"Mommy broke her word!" The moment I stepped inside, I saw Yaya standing before me, hands planted firmly on his hips. The two-year-old was trying his hardest to look stern and furious, so much so that my husband, trailing behind me, immediately burst into suppressed giggles. My husband's laughter only seemed to provoke the little man further. He clenched his fists, his eyes turning red, his small mouth pursed into a tight line—it was clear he was about to unleash the ultimate weapon: the full-blown tantrum. That irresponsible father, seeing the brewing storm, immediately made his escape. To avert disaster, I quickly crouched down and soothed him, "Baby, when did Mommy break her word? Tell Mommy so I can fix it, okay?"

Seeing that my apology was sufficiently humble, Yaya instantly retracted his tears and replaced them with a sweet, sugary face, immediately latching onto my neck and sticking to me like glue: "I want to go to the park to see the monkeys! Mommy promised! I want to see the monkeys!"—Why on earth is this child so obsessed with monkeys? Aren't the house full of monkey toys enough? He demands to see live monkeys at the park every other day.

But that wasn't the main issue at hand. Adhering to my principle of reasoning with a child, I spoke gently, "Yaya, it’s not that Mommy broke her promise. Isn't it raining outside? We can't go to the park when it rains, because the monkeys get scared of getting wet too, and they’ll hide so no one can see them." Taking him to the park to see the monkeys had been a long-standing promise, but for some unknown reason, it had been dreary and rainy for days, an abnormal weather pattern that completely upended our plans. Young children don't consider external factors; he only knew that because his parents hadn't kept their promise, his long-awaited trip to the park was indefinitely shelved. To his tiny heart, this was an outrage! Naturally, he had been pestering me about it every day.

Yaya wrapped his arms around my neck and yelled loudly: "Mommy is chubby... Mommy is chubby... Monkeys use umbrellas, Yaya uses an umbrella too..." (Translation: Because Yaya understands the saying that 'a liar gets fat'—meaning if someone breaks their word, they get fat—when he calls someone chubby, he means they are a promise-breaker, not commenting on my recent dieting failures.)

"Be a good boy, Yaya, who is the obedient child in our house?"—I needed to divert this little guy's attention immediately. Who ever saw monkeys on a mountain in a park politely using umbrellas while staring at tourists? Simultaneously, I gave my chuckling husband a sharp kick: "Stop adding fuel to the fire! Go take the groceries inside!"

"Daddy is the good boy!" Yaya declared with finality. It seemed that to see the monkeys, he was willing to renounce the title of 'good boy' altogether. Thankfully, just then, the nanny, Aunt Xu, came over and rescued me: "Yaya, what toy did Mommy buy for you? Yaya, come take a look, okay?"

The truth was, today I had gone out with my husband only to buy daily necessities. My mind had been completely occupied with rice, flour, oil, and salt at the market; the thought of picking up a toy for our son hadn't even crossed my mind. With no other option, I reached into the grocery basket and pulled out two tomatoes, handing them to Yaya, who looked up with eager anticipation. Yaya let out a cheer. We always insisted that things meant for eating shouldn't be toys, so he had long coveted the bright red tomatoes. Fearing I might get 'fat' again, he swiftly hugged his "toys" and ran off.

After dinner, Yaya had temporarily forgotten about seeing the monkeys. He was sitting on a small stool on the balcony, his back to us, fiddling with his treasure box.

The so-called treasure box was actually the box from the large birthday cake our whole family devoured when Yaya celebrated his birthday. Yaya had commandeered it and filled it with all his favorite things, carrying it around personally all day, unwilling to let anyone touch a single corner of it, which is why we affectionately nicknamed it his treasure box.

Yaya kept all sorts of bizarre items in this box—children are always like that. He ignores the brand-new toys I spend hundreds on but treasures a simple keychain from his aunt. He rips up pretty picture books just for fun, but his favorite things are the cartoon monsters Aunt Xu cut out from some magazine. Besides his beloved little cars and toy guns, there were also small pebbles, seeds, the television remote, and even a deck of cards. These treasures constantly grew or diminished based on Yaya’s current fancy. Even scarier was the fact that, at any moment, he might decide to keep captured bugs in there; the thought of that spider he kept last time still makes me shudder.

Now, the tomatoes must be the new darlings inside the box. As Yaya played, he muttered and mumbled unintelligibly, perhaps arranging them for a battle formation or organizing a car race. In any case, the tomatoes' fate was sealed. It was a rare moment of quiet from the little guy, so let those two tomatoes sacrifice themselves to buy us a peaceful evening.

Yaya's fascination with the tomatoes surpassed my imagination. Even when it was time for bed, he was still playing with his treasure box. However, the tomatoes were no longer his toys; they had long been squeezed until watery and tossed aside. I only saw Yaya busy with something new, having emptied out more than half the treasures from the box.

"Go tell the baby it's time for sleep," I instructed my languid husband—honestly, needing to lie on the sofa just to watch TV, setting such a poor example for the child.

"Baby, your mom says go to sleep!"—The man didn't even change his position, merely craning his neck to shout the message, considering his duty done.

