A patient who couldn't get out of bed and a child no one looked after—two people with nothing in common had found something to talk about thanks to a haunted house.
Lying in bed, Gao Ming couldn't understand why the words "haunted house" had slipped out of his mouth. The house the little boy had built from blocks was brightly colored and looked beautiful.
The little boy also looked up at Gao Ming for the first time. He seemed a little flustered, as though his secret had been discovered, but curious as well.
Rubbing his little hands against his clothes, the boy spoke timidly. "When Dad and Mom had me, they lived in a tiny rented room. It wasn't a nice place, but they both wanted to give me a warm home, so they put the character for 'house' in my name."
"The character for 'house'? Were you destined to lack a house, so they put one in your name?" Gao Ming was a little surprised.
"I answered your question. Can you answer mine now?" The little boy seemed to care deeply about fairness, and he was very polite. Only after answering Gao Ming's earlier question did he dare voice his own confusion. "Can you tell... that the houses I'm building are ones where people died?"
Gao Ming's eyelid twitched, and a wry smile crossed his face. Even a god probably couldn't tell an ordinary house from a haunted one in those piles of blocks.
"I don't know why, either. I just opened my mouth and said it. Have we met before? Did you say something around me while I was unconscious?" Gao Ming didn't think he could get any useful clues from the boy, but to his surprise, the boy nodded very seriously.
"My dad often works overtime. That