Chapter One: The Uninvited Guest (Part One)

In Lotus Spoon City, the torrential rain had been falling for a whole day and night.

Standing on the balcony, Tao Ming gazed at the downpour, grumbling inwardly about how her lovely weekend had been so thoroughly ruined. Her original plan for Saturday was to sleep in, take Ruanruan to the amusement park for a while, enjoy a hearty meal, and then go on a big shopping spree at the supermarket. Instead, the rain was so heavy that even stepping out the door felt like a challenge.

They say spring rain is as precious as oil, but this storm fell like free-flowing olive oil, drenching the world with relentless abundance. Even during the usual rainy season, Lotus Spoon had never seen rain like this.

Tao Ming glanced back at the living room. Her three-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Ruanruan, was sprawled languidly on the sofa watching cartoons, scattering the throw pillows in disarray. Tao Ming sighed quietly.

Perhaps she had invested her skill points in the wrong places. Ever since Ruanruan started practicing sitting up at six months old, she had always struck the pose of a little mafia boss, no matter where she sat—never quite like the demure little girl one would expect.

She remembered worrying about this back then, always wanting Ruanruan to adopt a more proper sitting posture. But Ruanruan’s father doted on her so excessively that, at even the mildest admonition from Tao Ming, he would scoop their daughter into his arms. The two of them, one big, one small, would look at Tao Ming with pitiful faces as if to say, “Mommy’s bullying us again.”

Why was she thinking of Ruanruan’s father again?

Ah.

On the TV, Sara from the cartoon said something, and Ruanruan burst into delighted giggles, kicking her chubby little legs gleefully on the sofa.

Tao Ming was tempted to say something to her daughter, but after a moment’s hesitation, let it go. Cartoon time belonged to Ruanruan.

She turned back to watch the rain. The residential complex was deserted; even the usual fried noodle stall downstairs had vanished. Only the endless sheet of rain, joining heaven and earth, seemed as if it would never cease.

“Little crab with a hard shell, eight legs scuttling sideways...” Ruanruan’s clear, sweet singing drifted from the phone. Tao Ming walked back to the living room and picked up the call. It was Xiao Tian.

“Tao, there’s a power outage. The power bureau says there’s a circuit problem, but the rain’s too heavy to fix it.”

Tao Ming ran a maternity and baby store across the street, right next to Ruanruan’s kindergarten. She sold children’s clothes, formula, diapers, and sometimes even gave the little ones baths.

Xiao Tian was one of the clerks she employed; today, it was Xiao Tian and Xiao Wang’s turn to be on duty.

Tao Ming checked the time—it was already three in the afternoon. After a moment’s thought, she told Xiao Tian, “Just close up and go home for a rest.”

She could faintly hear Xiao Tian cheering before the call ended. Tao Ming remembered that Xiao Tian had recently started seeing someone, and thought, as expected, a girl in love has her heart elsewhere.

She scrolled through WeChat. Her Moments feed was filled with images of flooded cars due to poor drainage; the group chats were full of complaints about the deep water in the complex making it impossible to go out.

Some friends with a more explosive temperament even joked about going out to “watch the sea.”

One fool had even taken a small boat out, livestreaming as he rowed along—and now and then had to scoop rainwater out of the boat.

Where had he even gotten a boat?

Tao Ming was secretly grateful that her complex was on high ground, so the rainwater drained away and she didn’t have to worry about her car downstairs getting flooded.

But when would the rain finally stop?

Glancing at the clock, Tao Ming reminded her daughter, “You have half an hour left for cartoons.”

Ruanruan replied with a distracted “Mm,” eyes glued to the screen.

Tao Ming wandered back to the balcony, staring into the storm, her mind oddly heavy, as if something significant was about to happen.

But aside from life and death, what else truly counts as significant?

Even her divorce had been a minor affair—she and Ruanruan’s father had settled it swiftly and cleanly.

Tao Ming drifted into memories, and in an instant, the years rewound.

She was already thirty at the time, with friends and classmates constantly setting her up on blind dates, all urging her to find someone soon. Strangely, her parents never pressured her. When she asked her mother about it out of curiosity, her mother insisted she was still young, there was no hurry.

Back then, Tao Ming lived far from home. She sometimes wondered, if she were to die in her apartment, would anyone notice before the neighbors complained about the smell?