Yaya completely ignored the request, still engrossed in his game. I had to take charge, preparing for the nightly ritual battle (the fight between the unwilling-to-sleep Yaya and the mother wanting him to sleep). Surprisingly, Yaya was exceptionally compliant tonight. He opened his arms, hugged my neck, and let me carry him straight to his little bed. As I tucked him in and smoothed the covers over him, Yaya suddenly popped out a sentence: "Mommy, if I run away from home, will you cry very sadly too?"

"Of course, if my baby runs away from home, Mommy will certainly... wait, what? Run away from home!" I couldn't help but shriek. Where did Yaya learn the phrase "run away from home"? How could such a strange idea enter the mind of such a small child? I glanced back and saw my husband still reclining, watching TV, and immediately rushed over, shouting, "Turn off the TV right now! You are forbidden from watching TV in front of our son anymore! Those strange ideas in his head must have come from the television!"

Hearing that he wouldn't be able to watch TV anymore (which was only on Saturdays and Sundays, as Yaya usually stayed with my mother during the week), my husband scrambled to my side at lightning speed: "What new word did Yaya say this time? You always overreact. It's good that the child is knowledgeable and likes to learn new things. Kids nowadays are smarter than we were, and they have more ways to encounter the outside world. They sometimes say surprising things; we should encourage the child to learn new things..."—This man has been shirking his parental duties since the child was born. Though he never actually took care of Yaya, he has an endless supply of parenting theories. I shot him a fierce glare: "Yaya just said he wants to run away from home!"

"What!" My husband let out a strange cry and rushed anxiously toward his son, "My dear, tell Daddy, are you fed up with your mom's inhuman discipline? It’s okay, Daddy will back you up! From now on, we won't have to go to bed on time, and we don't have to brush our teeth before sleeping!"

Yaya shot his father a sidelong glance—the father trying to transfer his poor habits onto the child: "Daddy doesn't wash his face or brush his teeth, he smells stinky." With that, he yawned, burrowed into the covers, rested his little head on the pillow, and was soon fast asleep, snoring softly.

My husband and I exchanged worried glances. Where on earth did Yaya pick up the phrase "run away from home"? Just how much information that we parents don't know is currently stored in that little head? Gazing at that innocent sleeping face for a long time, we turned off the light and quietly left Yaya's room.

Yaya has always adhered to the excellent habit of sleeping late and waking up early. On Saturday morning, before six o'clock, he was already dragging his pants and clothes across my stomach as I was still soundly asleep, clearly stating his plan for the day: "Get dressed, eat food, go to the park, monkeys."

I struggled to peel open my still heavy eyelids to help the little darling dress. The sound of rain outside seemed louder than it was last night. Going to see the monkeys was probably impossible. I wondered if residents in the low-lying areas of the city were getting flooded... As I was lost in thought, my husband walked in from the door, fully dressed in his raincoat and holding an umbrella. His daily morning run and buying breakfast was one of his duties. With the rain, the running could be canceled, but the breakfast task could not be neglected, otherwise, wouldn't I have to wake up early to cook?

My husband placed the soy milk and fried dough sticks on the table and hurried to say, "I have something urgent at the office, I won't eat, I have to go back now."

"What's wrong?"

"Urgent documents."

He worked as a secretary in the government office; all sorts of documents passed through his hands for drafting and issuance. However, his current haste suggested it wasn't good news. As expected, before leaving, he added one more thing: "They're starting flood prevention measures. If this rain keeps up, we might have to go help with dike reinforcement and disaster relief."

What a thoroughly unpleasant morning.

Although we had canceled the plan to take Yaya to the park, I had intended to compensate him by taking him to the indoor playground on the top floor of XX Mall and then treating him to his favorite McDonald's. But looking at the steadily intensifying rain, I simply couldn't muster the desire to go out. Prompted by Yaya's urging, I reluctantly prepared everything to leave, only to see Yaya clutching his treasure box. "Yaya, we are going out now. Can you put the box back first, okay?"—I tried to instill the habit in him early on of keeping his things in a fixed place, so I usually coaxed Yaya into putting his own items away regularly.

Yaya hugged his box and shook his head: "Yaya wants to take it."

This box had a diameter of nearly half a meter. Did he really want to take such a huge box out with us? "Yaya, Mommy is taking you out to play. How can you play your favorite games while carrying such a big box?" I maintained my steadfast educational principle of patiently reasoning with his unreasonable demands.

"Must take."

"If you carry this thing, the auntie won't sell you a ticket, and you won't get to play on your favorite merry-go-round."

"Must take..."

"Yaya, be good, or Mommy won't take you out to play." At the critical moment, I had to deploy my adult authority.

"Waaah..." The response I got was Yaya's loud wail: "They promised... Waaah... Yaya doesn't want to be chubby... Yaya wants to take the bugs to play... Yaya is not chubby..."

Take the bugs to play? Had he found some strange new insect? I carefully lifted the lid and breathed a sigh of relief: thankfully, it was empty. Yaya had even dumped out all his previous toys; he was just carrying an empty box. Although the box was bulky, it was light since it was empty, so I decided to just let him bring it. Sighing, the mother's authority once again yielded before the child's tears. Thus, a mother dejected by her failure to uphold her educational guidelines, accompanied by a son whose mood instantly cleared upon gaining his mother's concession, headed toward XX Mall, carrying an empty cake box.

