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It was a bag of dumplings filled with shepherd's purse and pork, each one plump and round, with delicate edges pinched by his mother, making them look quite adorable. Song Bunan boiled himself a bowl and enjoyed it with the pickled vegetables his father had made.
The first thing he noticed when he got home was a stack of wish papers on the coffee table. Although he had informed the client group that he wasn't taking any jobs recently, the spirits didn't care. Many delayed requests and wishes were now in front of him, and those who thought they could take a break were grumbling, reluctant to take action.
The wish papers were specially made, with materials sourced from the mysterious Underworld. Usually, they were distributed by Ghost Messengers to spirits with wishes, who would write them down and bring the notes to someone like him for reimbursement.
After finishing his meal and confirming that Xin Yi wouldn't wake up anytime soon, Song Bunan grabbed the wish papers and headed out. It was just about to get dark, so he thought he would go buy what he needed and have it delivered to the shop.
He went to a store in an urban village that sold paper offerings. The village had been established for a long time, with old buildings crowded together, narrow alleys filled with clutter, and overhead wires crisscrossing in a way that made one anxious, fearing they might suddenly fall or catch fire.
Song Bunan parked his small electric scooter in a dilapidated shed at the alley entrance and made his way into the first building. The smell of cooking oil wafted from an open door, instantly making him feel at ease. "Auntie, two stuffed pancakes with extra chicken strips and hot dogs!"
This was a delicious treat he always indulged in when he visited. The elderly Auntie, quick on her feet, expertly poured beaten eggs into the pancakes on the griddle after taking his order. When she saw him, she smiled and added an extra layer of fruit on top. The warm pancakes were still steaming when she handed them to him.
"You haven't been here in a while! Where have you been playing?" Auntie asked while counting change and handed him a can of milk. Song Bunan smiled as he accepted it, explaining that he had been busy with important matters lately. "Good! Young people should work hard. When you have some free time, help me cook something for grandpa; no rush."
Agreeing to this task, Song Bunan carried the stuffed pancakes deeper into the alley until he reached its end. There stood a small red-brick house wedged tightly between two larger buildings. The area outside that usually held bamboo baskets was now empty, but several well-dressed men wearing sunglasses stood at the entrance.
Curious about these out-of-place individuals, he tried to enter but was stopped by one of them who coldly said they were closed for business today and reached out to push him away. Song Bunan was not one to be easily intimidated; he deftly dodged and smiled at the man, saying he just needed to drop something off.
Clearly loud enough for others to hear, a familiar voice called from inside: "Just let him in." With permission granted by the owner, Song Bunan swaggered inside with his items. He saw an elderly man with graying hair and an unfriendly expression sitting inside. The owner of Paper Fire Shop was as usual dressed in an old thin cotton coat, sitting on the bed while puffing on a smoking pipe next to a brand-new leather suitcase.
Upon seeing him enter, the owner's previously expressionless face broke into a smile as he waved for him to come closer. Song Bunan sat down beside him and handed over the stuffed pancakes. "I've gathered quite a few orders recently; I brought them all today for you to prepare and send to the shop. This one has extra chicken strips; Auntie even added more fruit."
The old man ignored them both and seemed quite annoyed as he struck his cane heavily against the floor several times. Instinctively looking over at him, Song Bunan noticed a dent had formed in the brick beneath where it hit. The owner remained unfazed as he set aside his pipe and began eating the pancake, occasionally letting out satisfied hums.
"This gentleman is..." Song Bunan asked out of respect for elders. Without looking up, the owner replied casually: "My father." Surprised by this revelation regarding their familial relationship, Song Bunan quickly stood up to greet him before noticing under the light how similar their faces truly were.
The owner finished one pancake quickly and leaned back on the bed with satisfaction while smoking as he glanced at the wish papers Song Bunan had handed over without giving even half a glance to the old man. "This time there aren't any large orders; just money and small items are requested. I can have everything ready for you by tomorrow. But this time you went out to handle something interesting—how did you end up working with Ghost Messengers?"
Song Bunan shrugged, indicating that there was nothing he could do. The troubles below were far more numerous than those above. However, faced with the old man's unfriendly gaze, he leaned closer to the boss and whispered, "Is it really appropriate to keep him sitting like this?" The boss exhaled a puff of smoke and then met the old man's eyes, lazily yawning as he said, "Let’s head back for now. I have work to do here; we can discuss that matter later."
The old man grew even angrier, banging his cane on the floor with such force that the bodyguards outside peeked in. "Look at what you’ve become! Loafing around all day, looking disheveled in this filthy place, neglecting your good land at home, and coming here to burn paper offerings for a dead man. Are you trying to drive me to my grave?"
This speech left Song Bunan stunned; he inhaled sharply and glanced at the boss, who yawned again, prompting him to do the same. He was amazed by the old man's eloquence; in just two sentences, he had managed to weave in so many idioms without repeating any.
