In 1995, Coconut City finally welcomed a torrential downpour that washed away the summer heat.
Inside the Public Security Bureau, several police officers huddled together in discussion. A female officer rubbed the goosebumps on her arm and occasionally stole glances at the well-behaved little girl sitting quietly in the corner of the office. "What's going on with that child? How did she suddenly come back to life?"
Another replied, "When she was pulled out of the water, she really wasn't breathing. The forensic doctor pronounced her dead on the spot. Who would've thought she'd suddenly revive? It's eerie."
The little girl happened to look up and meet their gazes. A chill ran down the officers' spines, making the hair on their bodies stand on end.
She looked to be just over ten years old, extremely thin, with eyes unusually large. They darted about as she looked around, clearly unfamiliar with and curious about her surroundings.
That morning, the bureau had received a report from civilians saying a corpse had been fished out of the sea. Officers were dispatched at once and found the little girl lying motionless on the ground, her skin bleached white from soaking in seawater.
There were obvious signs of no life.
They carried her away to the nearest hospital morgue to wait for family members to identify the body. Unexpectedly, at noon the hospital called again, asking them to take her back, saying the child wasn't dead after all—she was alive.
At first, the police thought the hospital was playing a joke on them. But when the child was standing there alive before their eyes, they had no choice but to bring her back to the station.
One officer said, "Let's put that aside for now. The urgent thing is to find the child's parents."
"That's the tricky part. She doesn't seem to remember anything. We've asked her for ages and gotten no useful information."
Song Erya's ears twitched. She knew they were talking about her, and she felt dejected and lost. She had never imagined something like transmigration would happen to her.
She lifted her head to look at the calendar on the wall of the police station. It clearly displayed—July 17, 1995.
She had actually traveled back thirty years to Coconut City, her mother's hometown.
She didn't know where her mother lived at this time, nor how to contact her. She didn't even know who she was now.
Her small figure was reflected in the glass window of the station—thin and fragile like a bamboo shoot that had just broken through the soil, unmistakably a child's body.
She didn't know whether transmigration came with a shrinking side effect, or if this was simply someone else's body.
For a moment, she didn't know where to go. If she asked the police to find her mother and told her she was her future daughter, would her mother believe her?
After all, her mother was only twenty this year.
Just then, the office received another call. A minute later, an officer slammed the phone down in anger and called out to the others, "Another report from the public—there's been another fight on Changlin Road."
Someone cursed, "Those little bastards again! Even in the rain they won't behave—always making trouble for me!"
"Damn punks!"
Rainy days brought endless trouble, and the station was short-handed. Several male officers grabbed batons and handcuffs, clipped them onto their belts, and rushed out on duty.
Song Erya was left in the care of two female clerical officers.
Seeing her shivering from the cold, one officer found a small blanket and wrapped it around her.
The officer, her double braids tucked under a wide-brimmed cap, smiled kindly. "Have you remembered anything, little one? For example, who your parents are?"
Song Erya couldn't say that she didn't belong to this era at all. She remained unable to answer any questions.
The officer had no choice but to let her sit on a bench in the lobby and told her to think it over slowly.
Outside, thunder roared. The entire city seemed to be under a waterfall, the torrential rain washing away the grime from the buildings without making them look much newer.
About two hours later, amid the sound of rain came the wail of police sirens approaching from afar.
Soon after, the officers who had gone out earlier returned, escorting a group of teenagers back in a grand procession. The station instantly became even noisier and busier.
The teenagers were shoved into a temporary holding cell, still unruly and howling. The iron bars could barely contain their restless energy. Some even asked the police officers for food. Like a pot of boiling water, they were loud and chaotic, giving everyone a headache.
The officers were soaked through from the rain, their tempers as gloomy as the weather. Batons struck the bars as they shouted, "Hands on your heads! Squat down! Behave yourselves!"
The teenagers were driven one by one to squat in the corner to be questioned.
"What caused this fight?"
"Officer, we didn't fight. We were just... just sparring!"
"Stop talking nonsense. Answer my question honestly."
The teenager laughed. "Didn't we just answer?"
Song Erya watched and felt secondhand frustration for the police. Sure enough, every era had its dyed-hair punks.
The officer slammed his baton against the bars again, ordering them to quiet down. His gaze landed on the boy in the far corner, and he pointed the baton at him. "You—yes, you, Shen Mingsong. You talk."
At the sound of that name, Song Erya suddenly lifted her head, her eyes sweeping rapidly over every boy in the group.
The named boy raised his head, revealing a cold, indifferent face. His hair clung to his forehead, water droplets running down.
He wiped his face and said in a low voice, "There was no fight."
The officer finally snapped, barking angrily, "If you weren't fighting, were you practicing martial arts? Think you're Bruce Lee filming a movie? Want me to set up a stage for you to hold a championship? You've gone completely off the rails! Is this how your parents taught you?"
These teenagers were regulars at the station. Fortunately, no one was injured, and they were all minors. The police were furious, scolding and lecturing them, intending to lock them up for a day or two as a lesson.
Song Erya quietly walked to the iron gate, staring without blinking at the injured boy's face.
He had striking phoenix eyes, a high-bridged nose, and prominent features that would grow even more handsome and mature years later.
"Uncle! Why are you here too?" she cried out excitedly, only then realizing that Shen Mingsong would have been just sixteen this year.
Seeing she was a child, the officer softened his tone. "Little one, do you know this person?"
Song Erya paused. "He's... sort of my uncle." She knew Shen Mingsong, but the sixteen-year-old Shen Mingsong didn't know her.
"Shen Mingsong, is this your niece?" The officer looked at the two of them, unconvinced by the supposed relationship.