I placed my son on the seat of the carousel and, after making sure he was settled, handed him the box. Although it was quite obstructive to his view, Yaya insisted on holding it while playing. Luckily, Yaya was fascinated by the carousel today; otherwise, his usual favorite 'spinny-spinny' seats might not have accommodated such a large box.

The carousel played lively music, spinning happily. The joyful laughter of the children mingled with the galloping of the horses and elephants. Perhaps due to the heavy rain today, even though it was Saturday, there weren't many people bringing their children here. Equipment that often required queuing on regular days seemed deserted. There were about four or five children on the carousel, and a similar number of parents stood nearby, all staring at the leaping, running animals, yet their eyes were focused only on their own children.

The horse Yaya was riding bobbed up and down, mimicking a realistic gallop. Usually, this was fine, but now, with the large box clutched in his hands, I worried he might lose his balance. I stood with my hands clasped, following the horse around in circles, ready to leap forward and steady him at any moment. Fortunately, the surrounding parents understood my concern and no one blamed me for my hovering.

"Ouch," a pained sound came from beside me—after a few rounds, because my attention was fixed solely on Yaya, I finally stepped on someone's foot.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry..." In this situation, an apology was the only first step. I secretly thanked fate that I hadn't worn high heels today. "It's all my fault for not watching where I was going, I am so sorry..."

"No, no, it was my fault for bumping into you, I'm truly sorry." The other person was apologizing too.

I looked up and saw she was also a woman around thirty. As she spoke to me, her eyes kept drifting toward the carousel: Ah, another mother whose attention was entirely focused on her child. We exchanged an understanding smile.

"Is that your son? He’s so adorable, like a little angel!" the other mother asked as Yaya waved at me.

Don't be smug, she’s just making small talk! Although I warned myself internally, I couldn't help but let my ego puff out: "Oh, not at all, that little rascal is naughty as can be, almost a little devil."

"Boys are supposed to be a bit mischievous..." The mother sighed, as if thinking of something else.

"If only it were just 'a bit mischievous'..." I lamented, just as I saw Yaya raise one hand high, posing like a general on the back of his horse. His other arm was wrapped around the box, meaning he wasn't using his hands to stabilize himself at all! I immediately called out and rushed forward to correct him, forgetting to even ask the other mother which child was hers.

Because of the heavy rain today, fewer people were out than on a typical Saturday, and the McDonald's fast-food restaurant was also less crowded than usual. Yaya and I took a four-seater table near the window to enjoy our lunch. Having wrestled with Yaya all morning, I felt utterly exhausted, almost too tired to eat. Comrade Yaya, on the other hand, was full of energy: "Mommy, after we eat, we go again!"

Yaya placed his treasure box on the seat next to him, occasionally chatting to it, and even sneakily slipping hamburger nuggets inside when I wasn't looking, acting as if he were truly raising something in there. Fortunately, I had already secretly opened the box several times and knew it was empty; otherwise, I wouldn't have been at ease. Children are so cute; they can play with an imaginary pet for half the day. Should I reconsider my firm stance against letting Yaya have a pet?

"May I sit here?" someone asked, pointing to the empty seat next to us.

Although it was illogical to refuse such a request when a mother and son occupied a four-person table, half the seats in the restaurant were empty. Why did they have to crowd around us? I looked up, about to refuse, when I recognized the person asking: it was the mother I had exchanged a few words with in the upstairs amusement area. "Oh, it's you! Are you guys eating too... Huh? Where is your baby? Why are you alone?" The mother stood by our table alone; her child was nowhere in sight.

She gave a wry smile: "I can't find him..."

"What?" Did she lose her child? That’s unthinkable! "What is your child’s gender? How old is he? What clothing was he wearing when he went missing? At what time and where did you realize he was gone?" Out of professional habit, I immediately started questioning and pulled out my notebook to take notes.

"It's been a week... a full week..." The poor mother said distractedly, her eyes fixed on Yaya.

So, this wasn't something that just happened.

"He loves the carousel so much, he was always so happy riding it, but now..." she muttered to herself, still looking at Yaya, perhaps seeing a shadow of her own child in him? It turned out that she hadn't been accompanying a child at the playground earlier; she had been watching other children play while reminiscing about her child's smiles and laughter. The realization brought an indescribable ache to my heart. Facing her, I couldn't even muster a word of comfort.

"Mommy!" Yaya suddenly burst into loud tears. "Mommy! I want to go home..." He clutched his treasure box tightly, his cries drawing the attention of everyone in the store toward us.

I hurried over to soothe him: "Yaya, what's wrong? Good baby, don't cry, tell Mommy what happened?" Yaya buried his head in my arms, crying, only demanding to go home. This time, he wasn't feigning tears to achieve a goal; he was truly sobbing. Yaya was a brave child; nine times out of ten, his crying throughout his life was because his objective wasn't met, using tear-wiping as a threat to get adults to yield. But when it came to a real crisis, he was unflappable. I remember when there was a child flu outbreak, seven or eight feverish children were getting IV drips in the hospital, and only our Yaya, amidst the wails, calmly threatened the doctor that he would stop crying only if they let him play with the stethoscope—a feat that made me a proud mother for a few days. Why was Yaya crying so violently now?

