"Xiao En, dinner's ready. Eat well, okay? Mom has something to do and needs to head out. I'll be back in a little while." His mother's voice came from the entryway. She seemed to be bending down to put on her shoes.
Tang En calmly looked at the completely untouched dishes before him: two dishes and a soup.
Two cold mixed dishes and a meat soup.
The cold dishes seemed to contain the roots or stems of some unknown insects or something else, all things he did not recognize.
The soup contained pale meat from some unknown animal, cut into chunks and endlessly rolling with the boiling currents in the white broth.
Tang En silently picked up a bowl, ladled himself some soup, and began to eat.
He did not want to touch those strange-looking cold dishes. The meat soup beside them looked strange as well, but at least it had been cooked. The high heat gave his constantly taut heart a slight sense of reassurance.
Amid the quiet clinking of bowls and chopsticks, he quickly finished his dinner.
After eating, he slowly walked to the small balcony, changed into the shoes meant for the balcony, and went outside to water an unknown green plant in a pot.
While watering it, he peered and gazed outward from the high balcony.
His home was on the fourth floor.
It was an unlucky number, but ever since that great change six years ago, he had chosen the number four no matter what he did.
In Tang En's faith, numbers had never been invented by humans. They had been discovered by humans.
They had existed since time immemorial. Perhaps they had always represented some wondrous, indescribable influence and power.
As he watered the plant, he carefully plucked four exceedingly tiny seeds from it.