Emma's aunt set down her bowl, smiling as she began to speak:
"You see, when your parents were still alive, they told me more than once that the old apartment you lived in was a mess. The heating never worked properly in the winter, the building was crumbling, the power and water were always cutting out, and no one ever came to fix it. They said you once went home for just two days, played on the computer, and your hands nearly froze stiff..."
Emma had already eaten her fill, but while her aunt was talking, she still reached with her chopsticks for the last two dumplings left on the plate, chewing them slowly as she listened.
"...A few years ago, there were rumors your building would be torn down. But four, five years have passed now, and nothing has happened. Everyone's saying the whole matter has probably fallen through. So, your mother told me back then she wanted to move to a new place, and asked me to keep an eye out if anyone was selling a second-hand apartment. She asked me to let her know..."
"My mother said that?" Emma asked after swallowing, lifting her gaze.
The cool sharpness in her eyes made her aunt falter. For a moment, her heart skipped, and her gaze shifted evasively. She couldn't quite explain why, but her once meek and compliant niece seemed somehow changed—distant, unfamiliar, even a little frightening.
But then she remembered: Emma had been away at school for years, and with her parents gone now, she couldn't possibly know all the details. So, gathering herself, her aunt straightened and nodded firmly:
"Of course your mother said so. How could I lie about something like this? After she told me, I kept an eye out. But at the time no one wanted to buy an old flat like yours, so nothing came of it. Who would have thought... that your parents would have that accident..."
Her voice caught, and she dabbed at her eyes with her fingers, while her husband gave her a comforting pat on the back.
Emma only nodded slightly. She said nothing.
It was true that she hadn't been home much in the past, and knew little of the small, domestic matters. But she had never been a fool. In the old days, she would have immediately picked apart the holes in her aunt's words.
When her parents had first passed, the blow had been crushing. Her grief had been raw, impossible to soothe, and when her aunt suggested selling the flat, it felt like a knife to her chest.
But ten years had passed since then. She had seen too much, lived too much. Her heart had grown colder, calmer.
So she only said, "Go on, Auntie."
Her aunt blinked at Emma's unnerving composure, then carefully chose her words.
"So, just two days ago, your uncle's parents called me. They said they wanted to move into the city, find a small place to live. Nothing fancy—just something livable. They're tired of the countryside. And I thought, well, the apartment you have now is perfect for them. After all, your mother once said the same. So I called you here today to talk it over. Not to force you, mind you—just to discuss.
"Emma, you hardly ever stay there now. You live in the dorms most of the time. That flat sits empty, collecting dust. Every time you come back, you have to tidy it up all over again. Isn't that a hassle? And you're in your twenties already. How long are you going to wait for a demolition that may never come? What if you get a boyfriend and bring him home—how embarrassing would it be, taking him to that damp, filthy place?
"Better to sell it now, buy something newer, something decent. A place fit for you to live in, and when you marry someday, you'll already have a proper home..."
Emma had known from the start that this was why they'd invited her here. In the past, she would have flared up instantly. She would never sell. That flat was the last thing her parents had left her. And for her aunt to try to trick her, all for her own family's gain—it was almost unbearable.
And besides, if the old building were ever torn down, she'd either be compensated with a hefty sum or handed a brand-new apartment. Who in their right mind would sell it off cheaply now?
Her uncle's parents only had one son—him. Even if they were still alive and well, that flat would eventually fall into her aunt and uncle's hands. Buy it from her now, and it would be their son's wedding house one day.
She had to admit: her aunt's scheming was sharp.
But she had just eaten their food, so it would be rude to lash out now. So she only asked lightly, "How much were you thinking of offering?"
The couple exchanged a quick glance. Her aunt spoke first:
"Two hundred thousand. How about that?" Then, realizing how it might sound, she hurriedly added, "It's not our money, of course—it's from your uncle's parents. You know the flat's small. You can't compare it to those places with over a thousand square feet. And it might never be demolished, after all. So, two hundred thousand for an old second-hand flat—honestly, that's a very good price. With just a bit more, you could buy a place near downtown..."
Emma's faint smile faded, though she gave no rebuttal. After a pause, she said evenly:
"I wasn't planning on selling. But since you've asked, Auntie, I'll think it over tonight."
"This isn't something to overthink," her aunt blurted. "It's really just a matter of saying yes. If you buy a new place, Auntie will even help you with the paperwork..."
Her uncle cut her off with a sharp look.
"Selling a flat isn't a small matter. Emma needs time to consider. Don't pressure her." He turned to Emma. "Take your time, no rush. Three, five days—it doesn't matter. Just let us know, one way or the other."
Emma nodded. She stood. The meal was over, the conversation finished. It was time to leave.
She had just reached the door when she heard the thud of running footsteps outside. Tommy's voice burst in, panicked:
"Mom! Bob was bitten by the leopard dog!"