After comforting Yaya for a few moments, I noticed he was covertly glancing at the mother who had lost her child. Was this woman, who kept staring at him, frightening him? Although I was eager to leave with Yaya, I still managed to leave my address with the mother: "I am Shen Hua from the Criminal Investigation Team. If you need any help, please come find me; I will do my absolute best to assist you." As I carried Yaya toward the door, I saw her through the glass, still standing there, her face streaked with tears.

"Mommy, she's crying," Yaya said, having not stopped watching her, and sharp enough to see her tears. This little guy had stopped crying the moment we stepped outside and was now concerned about someone else.

"That auntie is very pitiful; her baby is missing, so she's crying so sadly. Yaya, why were you looking at that auntie crying just now?" This child always greeted people with a smile and rarely made a fuss in front of strangers; I was quite curious why he disliked this woman.

"Because she's mean..." Yaya mumbled vaguely. When I spoke to him again, he had already nestled into my arms and fallen asleep. I reached out and wiped the tear tracks from his little face, gently transferring the box he was still clutching tightly into my hand so he could sleep more comfortably. It seemed even this little fellow was worn out after a morning of crazy play.

For the next few days, although the rain had eased slightly, it continued to drizzle, showing no sign of clearing up. On Monday, we did not send Yaya to my mother's house as usual. Instead, we brought both elderly parents to stay with us. Firstly, they lived in a low-lying area of the city, and with this level of rain, moving them was safer. Secondly, due to my husband's and my professions, if serious flood relief was required, we would both have to be on the front lines, leaving Yaya in the care of his maternal grandparents then.

Returning to the precinct, perhaps due to the continuous rain, everyone's spirits were low. Heads were bowed as they busied themselves, only occasionally exchanging words about the rising level of the river on the city's edge. My own mind was still troubled by the mother I had met who had lost her child. I rushed to retrieve all the recent missing persons files, poring over them in detail.

The city had seen quite a few disappearances recently, but most involved adults who had wandered off due to mental health issues. In the only two cases involving minors, the missing persons were both teenagers, and judging by the mother's age, her child couldn't possibly be fifteen or sixteen. So why was there no record of her report? Had it not been forwarded from the local station? No, she had said the child had been missing for several days. Or perhaps she never reported it at all? That was even more baffling—a parent not reporting a lost child, relying only on their own efforts to find them? Could it be a kidnapping, where she preferred to pay a ransom for the child's safety rather than involve the police? If so, the mother should be at home waiting for the kidnapper’s call or scrambling for money, not visiting places her child used to frequent. Could "lost her child" mean the child was gone forever...

Lost in thought, a colleague called out, "Shen Hua, phone!" My mind was still preoccupied with the case, but I snatched the receiver, and my mother’s voice immediately snapped me back to attention: "Xiao Hua, it's Mom." Her voice carried a touch of anxiety, and I could distinctly hear **Yaya crying and wailing in the background. This instantly sobered me. "Mom, what's wrong with Yaya? Is he sick?"

"No, that's not it." My mother, a retired professor, always spoke slowly and deliberately, but now her pace quickened unusually. "Xiao Hua, have you met a strange woman recently?"

"A strange woman? No..." Could it be her? For some reason, the moment my mother mentioned it, the image of that woman flashed in my mind. "Mom, is everything okay at home?"

"After you left this morning, a woman came to our house, claiming to be your friend, visiting Yaya. She seemed polite and refined, not like a bad person, so I let her in."

"What did she do?"

"She brought a large pile of expensive toys for Yaya, but Yaya seemed not to like her, barely acknowledging her. You know Yaya usually smiles at everyone; for him to act this way towards her made me wary. I kept her in the living room talking, trying to stop her from getting near Yaya. Who knew she insisted on trying to engage Yaya, wanting to see his treasure box. Yaya absolutely refused to show it to her, and the argument escalated until he started crying."

"Is she still there?"

"I saw she didn't leave even when Yaya was crying, so I finally sent her away," my mother stated firmly. "Xiao Hua, is that woman really your friend?"

"I didn't see her, so I can't say. Did she leave a name?"

"She said her surname was Long."

"I don't know anyone named Long... Maybe she’s the wife of one of my colleagues." By now, I was certain the visitor was the woman I met, but I didn't want to worry my mother, so I pretended to be unconcerned.

"Do you think I don't know what your job is! Did you offend someone while handling a case outside?" My mother’s voice started to rise. "I've always told you that being a female detective is no job for a girl, but you wouldn't listen. Now look, someone has tracked you down..." My mother had long been dissatisfied with my career, and now she seized the opportunity to nag. Holding the phone, my mind raced: What exactly did that woman want? How did she get my home address? Had she been following us that day? What was her objective in tailing us? Was it truly someone I'd crossed paths with during a case? Or... As I thought, a shiver ran down my spine. The look of obsessive fixation she gave Yaya—could her target actually be Yaya!

