Zhong Jin ordered a chick incubator online and later mentioned Zhong Yuntong’s wish to hatch chicks.
Aunt Liang quickly retrieved a few eggs from the fridge. “If you wanted to hatch eggs, you should’ve said so earlier. These have been in the fridge—I’m not sure if they’ll even hatch now.”
Little Yuntong handed over the egg she’d been carrying around all day. “Dis one wasn’t in the fridge.”
Aunt Liang took it and shone her phone flashlight through the shell to check the yolk. The inside of the egg glowed faintly red.
With a smile, she said,
“This one really is fertilized! It can actually hatch into a chick.”
Yuntong tilted her big head back, grinning widely. “Yay! Thank you!”
To increase the chances of success, Aunt Liang picked out three more fertilized eggs. When the incubator arrived, all four eggs were placed inside, pointed ends up.
Qiu Sheng, noticing there were exactly four eggs, suggested that each of the four family members name one and see whose hatched first.
“Mine will be called Chanel, after my favorite, Gabrielle Chanel.”
She even fetched a marker from her studio, carefully selected an egg, and wrote the letter “C” on its shell in black ink.
After marking her egg, Qiu Sheng asked Aunt Liang to pick one.
Grumbling, Aunt Liang said, “Maybe it’s a cultural difference—we never named chickens back home.” But after some thought, she came up with a name: “Chubby. Chubby is cute.”
Qiu Sheng wrote “Pàng Pàng” (chubby) on Aunt Liang’s chosen egg.
Zhong Jin pointed to another. “I’ll take that one. Call it Savage Biao.”
That left just one egg. Yuntong knelt by the coffee table, kicking her little feet as she stared at her unclaimed egg, her big eyes darting between Zhong Jin’s face and the egg.
Zhong Jin knew exactly what she was thinking from that mischievous look.
“No naming it Big Head,” Zhong Jin said.
Aunt Liang frowned. “What’s wrong with Big Head? Sounds fine to me.”
Qiu Sheng, suppressing a laugh, explained, “Zhong Jin’s nickname in school was Big Head.”
Aunt Liang chuckled. “Ah, then that won’t do. Yuntong, think of another name.”
Yuntong gently stroked the unnamed egg, her eyes brimming with tenderness. “Den I’ll call it… Fried Chicken.”
Zhong Jin: “…Now I see your real motive for hatching chicks.”
Once the incubator was set up, Yuntong’s first task after school was checking on her egg.
Each time, Aunt Liang would shine a flashlight through the shell, explaining how the chick was developing inside.
After a week, Qiu Sheng’s “Chanel” turned out to be a dud—just an empty shell—while the other three eggs showed clear veins. Chanel was sadly retired.
Around two weeks in, Aunt Liang filled a basin with warm water and placed the eggs inside.
Yuntong crouched beside it, anxious. “Are dey taking a bath? Need soap?”
“This isn’t a bath—it’s called ‘floating.’ See how Savage Biao is moving? That means the chick inside is developing well.”
Yuntong gripped the edge of the basin, her dark eyes fixed on the egg bobbing and trembling in the water. She mimicked the motion, her chubby cheeks wobbling like jelly.
“My Fried Chicken is moving too!” The excited toddler hoisted herself up, still clutching the basin.
Aunt Liang, however, frowned at her egg. “Why is Chubby just sitting at the bottom?”
A later flashlight check revealed a murky interior—Chubby had stopped developing.
By day 20, Savage Biao and Fried Chicken still hadn’t hatched, just as the first cold snap of winter hit Haishan.
The morning had been sunny, but by noon, rain fell and temperatures plunged below 10°C.
Fearing Yuntong would catch a chill, Qiu Sheng brought a coat to her school, where she ran into other parents doing the same. Many asked, “Any chicks yet?”
Lu Xingxing’s mom even said, “So it’s just Savage Biao and Fried Chicken left now? They should hatch any day.”
Clearly, Yuntong’s loose lips had spread the news—kids had told their parents, and now everyone knew about the chicks, even their names.
One parent scoffed, “You’re really keeping them? They’re so filthy.”
Qiu Sheng kept her tone polite. “We looked it up—they make chicken diapers. That’ll handle the mess.”
“And what about the noise when they crow?”
