Biting back the unease in her chest, Emma reached for the phone. The caller ID flashed—a number she hadn't seen in a while. It was her uncle. Her hand froze for two seconds before she finally pressed "accept."
Ever since her parents' tragic accident half a year ago, her aunt and uncle had rarely called. When they did, it was with a chill in their voices, their concern little more than a polite formality. In truth, Emma knew the saying all too well: there's no smoke without fire. For them to suddenly call now… there had to be something behind it.
"Emma!" her uncle's voice burst through the line, overly warm, almost forced. "Haven't had dinner yet, have you? Your aunt made pork-and-celery dumplings tonight. Plenty of side dishes too—good ones with wine. Ever since your parents passed, we haven't sat down properly, you and I. Why don't you come over now? Everything's ready, just missing you. Come keep your uncle company for a few drinks…"
At the mention of pork-and-celery dumplings, Emma's stomach clenched with longing. She remembered dimly—yes, there had been such a phone call long ago, and she had gone. But the memory ended with bitter arguments. Still, she was not the Emma Lin of ten years ago.
And besides… was it the walnut sprout's doing? Ever since she had awoken that morning, her hunger had been gnawing, unbearable, as if her very insides had been hollowed out. The scent of food now was more intoxicating than wine. A table waiting just for her? She didn't even hesitate. She answered quickly, voice steady, "Alright, I'll come."
After hanging up, she almost couldn't stop herself from rising immediately. No one knew hunger better than Emma.
But halfway to the door, she remembered the sprout. Startled, she spread her left palm. As if sensing her thoughts, the walnut split open again—this time revealing a sapling half a foot tall. Her eyes widened. The tiny shoot, which had stubbornly refused to grow for so long, had in half a day stretched tall, leaves unfurling, shimmering green with life.
This… this walnut shell, it's extraordinary.
The moment she thought it, the cracked walnut appeared again in her hand, smooth and half-empty. Relief washed over her—still there, still hers. Smiling faintly, Emma curled her fingers into a fist. The sprout and the shell vanished as if they had never been. When she opened her hand again, her palm was bare.
She exhaled slowly. Safe.
Carefully, she hid the ancient silk and the black, tar-like lump behind the sofa. A beat later, she frowned, moved them again, tucking them beneath a pile of old clothes. Only then did she strip off her sweat-damp shirt and shorts, jump into the shower, and scrub herself clean.
Fresh clothes, steady breath. She left her apartment.
The night streets were alive. Downstairs, the row of barbecue stalls was already spilling smoke into the air. Meat skewers hissed and popped on the fire. The scent drifted across the street in waves—oily, savory, rich. Once, Emma would have passed by without pause, unmoved. Now, her throat ached with want, her stomach twisted in pain, and her eyes burned, nearly feral.
Meat…
Her body screamed at her to lunge, to snatch, to devour. But she forced her steps straight, her will iron. Without a glance at the skewers, she walked on.
Thankfully, her uncle's home wasn't far. When she entered, her breath caught. A grand spread filled the dining table: steaming plates, glistening bowls. At the center lay a platter of thick-sliced boiled pork, glistening with fat, paired with dipping sauce.
Emma didn't bother with formalities. She sat down, chopsticks in hand, and began eating. Starving, ravenous, unstoppable. She shoveled food into her mouth, dumplings, pork, soup, rice. To herself, she was merely answering her hunger. But to the others watching—her aunt, her uncle, her pudgy cousin—the sight was shocking, grotesque.
She ate like a starving beast. Three bowls of rice gone in moments. Half the plate of boiled pork vanished into her bowl. A mound of dumplings, a bowl of seafood soup, even half the dish of red-braised pork disappeared before she finally set her chopsticks down.
Her little cousin gawked, then burst out laughing:
"Emma's a pig!"
Pulling a face, he darted off his chair and ran from the room before anyone could scold him.
Emma didn't even blink. The words passed through her like air.
Her uncle shot his wife a sharp glance. Her aunt rolled her eyes, then turned back to Emma with a strained smile. "Emma, don't mind Tommy—he's still a child, no sense in what he says. Today, your uncle and I just wanted to share a meal with you, that's all… actually, there's something we'd like to discuss. But first—are you sure you've had enough? I can get you another bowl."
Emma set her chopsticks down with care. Her gaze flicked to the two of them, sharp and steady.
"No need," she said quietly. "I'm full."
A pause. Then:
"You have something to say. You might as well say it directly."