I grabbed my coat and bolted out, nearly colliding with the Section Chief who was just entering. "Officer Shen, what's the rush?"

"I need to go home!" How dare he block my way at a time like this! I shoved him aside and kept running. The Section Chief's angry roar followed: "Cutting work early and still acting so arrogant, just you wait..."

The rain had intensified again at some unknown point. Even with the wipers sweeping relentlessly, the windshield was soon obscured by water. The heavy, dark clouds made it seem like deep twilight, though it wasn't yet noon. The surrounding skyscrapers had their lights on, and even the streetlights had illuminated, creating a disorienting sense of time. Driving along the streets that flowed like a small river, I was constantly anxious that I might stall the car in some puddle and be stuck. Finally reaching my building, I froze in the car. Standing in front of my apartment complex, directly beneath my window, a woman stood motionless in the downpour, gazing up at my balcony. The sight was deeply uncanny, and an inexplicable chill swept over me. Could this woman be mentally unstable?

The woman heard the car and, seeing me at the wheel, ran over, pounding violently on the window. "Please, give me back my child! He is my only son! He is the apple of my eye!"

This lunatic was indeed after Yaya. I threw open the car door and charged into the rain to face her. "Yaya is my son! I’m warning you, stay away from my child, my family! Or I’ll show you that being a homicide detective wasn't just for show!"

The woman grabbed my arm and cried out mournfully, "I beg you, give me back my child! I can't reach him myself! He’s hidden where I can’t touch him! That child is protecting him, and I can't get close... Please, I'm going crazy..."

Listening to her incoherent babbling, I knew the woman was truly insane. Perhaps the loss of her own child had driven her to this state, but no matter how much pity I felt, I couldn't allow her to harass my family. Moreover, a person this erratic might do anything unpredictable. "Listen to me, if you don't leave now, I’m calling the police!" I grabbed the woman's collar. "I understand your grief over losing a child, but stop bothering us! I am a mother too, and I would do anything for my own child, do you understand me!"

The woman stared at me, her expression frighteningly vacant. I genuinely feared she might suddenly lash out at me, but she just stood there blankly, then dissolved into even deeper sobs, covering her face with her hands, staggering away into the rain. Watching her retreating figure, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy again. Losing a child could drive a mother mad so easily. I had to protect my Yaya well. As the rain intensified, the woman’s silhouette vanished behind the curtain of water. Suddenly, several streaks of lightning split the sky, followed by a tremendous clap of thunder. The thunder seemed to crash unnervingly low today, almost hovering directly above the buildings. I personally watched a bolt strike the lightning rod atop a nearby high-rise, accompanied by a deafening roar and a blinding flash of sparks. Immediately, the brightly lit windows of that building, lit up because of the gloom, silently went dark, turning into a stark, black silhouette in the rain.

Standing there amidst the tempest of wind, rain, lightning, and thunder, an overwhelming sense of dread seized me, and I nearly fled home as if my life depended on it.

Since the incident with the woman visiting our home, our entire family had been living in a state of constant vigilance, terrified that Yaya might fall into the clutches of that madwoman. The persistent rain, however, served as the perfect excuse not to take Yaya out, significantly increasing his safety coefficient. Yaya, meanwhile, remained completely oblivious to the surrounding tension, continuing to play with wild abandon, his mischievous energy undiminished. Fortunately, after starting to raise a simulated pet in his treasure box, he finally forgot about going to the park, spending his days chatting animatedly with his "Chong Chong" and playing games. He even demanded good snacks from his grandma, claiming he needed to feed it. I could easily imagine that all those treats were consumed by Yaya under the guise of pet care. This little fellow had actually learned to trick me into giving him his favorite sweets—I truly didn't know whether to be angry or proud of my clever child.

The rain had been intermittent these past few days, but never truly clear. The government had already issued flood warnings. My husband had been on the front lines for days and hadn't returned. We detectives were also on high alert, ready to deploy to the frontline for rescue and relief efforts the moment orders came down. Since I might be separated from Yaya for a few days, cherishing our time together became even more crucial. After dinner, I shamelessly reverted to my pre-marriage habits, dumping all the dishwashing and sweeping onto my parents, choosing instead to cradle Yaya and play "Little Bull" on the **. Yaya charged at me like a bull, and Mom immediately collapsed, hands raised: "Mom surrenders! Mom surrenders!" Yaya then pounced on me in a tiger pose, attempting to wash my face with his saliva. I realized this little thing was getting stronger; I was almost losing control of him.

"Mama..." Yaya finally tired, starting to whine sweetly in my arms. "Can't we see Monkey if it rains..."

"Yes, if it rains, Monkey will catch a cold. Monkey's mom won't let him come out." So he hadn't forgotten about that.

"Yaya hates rain..." Yaya pouted. For a child as restless as him, being cooped up for days was torture. "Mama, if I run away from home, you'll cry forever, and it will keep raining, right?" After squirming in my arms for a while, he suddenly blurted out this sentence.

I nearly tumbled off the **. How could Yaya say such a thing? Run away from home? He was talking about running away! My own child had learned such concepts! I quickly pulled Yaya close. "Yaya, tell Mama what happened? Why would you run away from home?"

