Eating Melons in the Police Station-Chapter 82
Qiu Chen had been in Haishan for half a month, and the domineering CEO had visibly withered.
A few days ago, Zhong Jin got up in the middle of the night for a glass of water and saw Qiu Chen sitting blankly on the sofa, staring vacantly at the cold moonlight outside the window. When Zhong Jin called his name, Qiu Chen turned his head—whether it was the hazy moonlight or the exhaustion of tutoring a child, he looked a decade older in an instant.
From that day on, Zhong Jin stopped asking Qiu Chen to do chores. Tasks like sorting vegetables or feeding the chickens were no longer his responsibility. Even Qiu Sheng stopped arguing with him, humoring his every word. She even drove to a famous restaurant to bring back bird's nest soup to soothe his frustration.
Yet despite all this, one day, Qiu Chen still ended up in tears.
He spent a full two hours teaching Little Tong that 3 + 5 = 8. Then he asked, "What about 5 + 3?"
Little Tong counted his toes earnestly before declaring with confidence, "Six."
Qiu Chen’s eyes reddened instantly. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, and Zhong Jin, worried he might snap, stepped between them.
But Qiu Chen, after all, was a man who had weathered storms. In the end, he simply stood up, walked silently to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, and returned to continue the tutoring session with forced calm.
Another week passed like this. Little Tong’s collection of toys and snacks grew, but Qiu Chen’s spirit dwindled.
Finally, Qiu Chen had had enough. He packed his bags and prepared to return to Jing City.
Zhong Jin and the others saw him off at the airport, where his secretary was already waiting.
The secretary had spent the past half-month living in a five-star hotel in Haishan, relaying company matters to Qiu Chen while enjoying lavish buffets and free hot springs—more like a vacation than a business trip. He looked positively radiant.
In contrast, Qiu Chen seemed to have just endured the darkest period of his life—haggard, thin, and emotionally volatile. Even something as trivial as his suitcase wheel jamming in a floor groove sent him into a rage.
The secretary thought to himself, *Looks like the boss’s long-term planning didn’t go so smoothly this time.*
After finally sending Qiu Chen off, Zhong Jin and the family assumed he had given up on grooming an heir. They even celebrated with a barbecue dinner.
But three days after Qiu Chen returned to Jing City, disaster struck in Haishan.
He had hired an online tutor for Little Tong, scheduling two-hour lessons every evening at 7 p.m., with Qiu Chen occasionally checking in remotely to assess the progress.
Little Tong’s world collapsed.
It was only after Zhong Jin argued fiercely that the child was granted weekends off—five days of online classes, two days of freedom.
Zhong Jin grumbled to Qiu Sheng, "Your brother was born a capitalist. Even the worst sweatshop bosses aren’t this ruthless."
Qiu Sheng, flipping through a magazine with a face mask on, replied indistinctly, "Because that’s how he was raised."
As the primary heir of the Qiu family, Qiu Chen had undergone rigorous training from the same age as Little Tong—not just academics, but also etiquette, horseback riding, golf, and other social skills deemed necessary for his future.
And unlike Little Tong, he wasn’t naturally gifted. To meet the family’s expectations, he had studied relentlessly, with almost no time for play.
Since he had endured it, he saw no reason why Little Tong shouldn’t do the same.
The topic of Qiu Chen inevitably reminded Zhong Jin of someone else—his younger sister, Zhong Yan.
After Zhong Jin was admitted to the police academy, Zhong Yan had seamlessly become the presumed successor of the family business.
But unlike Qiu Chen, she hadn’t suffered through a grueling upbringing. Like her brother, she was a natural genius—one of those effortlessly brilliant students.
Zhong Yan shopped, gamed, traveled, and chased celebrities like any other teenager, yet still aced every exam, consistently ranking in the top three.
Thanks to their family’s wealth, she traveled abroad nearly every holiday, turning those trips into a side hustle by reselling luxury goods. By high school, she’d already made a small fortune.
Later, she dabbled in stocks. At first, her investments fluctuated, but after studying the market, she began turning steady profits, earning more money than she could ever spend.
Back then, Zhong Yan had often complained about the outdated redwood furniture at home. She dreamed of redesigning the family business with contemporary Chinese aesthetics, even fantasizing about winning the SIT Furniture Design Award and showcasing authentic Chinese style to the world.
But she never got the chance. Her life ended abruptly before any of those plans could unfold.
During Qiu Chen’s stay, Zhong Jin kept thinking about her. If Zhong Yan were still here, she would’ve scoffed at Qiu Chen’s rote-teaching methods.
She would’ve taken Little Tong on a wild day of skipping class—probably having more fun than the kid himself.
Who knows how happy Little Tong would’ve been with his aunt around?
Qiu Sheng noticed Zhong Jin’s sudden silence and guessed he was thinking of family.
She peeled off her face mask, set aside the magazine, and looked at him with concern, unsure how to comfort him.
In the face of such profound grief, words felt hollow.
Glancing at the clock, she saw it was almost time to pick up Little Tong and smoothly changed the subject. "Are you going to get him?"
Zhong Jin snapped out of his thoughts, rubbing his eyes as he stood. "Yeah."
*
At the kindergarten, the teacher announced a winter garden event for the next day, requiring parental attendance. Families were instructed to bring their own lunches and dress warmly.