But falling in love required a spark. She just wanted someone she could talk to, someone to spend decades with—how could you share a life with someone if you couldn’t even have a proper conversation?

Then Ruanruan’s father came into her life, and everything seemed to fall into place: dating, marriage, their daughter’s birth—a happy family of three.

When Ruanruan was a little over two, her father suddenly disappeared for a few days. When he returned, his face was clouded with worry. He told Tao Ming, “Honey, I have no choice. We have to divorce. You’d better take Ruanruan and leave here. I’ll come find you.”

Tao Ming found it ridiculous. What was this, some royal succession waiting in the wings? What unavoidable hardship? Was he a drug lord on the run?

She didn’t protest much. Pride kept her from making a scene, and after years together, she knew him well enough to realize refusing would be pointless.

They divorced quickly and cleanly. The house, the car, the money—all left to Tao Ming.

Just as suddenly as he had appeared in her life, Ruanruan’s father vanished after the divorce, leaving not a trace behind, as if he’d evaporated from the world.

Even so, he was still Ruanruan’s father—she felt she deserved at least an explanation, especially after all those years together.

Tao Ming asked friends to inquire at the gaming company where he’d worked, only to be told that no one by his name had ever been employed there.

It was too bizarre—she’d eaten with his colleagues at that very company!

Shocked, Tao Ming went there herself, but none of the people she remembered recognized her.

Frightened, she went to his parents’ house, but new owners had already moved in.

For the sake of her and Ruanruan’s safety, Tao Ming quickly sold her house, gathered her belongings, and moved back to her hometown.

Her parents were bewildered by her sudden divorce but didn’t press her for details. They had always hoped she’d return home, and now that she had, it didn’t seem like such a big deal.

Her parents wanted her to live with them, so they could help care for Ruanruan, but Tao Ming was adamant—she wanted to raise her daughter on her own. She bought a place in the same complex; it was just a few minutes’ walk to her parents’ home.

Life back home was better: houses were affordable, the pace of life was slower, and she could stop by her parents’ for a meal whenever she liked. The money she had was more than enough to raise her daughter.

Just as Ruanruan was reaching kindergarten age, a new kindergarten opened right across the street. Six months later, a new elementary school was built.

With her daughter in kindergarten, Tao Ming found herself at loose ends, so she opened a maternity and baby store—maybe not a fortune, but at least it gave her something to do.

Lost in thought, Tao Ming was startled by a sudden clap of thunder.

Ruanruan, frightened, ran over for a cuddle.

Holding her daughter, Tao Ming looked toward the east, where the sky was pitch black and lightning flashed like fireworks.

A massive bolt struck down, seemingly landing in the artificial lake at the nearby archaeological park.

Could it be that a fish spirit in the lake was undergoing a heavenly trial?

What a ridiculous thought—since the founding of the country, there had been no allowance for monsters!

That park had its own stories. It was said to be the site where the First Emperor of Qin had burned books and buried scholars. Now, it was just a place for people to stroll and dance in the square.

Feeling mischievous, Tao Ming smiled at her daughter, “Ruanruan, maybe there’s a monster in the lake.”

“You’re fibbing. There’s no such thing as monsters—only in cartoons,” Ruanruan protested, gripping Tao Ming’s neck tightly and wrapping her legs around her waist in nervous alarm.

Sensing her daughter’s fear, Tao Ming immediately regretted her teasing. “Sorry, Mama was just joking.”

Ruanruan relaxed a little. “I don’t like it when you tease me like that. I’m scared of monsters.”

“I apologize. I won’t tease you like that again.” Tao Ming kissed her daughter’s cheek, still feeling guilty.

She carried Ruanruan back to the living room, thinking it was safer than standing exposed on the balcony during a thunderstorm.

Soon, the thunder faded and the sky began to brighten. Could the rain finally be ending?

Ruanruan still clung to her like a little koala, her head nestled on Tao Ming’s shoulder. In a small, soft voice, she asked, “Mama, do you love me?”

Tao Ming thought, This little mischief-maker, always acting spoiled and sweet, made her feel as if she were coaxing a lovesick girlfriend, needing to come up with tender words every day.

With affection, she patted Ruanruan’s back and whispered in her ear, “Mama loves little Ruanruan most in the world.”

No sooner had she finished speaking than a crashing sound came from the balcony, followed by something heavy falling to the floor.