"Yaya won't leave Mama..." Yaya said while fiddling with my necklace. "Chong Chong ran away from home, and Chong Chong's mom cried, so it keeps raining..."

So that was it... I let out a slight breath of relief. Yaya’s storytelling skills were improving remarkably; not only was he imagining a pet, but he was also crafting backstories involving family for it. This child might become a writer someday. But where did he learn such a phrase as "run away from home"? If I ever found out who taught him that, I wouldn't let them off easily...

"When will Chong Chong's mom stop crying?" Yaya asked.

"If your Chong Chong doesn't go back to find his mom, she will cry forever." A perfect opportunity. I seized it to try and make him forget about that imaginary pet. Although it was just a child’s game, talking constantly to a non-existent pet wasn't ideal. "Yaya, can you ask Chong Chong to go back to his mom? If he doesn't return, his mom will cry forever, it will keep raining, and you won't be able to go to the zoo to see Monkey." I tried appealing to his emotions and reason, hoping he would let go of the imaginary Chong Chong.

"But... Chong Chong doesn't want to go..." Yaya pouted. "He ran away from home..."

"Why did Chong Chong run away from home? Does he not love his mom anymore?"

"Chong Chong's mom is a bad mom; she always wants Chong Chong to go to school..."

Is wanting a child to go to school being a bad mother? That theory should be reversed! I absolutely couldn't let Yaya harbor such a wrong idea; otherwise, what would I do when it was time to send him to school? "Yaya, Chong Chong's mom wants him to go to school because it's for his own good. How can Chong Chong run away because of that? A child who does that is not a good child."

"It's like when Mama wants Yaya to take medicine, but Yaya doesn't like it, but Mama is doing it for Yaya's good..."

Yaya is such an understanding child. Hearing him say that moved me deeply. Even though administering his medicine required Herculean effort every time, he still understood his mother's intentions. But then Yaya added, "But Chong Chong's mom is mean; she always wants Chong Chong to obey and go to school. The teacher hits Chong Chong, so Chong Chong's mom isn't doing it for Chong Chong's good..."

Corporal punishment by teachers is wrong. But how did Yaya learn about corporal punishment in schools? The media today is excessive; children get information from too many channels, making it impossible to guard against everything...

Yaya drifted off to sleep as he spoke. I held him, listening to the faint, steady patter of the rain outside. It seemed my husband wouldn't be home tonight either. I abandoned my educational principle of making the child sleep independently and decided to hold my treasure while I slept tonight.

After gathering us, the Team Leader singled out the few female officers. "You few will stay behind; the rest, get in the cars and head to the front line." We all knew why he specifically chose us. Every woman standing there was a mother, and all of us had young children at home. No matter how bravely we charged into danger alongside our male colleagues during regular duties, the Team Leader couldn't assign us to the disaster relief front line now. We looked at each other; none of us volunteered to take the initiative, none of us insisted, as we usually did, on fighting side-by-side with the men.

Our city had now effectively become a "Water City." Due to its geography, our region usually fought drought year after year, yet this year, after nearly two weeks of rain, we were battling flood control and rescue. It was deeply ironic. All the male colleagues were at the dike; we, meanwhile, remained at the precinct, answering endless calls and speeding into the submerged city to handle case after case. A single day felt like a year. By the time the relieving officer took over my shift, walking out of the office, I felt too exhausted to move.

"Excuse me, sorry to bother you." A timid voice broke the silence.

"Hello, may I ask what you need assistance with?" Before my tired brain could process a response, my mouth mechanically recited the standard line.

"Please help me find my child! I beg you!"

"..." How familiar that voice sounded? I abruptly looked up and saw the mentally unstable woman standing right in front of me. My shriek drew nearly everyone in the office building, and people rushed into the corridor, perhaps fearing a homicide had occurred inside the Criminal Investigation Bureau. I led the woman into my office, slammed my hand onto the desk with the authority I usually reserved for active cases: "Speak! Your name, home address, family members, place of employment!"

"I only want to find my child; I truly mean no harm... It’s been ten days, and I can't hold on any longer. Please give my child back." Seeing her face etched with extreme sorrow, devoid of tears, anyone unaware of the truth would surely pity this poor mother. But all I felt inside was a growing cold: this woman hadn't given up; she was still focused on our Yaya. During this chaos, if she found an opportunity to do something, there would be no medicine in the world strong enough to cure the regret.

"What is your child's name?" I forced a gentleness into my voice, trying to understand her family situation. Even if I couldn't shatter her delusion, I could at least find her family and ask them to keep her under supervision.

"His name is Chenchen; everyone calls him Little Prince." Her expression calmed as she spoke of her child. "He was such a lovely, intelligent child. Everyone said he was a good boy. It's my fault; I insisted on sending him to school too early, and then... sob..." She began to cry again at the painful memory.

Did the child go missing or get abducted while at school? The current state of public safety was truly abysmal. "Did you report the child's disappearance to the police?"

"No, I didn't report it. I know where he is." Her expression became tense. "Isn't he at your house? Can you bring him out and give him back to me?"