The notice was posted in the class group chat. While Zhong Jin drove, Qiu Sheng read it aloud.
Then she asked, "Are you going tomorrow?"
"Of course," Zhong Jin answered without hesitation. "Nothing urgent at the station. I’ll go with you."
Qiu Sheng added, "We’ll have to pack lunch. Maybe just some cold dishes? Something simple."
"Not in winter. We have a thermos—we’ll bring hot soup."
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"Oh!" Qiu Sheng perked up. "I just remembered those online 'stove tea' setups. We could buy a small portable stove to warm food, roast chestnuts, red dates, even marshmallows."
Little Tong, nestled in his upgraded plush car seat with the heater blasting, was already dozing off in comfort.
The moment she heard about roasting marshmallows, her dark, bright eyes immediately flew open, and she excitedly raised her hand: "I want to roast marshmallows!"
Qiu Sheng turned to her and said, "Warm marshmallows can also be dipped in melted chocolate sauce."
Little Tong instantly shook her head eagerly: "Please roast marshmallows for me!"
"Your ideas are so quirky. Where can we even buy the tools now?" Zhong Jin grumbled, but even as he spoke, his hands steered the wheel, changing the car's route toward the cluster of supermarkets ahead.
Qiu Sheng looked up online and found a supermarket selling a stovetop tea set. "Actually, we could order online—it’ll be delivered in 30 minutes," she told Zhong Jin.
Zhong Jin glanced at the supermarket’s address. "This one’s right ahead. Let’s go pick it out ourselves and grab some other ingredients too."
Ever since having a child, Zhong Jin had become intimately familiar with Haishan’s major supermarkets—he knew exactly which sections sold what.
Given the cold weather, he didn’t want Little Tong eating too much ice cream, so he deftly maneuvered the cart to avoid the freezer aisle.
He may have avoided the freezers, but he couldn’t escape the Snow King still operating in the winter chill.
The famous ice cream brand was promoting a new product, with employees dressed in Snow King mascot costumes performing in an open area of the supermarket.
The chubby Snow King even invited customers to dance battles—just follow along with a few simple moves, and they’d reward you with a mini cone, barely bigger than a thumb.
Little Tong might as well have had a built-in snack radar. She spotted the ice cream giveaway from afar and, wearing the fingerless gloves Qiu Sheng had knitted for her, slapped the metal handle of the shopping cart with her plump little hands: "I want to go over there!"
Zhong Jin pushed the cart toward the commotion. After a quick rundown of the rules, Little Tong demanded to be lifted out of the cart and confidently marched up to Snow King, ready to perform.
No one knew where she’d picked it up, but the moment she started dancing, her feet automatically turned inward in a pigeon-toed stance.
Clad in bulky snow boots, her little feet angled inward, she clutched her hands and performed a short, earnest but hilariously awkward routine.
Zhong Jin recorded it all on his phone, already envisioning how mortified she’d be when she saw this as a teenager.
The thought alone amused him.
After her dance, Little Tong earned a mini cone and wolfed it down in one bite. Still craving more, she dashed back for another round.
Snow King held up a plump hand. "Only one dance per kiddo!"
Little Tong clasped her hands, pouting sweetly. "Please give me another one? Thank you!"
Snow King, utterly charmed, wavered—but company policy was firm. So, the mascot whispered conspiratorially, "How about getting Mom and Dad to dance? They can win prizes for you."
Zhong Jin, who’d been gleefully filming nearby, froze mid-laugh. The moment he heard "Dad’s turn," he spun on his heel to flee.
But his traitorous little daughter, like a cannonball of betrayal, lunged and clung to his leg, refusing to let go.
The crowd, already gathered for the event, erupted into good-natured laughter at the spectacle.
Zhong Jin covered his face with a hand, muttering, "Fine, fine, I’ll dance—just let go."
Meanwhile, Qiu Sheng had already stepped up to Snow King, who clumsily attempted two Michael Jackson moves.
She wagged a finger at him, grinning, and shook her head. Then, in her flat-heeled boots, she smoothly glided through a moonwalk. Though she hadn’t practiced in years, her childhood dance training still showed—enough to impress amateurs, at least.
Add to that Qiu Sheng’s striking looks and poise, and even her simplest moves captivated the audience.
When she finished, spontaneous applause broke out, with a few kids shrieking in delight.
Watching from the sidelines, Zhong Jin felt a flicker of nostalgia—back in their school days, during New Year gatherings, Qiu Sheng would always perform front and center, effortlessly commanding attention.
Snow King handed her the mini cone with both hands, tilting its head. "You look like a celebrity."
Qiu Sheng laughed brightly, waved, and jogged back to Zhong Jin and Little Tong.
Little Tong carefully pinched the cone Qiu Sheng had won, savoring it slowly, licking the cream bit by bit.
Seeing Qiu Sheng’s performance, Zhong Jin couldn’t back out now. He exhaled, squared his shoulders, and trudged forward.
Tall and lanky, with zero rhythm, his flailing limbs made him resemble a seaweed swaying in the current.
Little Tong clutched her stomach, howling with laughter. "Daddy’s so funny!"
Then came the ultimate betrayal: "Mom, record him! Send it to Sister Shishi and Maternal Uncle! Hahahaha!"