As expected, the boy coldly replied that she wasn't.
"Then why is she calling you uncle? What's your relationship with this little girl?"
Shen Mingsong glanced at Song Erya carelessly and spat out two words: "Neighbor."
"Be more specific." The officer banged hard on the iron bars, eager to find a lead on the girl's family.
"Her name is Song Yao. She lives at 36 Tidal Road, Crescent Bay."
The officer turned to Song Erya. "Song Yao? Is that your name, little one?"
"That's not my name." Song Erya shook her head, looking pleadingly at the boy behind the bars. He looked at her strangely.
In the end, the police chose to believe Shen Mingsong.
At that time, checking someone's information meant manually flipping through paper household registers. It was far quicker to question Shen Mingsong directly. After obtaining a landline number from him and calling it, they indeed found someone.
"Little one, we've contacted your family. She'll be here soon to take you home," the female officer said, hanging up the phone and patting her head.
Song Erya's eyes widened. Her family—who would that be? Her mother?
While waiting, she lingered by the iron gate and tried to draw the boy into conversation. "Do you know my mom?"
Song Erya had leukemia. After her mother passed away, she herself was on the brink of death, while her father ignored her, waiting only for her to die from illness.
Shen Mingsong, a friend of her mother's, wiped away her tears after the funeral and gently asked her, "Don't be afraid. Would you like to live with Uncle from now on?"
From then on, she lived with Uncle Mingsong. From seventeen to twenty-one, he sheltered her from wind and rain and stayed by her side as she fought the disease.
Before she transmigrated, her leukemia had relapsed. She had just undergone a bone marrow puncture, and Uncle Mingsong was anxiously searching for a donor, preparing for a second transplant.
They weren't related by blood, yet were closer than family.
But the boy before her was in a terrible mood. His face was blank as he said, "Isn't your mom already dead?"
Song Erya opened her mouth, then lowered her head to look at the patched clothes she was wearing. The pant legs dragged on the ground, and on her feet were a pair of cheap plastic crystal shoes.
She wiggled her toes. The shoes were stiff, and the edges had rubbed a blister on her foot.
She had never worn such shabby clothes before.
She asked again, "Then who am I? I don't remember who I am. Uncle, who are you to me?"
The boys squatting with Shen Mingsong had been relatively quiet, but her words set off a burst of laughter. They mocked her for being stupid—how could anyone forget who they were?
Shen Mingsong kicked the one laughing the hardest to shut him up, his tone turning impatient. "Uncle my ass. Has your brain been kicked by a donkey?"
Song Erya had to admit that this person didn't seem easy to get along with and clearly had no goodwill toward her.
Could it be that she had mistaken him for someone else, that he merely resembled Shen Mingsong?
And his manners were terrible! Why curse her for no reason?
When she tried to speak to him again, he got into another argument with the others. Before it escalated into a fight, the police shouted them down, warning them not to make a single sound.
As evening fell, the rain gradually weakened.
Song Erya returned to her seat, growing drowsy. Her eyelids were so heavy she could barely keep them open, and she felt terribly cold, sneezing several times.
She suspected she had a fever.
"Little one, your sister is here to take you home," the female officer gently woke her.
Song Erya rubbed her eyes and looked toward the woman entering the door.
The woman looked as if she'd just swum through water, soaked from head to toe. A black raincoat dripped steadily onto the floor. She lifted a hand to push back the wide hood, revealing a delicate, strikingly beautiful face—so young that Song Erya had only ever seen it in photographs.
It really was her mother. She had met her twenty-year-old mother.
"Mom!" Song Erya cried excitedly as she rushed forward—only to receive a few swats.
"Why did you run off like that? Do you know how scared you made your sister?" Song Fang grabbed Song Erya by the shoulders and smacked her bottom a few times, not too hard.
It was the familiar strength of her mother's hand.
Overjoyed, Song Erya hugged Song Fang tightly, burying her face in her neck, greedily savoring the warmth of her body. "Mom, it really is you!"
"I couldn't possibly have a daughter this big," Song Fang said, pushing her head away in disgust. Noticing how hot her forehead was, she grew anxious. "What's wrong, Yaoyao? You have a fever."
"Sister?" Song Erya was burning all over, her head spinning as she struggled to stay conscious. "Who exactly is Song Yao?"
"You're delirious with fever, forgetting who you are," Song Fang said. She opened her raincoat, wrapped it around her, and carried her on her back. After saying a few words to the police, she tried to take Shen Mingsong with them.
The officer was adamant. "No. This brat has to be locked up for a night. Reckless, always learning bad things and causing trouble."
Enveloped in the darkness beneath the raincoat, Song Erya could only identify people by their voices. She heard Shen Mingsong say, "Sister Fang, please tell my mom not to worry."
Song Fang agreed. With the girl on her back burning up, she was in a hurry to get her to a clinic and had no time to plead further. Besides, it wasn't unusual for him to be detained; one or two days wouldn't matter.
Resting on her mother's shoulder, Song Erya grew increasingly drowsy as memories belonging to Song Yao finally trickled into her mind.
This body's original owner, Song Yao, had been playing alone by the sea that morning when she was accidentally swept away by the waves and drowned.
At noon, when it started raining, a fisherman went out on his boat. Feeling a heavy catch, he reeled in his line—only to pull up Song Yao, who had long since lost all signs of life.
The fisherman hurriedly called the police, and that was when Song Erya transmigrated.
When she opened her eyes, she was already lying in the morgue.
And those memories told her something else: Song Yao was her mother Song Fang's younger sister—her aunt.
But she only had one uncle. She had no aunt at all.
***
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