"You maniac!"—Although I repeatedly reminded myself this was a workplace, I couldn't control my rage, slamming my hand down again. "I am warning you one last time: Yaya is my son. If you dare think about him again, I will personally stuff you into a sandbag to reinforce the dike! Do you understand me!" My roar drew the attention of colleagues once more, but this time, I couldn't worry about appearances. I put one foot up on a chair, gripped the woman's collar with one hand, and yelled at her with the fiercest expression I could muster.

The ringing of a telephone broke the sudden silence, where everyone’s gaze was fixed on me. A colleague picked up, his expression immediately turning grave after hearing the first few words. "Yes, yes, understood..." He hung up and turned to us. "The river has breached the dike. Residents of Xinhua District need emergency evacuation. We are ordered to maintain order and assist with the relocation immediately."

The situation had finally escalated to this point. Everyone moved with crisp efficiency. I looked at the tear-filled woman, realizing this was not the moment to resolve our issue. "If your home is in a low-lying area, you had better notify your family immediately to prepare for evacuation. Your child will be found. I swear it on my oath as a detective—I will help you look after the water recedes! Go home now; I don't want this natural disaster to cause any loss of life."

I left with my colleagues and saw the woman following outside. She stood in the courtyard, drenched in the rain, tilting her head up. As our car pulled away, we heard her shouting, "Stop raining! Stop raining! I don't want this... If someone gets hurt, my sin will be great. Stop raining..."

A lunatic... everyone in the car thought so.

Amidst the wailing of a madwoman, our car sped towards the evacuation zone. Everyone felt a crushing weight in their hearts—even the madwoman knew this rain couldn't continue...

After over ten hours of continuous work, the residents of the hardest-hit areas were finally evacuated one by one, and I could finally return home to rest. The sight of the residents moving out with their belongings kept flashing before my eyes. These scenes, which seemed distant and unreal on television, were agonizingly real when unfolding in my own city. Despite my physical exhaustion, I couldn't sleep. Hearing my mother coaxing Yaya outside not to disturb my rest, I opened the door and went out. Yaya immediately sprang into my arms with excitement.

"Has Yaya been good these past few days? Has he been a good boy who listens to Grandma?" I, the neglectful mother, hadn't held my son like this to talk in days.

"Yaya good!" Yaya was clearly satisfied with his performance, pretending not to hear the "glorious achievements" his grandma was listing off.

"Yaya is playing the rain game with Chong Chong..." Yaya said, clutching his box. "Yaya says if the rain is heavy, Chong Chong makes heavy rain. Yaya says 'fireworks' (baobao, Yaya's favorite firecrackers, meaning thunder here), and Chong Chong makes 'fireworks'..."

"Yaya’s Chong Chong is so powerful. Then, Yaya, ask him not to rain anymore, okay?"

"Chong Chong won't..." Yaya pretended to converse with the "Chong Chong" inside the box for a moment. "Chong Chong's mom is crying, so it rains... Chong Chong won't go back, and Chong Chong's mom will cry forever, so it keeps raining..."

"Bad boy!" I exclaimed angrily, "Yaya, Mama forbids you from playing with that Buggy. He's a bad boy!" Even with an imaginary pet, if Yaya ascribed the wrong personality to it, correction was necessary immediately. Perhaps this was the consciousness hidden deep in Yaya’s heart. "Yaya, if you knew Mama was crying because you weren't around, would you leave Mama to cry?"

The little fellow stuck out his neck and shouted, "Of course not! I'll blow on Mama so Mama doesn't hurt anymore and stops crying..."

What a good boy. I kissed Yaya a few times and then asked, "Then, if Buggy knew his Mama was crying, shouldn't he go home and blow on his Mama? Is Buggy a bad boy?"

Yaya lowered his head, thinking for a long time, and said, "Buggy is not a good boy." It seemed he still couldn't bring himself to say his pet was a bad one.

"Then shouldn't we let Buggy go back to Buggy's Mama?"

"Yes," Yaya nodded vigorously. "Buggy said if I don't want it, Buggy's Mama will snatch it back immediately."

"So, shall we let Buggy go home?" Before I could finish speaking, the glass window behind me suddenly let out a deafening crash, and all the glass exploded outwards, flying everywhere. Fortunately, my reflexes were quick enough, and I managed to scoop up Yaya and roll onto the floor, shielding the small child with my body. I felt continuous pain in my back and arms—I didn't know how many pieces of glass had struck me. The window shattering was instantaneous, but I lay there on the floor holding Yaya, unable to get up for what felt like an eternity: If I hadn't been there, if Yaya had been playing there alone... Heavens, I couldn't even bear to imagine the consequences.

"Oh my god, what happened? Xiaohua, Yaya, are you two alright?" It wasn't until my mother's voice sounded beside me that I found the strength to stand up, still holding Yaya. The previously clean living room was now a complete mess—glass shards covered the windowsill, the sofa, the coffee table, the floor... that window was utterly unrecognizable, and the cold wind, laden with icy rain, was sweeping into the room. What on earth had happened? A lightning strike? Why would a window suddenly explode?

