fall asleep!"

Zhong Jin followed her pointing finger and spotted a snowman on the lake—Little Tong, having never seen one before, mistook it for the "Snow King" from the supermarket.

Without a word, he headed to the walk-in closet, effortlessly pulling out a soft mattress and quilts.

"Look for the clean duvet covers in the cabinet!" Qiu Sheng called after him.

Zhong Jin didn’t even need to search. He opened the right door and grabbed them immediately.

With his damp black hair still clinging to his forehead, he carried the bedding back and shooed Qiu Sheng and Little Tong aside to make a futon in the center of the rug.

As Zhong Jin wrestled with the duvet cover, Little Tong clamored to help.

He let her crawl inside to align the quilt’s corners, then shook it out neatly once she emerged.

Little Tong, in her kitten-print onesie, flopped onto the fluffy bedding and rolled around like a happy burrito.

Zhong Jin crouched and grabbed her feet. "Five sit-ups. Let’s shock that little belly of yours."

She flopped onto her back, hands behind her head, straining so hard her toes curled—but her round tummy vetoed the effort halfway up.

After three seconds of struggle, she gave up, collapsing dramatically. Holding up two fingers, she declared:

"That’s enough. Tomorrow I’ll have eight-pack abs."

Zhong Jin: "Just go to sleep. You can dream about abs."

That night, Qiu Sheng slept on the futon with Little Tong. Zhong Jin checked on them once—the floor heating was too warm, and both had kicked off their blankets.

He ended up covering them three times before finally lying down beside Little Tong to simplify the task.

Dawn found Zhong Jin shivering.

The mother and daughter had cocooned themselves in all the blankets, leaving him in thin pajamas, goosebumps rising. He peeled back Little Tong’s side, slipped in, and pulled the toasty child into his arms for extra warmth.

Come morning, the trio headed out for breakfast at a nearby shop.

Zhong Jin had been itching to test if Little Tong could stomach *douzhi*—fermented mung bean juice. This kid ate everything; it’d be hilarious if she actually liked it.

Unaware of the impending doom, Little Tong bounced between her parents, tiny tiger-embroidered hat bobbing as they ordered.

Soon, Zhong Jin returned with a tray: three bowls of steaming *douzhi*, crispy *jiaobing*, fried *jiaoquan* twists, and pickles.

Perched on a booster seat, Little Tong sniffed the bowl and recoiled. "This is *spoiled*!"

"Nope, that’s how it’s supposed to smell. Try it—it’s delicious," Zhong Jin said, gulping a hearty mouthful.

Qiu Sheng nudged: "Just a taste, Little Tong."

The child eyed the yellowish-green liquid, leaned in, and gave it a tentative lick. Her whole face scrunched up as she frantically wiped her tongue on her sleeve.

"Good?" Zhong Jin asked.

She shook her head, shoving the bowl away. "No more! It *bit* my mouth."

Zhong Jin suppressed a laugh. "It’s called *douzhir*. Say it—*douzhir*."

Little Tong butchered the rhotic ending: "Doe... zhee... *errr*."

Two grandpas at the next table nearly spit out their drinks laughing. "Why they laugh at me?" she whispered.

Zhong Jin deadpanned: "They’re laughing because you don’t know how to drink such a yummy thing. They think you’re silly."

She ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‍swiveled her head, noting everyone else drinking the mysterious brew, her confusion mounting.

"Take a big sip. It’s better that way," Zhong Jin coaxed.

Gripping the bowl, she bravely chugged—then froze, cheeks puffed, eyebrows knotted in existential crisis.

Qiu Sheng held out a trash bin. "Spit it out, sweetheart."

Eyes squeezed shut, Little Tong shook her head and swallowed. "No wasting food!"

She refused another drop, pinching her nose and scooting the offensive bowl far away.

Watching her parents drink it unfazed, she whispered urgently:

"Stop! That uncle in the kitchen *definitely* made it with his armpit."

Zhong Jin: "......"

