Guanshiyin, The One Who Hears, gazed upon the metallic fishes with solid sheens of red, white, and gold, swimming around her with angelic grace. Water flowed from her little jar and into the pond where she rose. A gentle smile eased across her stony features to bathe the evening air with warmth and radiance. As the sun set, shadows grew longer. The intentions behind her half-closed eyes betrayed.

The sun dipped low and painted the garden gold. Manicured hedges guarded the crushed white stone paths. The winding paths strayed away from the pond of The One Who Hears. One such path cut across the emerald lawn and led to a lone bench hosting an elderly couple. The stunning view below the cliff where they sat featured the city glistening like gold bars under the setting sun.

The elderly man resembled an aging tree. Bald and bent, his weatherworn face etched with the deep struggles of life. Despite the weight of a long life, the edges of his eyes crinkled with marks of laughter and joy. A mark he shared with his wife.

Short and plump, his wife wore her silver hair in a little bun. Curving upwards, the corners of her mouth hinted at her playful nature. Her eyes still twinkled from when she snuck a cookie to her grandson. Creases decorated her simple blouse and pants, a permanent feature that came from hugging her grandchildren too much. She rested her head on his bony shoulder, once broad and strong, now a mere husk of its former glory.

She closed her eyes and let out a sigh of contentment. The years had changed them, but it hadn’t broken them. Despite the hell they have been through, they were still together, side by side, as they had always been.

The elderly man asked, “Did it hurt this time?”

His wife stiffened for a moment then uncoiled herself to hug his twig-like arm. A single tear ran down her cheek when she said no.

Without looking at her face, the elderly man knew the pain. He kept his silence and patted her hand. It was better this way.

A small breeze caressed the elderly couple. It carried the aromas of greasy food and diabetic pastries. The elderly man chuckled at the embarrassing growl his wife’s stomach made.

“Careful—others might think I’m not feeding you enough.” It earned him a slap to his arm.

Smirking, he sprung up from the bench with surprising vigour. “Let’s go to the patio—I can’t wait to see what we’re having tonight.”

“They’ve been making the same dishes for a decade now, I doubt it will be any different this year.” Taking her husband’s hand, she said, “It’s always roasted pork and deep-fried fish. Why can’t it be a Big Mac?”

“Careful—she hears all.”

“Does it matter? We smell like we’ve just finished a week-long barbeque but all she does is hear.”

The elderly man didn't respond for a while. They walked hand-held together, enjoying the quiet.

“Our son is still alive today.”

“I know. I… I just wished we had some variety this year. ”

“This is karma—you made the same exact dishes for our parents too.”

Instead of another slap from his wife, he felt her tugging at his arm. “Is… is that our new gardener?”

The elderly man squinted his eyes at where his wife pointed. A boy sat on the ground, hugging his legs. Jet-black hair curtained his forehead and stopped short of covering the inky void of his eyes. Dark brows stood out against his ghostly pale face. A pencil neck swallowed by a loose white tee followed by a pair of navy blue shorts.

“He’s too young to be a gardener,” whispered the elderly man.

“Why are you whispering,” she hissed at him. “We are in our garden and it’s not as if he could hear us. If he’s not the gardener… could it be? Maybe they’ve—”

“I'm no gardener,” said the boy, causing the couple to gasp.

“Y-you can hear us, boy?”

The boy turned to face the couple with a cocked brow and said, “I can see you too.”

The couple turned to look at each other, mouths agape. Annoyed, the boy tried to keep his expressions respectful but failed. If brows had legs, they would’ve jumped right off the boy’s face.

Closing his gaping mouth, the elderly man tried to appear sagely and asked, “How did you get in here, boy?”

“The gate was open.”

“T-this is a private property,” his wife said, arms folded. “Do you walk into people’s houses just because the gates are open?”

“She told me to enter.”

“Who?”

The boy pointed at the stone statue in the middle of the pond.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Don't point at her like that,” she hissed but looked to her husband for reassurance. He remained expressionless.

“What are you doing here, boy?”

“I'm hungry.”

“You should join us, boy. We’re too old to finish everything anyways,” the elderly man said to the boy but looked pointedly at his wife.

Before she could protest, her stomach growled like a certain circus lion before the movie played at the cinemas.

“Come, boy,” beckoned the elderly man. “Before we end up in my wife’s tummy,” and received a rather hard slap to his arm.

The boy stood up and followed the couple. He could barely see past them and both the elderly man and his wife were hunched over like a willow tree.

They ambled along the garden’s shallow stream. Metallic fishes splashed excitedly beside them, reflecting the twilight like an underwater rave. They resumed swimming like the fat fish that they were when they realised the trio didn't have any food on them.

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Don't know.”

“How rude.” His wife whipped around facing the boy, nostrils flaring. “We’ve invited you to dinner—the least you could do is introduce yourself.”

“Well, boy?”

“I… don't know my name.”

The couple looked at each other wide-eyed.

“Where are you from, boy?”

“Don't know.”

“W-what about your parents? Surely you must know where they are.”