"Xiaohua, you're hurt... look at all these cuts, oh dear, and there are still glass shards embedded inside..." After confirming Yaya was completely unharmed, my mother cried out in distress upon seeing my wounds. But it did hurt—as my mother treated the wounds, I grimaced every time she plucked a shard of glass out of the flesh with tiny tweezers. Yaya watched anxiously nearby, and I gave him a smile to show it wasn't a big deal, only to cry out in pain immediately as another piece was pulled free.

"Waa..." Yaya suddenly burst into loud tears. "Mama hurts... Mama..."

This was moving; my son felt sorry for his Mama! The pain suddenly didn't seem so bad!

Yaya suddenly ran toward the bathroom, crying and muttering something under his breath. When my mother and I rushed in after him, we saw him turning his precious box upside down over the toilet bowl, pouring something out, continuously saying, "Buggy bullied Mama, Yaya doesn't want Buggy anymore... Yaya doesn't want Buggy anymore... We're done..." After emptying the box, he simply grabbed the toilet plunger and slammed it heavily into the box a few times, then knocked the box against the rim of the toilet a couple of times before quickly closing the lid and hitting the flush button. Then he threw himself into my arms, weeping, "Mama... Wuwuwuwu..."

What was wrong with this child? He kept crying that Buggy had hurt Mama. It took a great deal of effort for me to hug him and convince him that I was fine, and he finally cried himself to sleep. As I placed Yaya in his small bed, a long-absent ray of sunshine streamed in through the window.

The sky cleared.

I immediately rushed onto the balcony and saw the mass of dark clouds rapidly drifting away toward the northern sky, revealing a brilliant blue expanse and a dazzling sun. "Mom, come look, the sky is clear!" I jumped excitedly on the balcony.

Once the weather cleared, the river water receded quickly. Although the city that had suffered the disaster would need some time to recover its vitality, people's lives had at least returned to normal. I believed that before long, everyone would forget about the great flood. Today, humming a tune as I drove back to my apartment building, the good mood I had enjoyed from days of sunshine suddenly vanished—standing below my building was that deranged woman. The flood had just passed, and she was back to disturb our peaceful life?

"Officer Shen," she hurried toward me before I could say anything, and to my even greater surprise, she was leading the figure of a young boy by the hand. "Chenchen, say hello to Auntie Shen."

The boy looked about eight or nine, handsome and lovely, but his face was set in an expression of disdain. He snorted at me after his mother spoke. What an unlovable child, incomparable to our sweet-tongued and polite Yaya—it was a world of difference. "This is your child..."

"Yes, I finally found him..." She crouched down and hugged the boy, her face full of happiness. "Thank you so much for your help; I wouldn't have found him without you."

I was mortified; how had I helped her at all? I had spoken righteously at the time, but afterward, I wished she would never appear again. I hadn't meant any of it sincerely. Now, no matter how thick-skinned I was, I couldn't just accept her thanks as if nothing had happened. I stammered, unsure what to say.

"I caused you a lot of trouble the other day; my second reason for coming is to apologize."

This, I could accept without a guilty conscience; she had certainly thrown our entire family into chaos.

"Chenchen, hurry and apologize to the auntie." She sternly told the boy.

It seemed like the mother, not the child, had caused the trouble? I had originally thought her mind would be restored now that she had found her son, but apparently, that was doubtful. The boy mumbled a very reluctant "Sorry," his eyes fixed on me with malice. I heard that mental illnesses were hereditary... I exchanged a few strained words with the mother and son before making a hasty escape, catching the sight of the woman waving frequently at me in my rearview mirror.

Life settled back into a peaceful routine. Today, stepping through the door, I saw Yaya had dumped all of his treasures from the box onto the sofa, while the treasure box itself rested neatly on his small bed, covered with his little Winnie the Pooh blanket. "Mama," before I could launch into a critique of his messiness, he flew into my arms, gave my neck two "bribing" kisses, and then sweetly asked, "Mama, can I keep Huanhuan?"

Huanhuan was a small fox terrier belonging to the sweet little girl in the apartment downstairs, much adored by the neighborhood children, and our Yaya was intensely jealous of it. For a while, he pestered us daily for one. He had almost convinced his father, but when I proposed that the father and son take full responsibility for feeding, bathing, and walking the dog, my husband immediately fell silent. Yaya, in his innocence, chirped, "Mama feeds Huanhuan." I vetoed the dog idea with a single vote. Now that he was raising the request again, I said gently, "Baby, taking care of a little dog takes so much time. Daddy and Mama are very busy; who will look after it?"

"I will look after it! Look how cute my Huanhuan is..." Yaya presented his treasure, lifting the blanket to show me what was in the box. I had initially feared his father had secretly bought him a dog, but the box was empty.

"Mama, look how cute Huanhuan is, with nine fluffy tails... It says it likes to eat chicken. Can we fry chicken tonight?"

So, it was the old trick of using an imaginary pet to wheedle food out of me again. "Fine, Mama will fry chicken for my little glutton!"

"Yay! I can keep Huanhuan!" Yaya cheered, picking up the box and running to his small bed. "Huanhuan, what games can you play? Can you make thunder and lightning..."

Children truly are delightful. I watched his retreating figure, smiling and shaking my head, and began washing my hands to cook dinner. Suddenly, a muffled clap of thunder sounded across the clear sky outside...