Once she accepted this premise, Zhong Jin—a germaphobe—couldn’t bring herself to drink any more. She forced down two sips, only to gag slightly.

Qiu Sheng smirked at her. “You brought this on yourself, didn’t you?”

In the end, neither Little Tong nor Zhong Jin ate enough, so they headed to a nearby breakfast joint for meat pies and spicy soup. Little Tong’s nose glistened with sweat from the peppery heat, yet she kept her head down, slurping loudly. Eyes squeezed shut, she swayed side to side with delight, giving a thumbs-up of approval: “So good.”

*

After breakfast, Tao Siyuan called, urging Qiu Sheng and Zhong Jin to bring Little Tong home for a family reunion.

New Year’s Eve wasn’t until tomorrow, and Qiu Sheng had originally planned to return home then. But her family seemed impatient—not only did Tao Siyuan keep calling, but even Qiu Zhengrui, who rarely phoned Qiu Sheng, rang multiple times.

Seeing Qiu Sheng’s phone buzzing nonstop, Zhong Jin said, “Take Little Tong back first.”

“Come with us. We’ll just have lunch there and come back.”

Zhong Jin shook her head. “I already made plans to have lunch with Yu Feiyang.”

Little Tong immediately threw her hands up. “I wanna see Fei-Fei too! Let’s go get those buttery skewers!”

Zhong Jin pinched her cheek lightly. “No skewers today. You’re going with Mom to Grandma’s house for lunch. Behave, and no mischief.”

Qiu Sheng lingered at home a little longer before finally heading to the family villa with Little Tong around noon.

Her uncle’s family had returned from abroad for Christmas and stayed through the Lunar New Year. This year was especially lively—not only because of the extended family, but also because Little Tong had joined the festivities.

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Qiu Sheng intended to leave right after lunch, but then her uncle’s grandchildren started talking about building a snowman in the yard. The moment Little Tong heard, she clamored to join. Qiu Sheng relented, agreeing they could play for a bit before heading home.

The children bundled up in hats and gloves to play in the snow while the adults, preferring warmth, sipped tea by the living room fireplace, occasionally glancing through the window to check on them.

Her uncle’s kids had grown up overseas, and their default language was English—something Little Tong couldn’t follow. So she quietly crouched by herself, rolling a snowball.

Whenever one of them spoke to her, she’d wiggle her gloved fingers in an “OK” sign and chirp, “OK, OK!”

The other children huddled together, whispering in English: “Let’s stuff a snowball into her scarf.”

Sneaking up with snowballs in hand, they crept toward her. Though Little Tong’s back was turned, her sharp little nose caught their scent.

Still clutching her snowball, she spun around and saw theirs too. Assuming it was a snowball fight, she hurled hers straight at one of them.

The kid dodged but slipped, landing hard on the snow—just in time for the snowball to smack square on their nose. Wailing, the child clutched their face.

The two older kids pulled the sobbing one up, leading them back inside to tattle to the adults.

Unfazed, Little Tong brushed residual snow off her gloves and crouched again to shape another snowball. Then, a chilly breeze swept past—and with it, a familiar scent.

She pushed herself up, dashed to the fence, and wedged her head between the rails, trying to squeeze through.

Earlier, Qiu Sheng had gone upstairs to fetch tea leaves. On her way down, she overheard the kids chattering in English, accusing Little Tong—who was nowhere in sight. Panicked, she dropped the tea, bolting outside in just a sweater and slippers.

There, she spotted Little Tong halfway through the fence, her oversized tiger hat wedged in the gap. The girl yanked it off and tossed it aside.

Qiu Sheng called out, “Sweetheart, don’t take off your hat—you’ll catch a cold!”

She hurried down the steps, picked up the hat, dusted off the snow, and placed it back on Little Tong’s head.

Assuming her daughter was fleeing after hitting the other kids, Qiu Sheng was about to question her—

But Little Tong frantically pointed beyond the fence. “Mom! Dad’s over there—I smell him!”