As surely as the sun would rise tomorrow, the boy told them he didn't know. The couple stopped interrogating him and continued their silent stroll.

The smell of food grew stronger with each step. Smoky aromas snaked into the trio’s nostrils while their ears were serenaded with the savoury sound of juicy red meat sizzling on the stove.

Hurried footsteps and clinking silverware echoed into the garden. A mansion came into the trio’s view, glowing white against the darkening sky.

Tall dark doors opened wide on the side of the mansion, revealing a vast hall with a minimalist white interior. Interlocking paving bricks the colour of the great pyramids extended from the mansion to form a patio the size of a half-court.

Several black iron chairs and tables littered the paved outdoor space. In the middle, a long table draped in blood red spread fluttered in the gentle wind. An assortment of dried snacks and packet drinks covered every inch of the table except the three central serving stands where the main dishes would be placed on top.

Two men in vests carried a blackened round stone slab onto the grass where the pavement ended. A woman in a similar vest placed a cylindrical mesh over the stone slab. It was a burning pit.

More men and women in vests appeared from the mansion carrying bags full of copper, silver, and gold paper ingots. Some brought out designer clothes and shoes while others carried branded bags and watches. There were elegant jewellery, sporty superbikes, electric cars, private jets, and even an elaborate house—all placed neatly near the burning pit. All made of paper, all made to burn.

The elderly man and his wife fussed over the house servants but they carried on with their duties as if the couple wasn't there. The boy thought it was odd but waved it aside when he noticed the cheeky grins given to the house servants after each expressive nag.

By the time they reached the last servant, the full moon had shone over their heads. Paper flags planted at the edges of the patio fluttered with violent waves. Crimson candles burned stubbornly against the wild winds, red wax pooling between the flags like congealing blood.

As quickly as the wind came, it disappeared along with the house servants.

A middle-aged couple stepped out of the mansion with plates full of steamy food. The elderly couple swarmed around them like flies, cooing with light-hearted complaints and compliments. The words “son” and “daughter” were casually thrown around. Despite the older couple’s incessant chattering, the younger couple remained silent as the graves.

The man was dressed in a polo tee and long pants while the woman wore a sleeveless hourglass dress that ended below her knees. He wore a silver watch. She wore a golden bracelet. He had square glasses and stubbles along his jawlines that grew into a full goatee while she had none.

They set down the dishes on the serving trays.

“Roasted pork, deep-fried fish, and steamed chicken,” said the elderly man.

“Again,” said his wife, disappointed. Nevertheless, she wiped the drool off the corner of her thinning lips.

The man picked up a bundle of incense from the table. The woman opened a pack of drinks. He lit the twelve sticks over a bowl of oil with floating candles. She stabbed two packet drinks with red straws.

He placed the glowing incense into the pork, fish, and chicken. Their sweet, smoky scent filled the chilly air with tender warmth. She placed the drinks beside two steaming bowls of rice. Sugary liquid trailed down her hands when she gripped the packet drinks with unintended force. Dark and damp spots dotted the tablecloth.

The woman took six incense from the man. She kept three while the remainder went onto the rice bowls and a sponge cake. They stood side by side, wisps of smoke swirled around them as they held the glowing sticks above their heads.

The man spoke.

“I call out to my dear father, Mr Lim Ng Chieng, and my dear mother, Madam Hii Chen Mui. Today, the gates of hell have opened and I have prepared food for your return. Please enjoy.”

They waved the incense three times before planting them on the ground around the table.

“Come, boy,” the elderly man called out to the boy. “Before my wife eats the whole table.”

Without waiting for the boy, the elderly man walked right up to the table and snatched a piece of roasted pork with his bare hands. His wife was already helping herself to the fish.

He tore into the pork. She ripped the drums off the chicken. Grease dripped from his mouth as he bit into the juicy meat. Cream and cake stuck on her hands as she stuffed herself silly. The middle-aged couple, like all the house servants before them, stood watching the table unfazed. As if they had not been witnessing two greying humans feasting like wild beasts.

Far from the table, in the shadows of a willow tree, the boy was hesitant. The lack of restraint shown by the elderly couple was troubling and the lack of reaction by everyone else was unnatural. But his stomach commanded him forward.

As soon as he stepped forward, the middle-aged woman became visibly distressed. She looked around as if tormented by an invisible fly.

“Did you hear that, dear?” she said.

“Hear wha—”

The man froze at the sight of the boy. They held each other’s gaze for the longest time before it was broken by a wet splat.

One of the packet drinks had fallen onto the ground. There was no wind.

“Who are you,” asked the middle-aged man.

The boy spoke but the man heard nothing.

“Who are you,” the middle-aged man demanded.

“He said he doesn’t know,” said the middle-aged woman.

“How did you get in here?”

“He said he followed an old couple…” She trailed off looking at the table. “H-he said they are eating the offerings now. And he said…”

The man looked at the woman, puzzled, but she gave no reply. Stroking the cross around her neck, she looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“What did he say?”

“He…”

“Yes?”

“He said mum wants a Big Mac.”