The boss appeared indifferent, scratching his lower back and casually responding, "What are you talking about? The paper offerings you need might very well be all on me. Besides, I’m not your only descendant; why should I have to go back? Alright, alright, it’s getting late. Hurry home before my mother gets anxious."
Seeing the old man nearly strike him with his cane out of frustration, he ultimately stormed off, gritting his teeth and shouting at the people outside to hurry home.
Once outside fell silent again, Song Bunan began eating his own portion of flatbread and curiously asked, "How many times has this been this year? Why is he getting more urgent?"
"Who knows what his problem is? It’s always the same speech; I’ve memorized it by now." The boss finally showed a look of disdain and annoyance as he pressed the signed paper under his pillow and relaxed on the bed. "With six siblings combined, they all come after me relentlessly. It’s exhausting."
"That just proves how impressive you are—one is better than six," Song Bunan chuckled. "What do you want to eat tomorrow? Let’s go out and have a good time. I didn’t want to bother you last time since you were so busy."
The boss agreed without hesitation, pulling up a blanket over himself comfortably. He closed his eyes and said he wanted some wine first and then a pork knuckle. Song Bunan crumpled the plastic bag and tossed it into the trash can before getting up and saying that a pork knuckle could be arranged.
"You can drink now?" he asked curiously. The boss clicked his tongue and glanced at him sideways. "Why do you sound just like your sister-in-law? Always nagging me about drinking. If you don’t bring anything tomorrow, I’ll stuff all the paper offerings into your mouth."
Feeling successfully threatened, Song Bunan made an 'OK' gesture with both hands before leaving. By now, it was completely dark outside, and he hurried home after exiting the corridor. On the way, he picked up some fruit, thinking he needed to make sure Xin Yi had a balanced diet.
Upon entering his house, he saw his brother sitting on the sofa looking at his phone. He didn’t react at all to the sound of Song Bunan coming in. Usually, this meant it was time for a serious talk. Song Bunan tiptoed over and sat down obediently with his hands resting on his knees to appear very well-behaved.
"Explain yourself," came the voice from within the dimly lit room. The light from outside cast an eerie glow on Song Buxian's expressionless face as the phone's light illuminated his features just enough for Song Bunan to see the anger in his brother's eyes. He swallowed hard; outwardly calm but inwardly a storm was brewing.
Explain? Explain what? The results of his recent investigation? Or perhaps why he hadn’t delivered any news in days? He racked his brain trying to guess what his brother wanted while sweat trickled down his nose and palms.
Seeing his brother pretending to be asleep again, Song Buxian didn't hold back and bluntly asked, "Have you already slept together?"
Realizing that he might be called out for not informing their parents about his plans, Song Bunan suddenly looked up, only to be hit by a metaphorical truck. His mind was a jumble, and he let out a confused sound.
Song Buxian's tone was harsh as he fixed his gaze on him, speaking slowly and deliberately, "You’ve already brought him home; do you still want to say you’re not involved?"
Startled by the ghostly appearance of his brother at the door, Song Bunan completely forgot that someone was still lying on his bed—someone he had bought fruit for. He sat up straight and shook his head vigorously, explaining that it wasn’t like that; he brought him back because he had been wronged and needed care.
"Our current status is just kissing..." Knowing that lying would only lead to trouble, Song Bunan sincerely conveyed the truth. After he spoke, he heard Song Buxian let out a sigh of relief and give him a kick with his foot.
"Keep letting random guys into your bed, and you'll have to plead your case to Dad. He’s away on vacation for the next couple of months; you better figure out how to explain your relationship before you meet the parents. If anything more intimate happens before then, you're dead."
Only their mother and brother knew about Song Bunan's attraction to men. Their father, who held traditional views on love, scoffed at the idea of same-sex relationships and aggressively labeled it as a sickness. Although he never pressured his sons to marry, he had hinted that it would be best if such things didn’t occur.
His brother left as quietly as he had come, quickly dropping off the pocket money their parents had left before rushing out. Feeling wronged, Song Bunan carried the fruit toward the kitchen, glancing instinctively toward the bedroom and relieved to see Xin Yi still fast asleep.
He initially thought that being attracted to men would hinder his chances at love for life. At worst, he could just tell his dad that he didn’t want to get married as an excuse. But now that he had found true love and promised to cohabit with Xin Yi, getting past his father was an unavoidable hurdle.
Might as well make things official; when the time came to reveal everything, he could argue his case. As Song Bunan rubbed the apple in his hands, the spark of hope in his heart flickered and then vanished in an instant. Being a man meant that even if he and Xin Yi took things further, they wouldn’t have children—there would be no positive outcome from it at all.
Thinking about how he could earn money from Ghost Messenger yet couldn’t convince his dad to accept his feelings for men made Song Bunan feel like life was turning bleak.
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