“We’ve already told Yuntong—if they disturb the neighbors, we’ll send them to the countryside.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “You’ll see. They’re disgusting and loud. I’d never let my kid have pets—so dirty.”
Qiu Sheng paused, then said calmly, “Your child must be so deprived.” Just loud enough for the woman to hear.
Having delivered the jab, she quickly handed Yuntong’s coat to Teacher Luo and bolted before the woman could retaliate.
That evening, Yuntong burst through the door in her puffy floral coat, its hood draped over her round head. She kicked off her little boots and sprinted inside in socks, straight to the incubator on the coffee table to check on Fried Chicken and Savage Biao.
The heated floors made her sweat under her coat. When Zhong Jin called her to wash up and peeled off the damp layers, her forehead was oddly cool. The sudden temperature shifts worried him—would she catch a cold?
Yuntong, having heard the chicks were due soon, refused to miss the moment. She ate meals at the coffee table, stuffing her cheeks like a chipmunk while staring at the eggs.
Suddenly, she stopped chewing, ears perked.
She clambered onto the wide marble table, army-crawled to the incubator, and pressed her ear to the glass lid.
“I hear one eggy talking!” she yelled toward the dining area.
Zhong Jin and Qiu Sheng set down their chopsticks and hurried over.
The shells looked intact, but faint cheeping sounds were audible.
What had started as a simple lesson in life cycles now had even Qiu Sheng on edge. “Will it suffocate? Should we crack the shell?”
Zhong Jin grabbed his phone. “Don’t touch it—I’ll call Aunt Liang first.”
Little Yuntong scrambled down from the coffee table again, flustered as she trailed behind Zhong Jin, urging him, "Hurry up and call! What if the chick suffocates before then?"
Zhong Jin replied, "I’m already dialing. Stop fussing."
Following Aunt Liang’s instructions, they were to leave the egg untouched for now. If the chick hadn’t hatched by the time she arrived the next morning, she would handle it herself.
So Zhong Jin and Qiu Sheng reassured Little Yuntong, coaxing her to calm down and finish her meal first.
That night, Little Yuntong suddenly woke up in the middle of the night. She turned her head to glance at Qiu Sheng’s side—he had buried his face under the pillow, fast asleep.
Quietly, she pushed the covers aside and climbed down from the bed.
She slipped out of the bedroom and made her way to the toy corner. Under the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the window, she rummaged through the toys until she found the miner’s helmet with its headlamp. She strapped it on and flicked the switch, the bright beam illuminating a small patch in front of her.
With the headlamp lighting her path, she tiptoed back to the coffee table where the incubator sat. As the light fell over it, she was met with a pair of tiny, bright eyes staring back at her.
A small, scruffy chick’s head poked out from the cracked shell, its sparse, messy feathers sticking out in all directions. It blinked at her, silent and still.
Little Yuntong froze.
After a long pause, she took a couple of small steps forward and whispered, "Hi, I’m Zhong Yuntong."
Then she quickly corrected herself, "Wait—no, I’m your mom."
As if in response, the chick let out a few soft, cheeping noises right at that moment.
"Oh," Little Yuntong exhaled, suddenly burying her face in her hands and sniffling quietly.
Too young to know how to express overwhelming emotions, she could only cry helplessly at the sight of this tiny life—one that had come into the world because of her.
After a few moments, Zhong Jin, hearing the faint commotion outside, pushed the bedroom door open and stepped out.
He flicked on the living room light and immediately spotted Little Yuntong standing by the coffee table in her pajamas, the miner’s lamp still strapped to her head, tears silently rolling down her cheeks.
Zhong Jin hurried over, kneeling to pull her into his arms. "What’s wrong?"
She pointed a trembling finger at the incubator. "A chick… it’s looking at me."
Zhong Jin glanced up. There it was—a damp, scraggly little creature with wide, innocent eyes staring back at him.
"It’s okay, it’s okay," he reassured her, rubbing her back. "They all look a little rough when they’re first born. It’ll get cuter as it grows." He assumed she was crying because the chick was ugly.
Just then, Qiu Sheng shuffled out of the bedroom, his long hair tousled from sleep.
It was past one in the morning, the air outside freezing cold, the windowpanes fogged with condensation. The three of them settled on the heated floor, watching as the chick slowly kicked free of the shell, finally emerging in full—tiny, wet, and wobbly.
Qiu Sheng picked up a piece of the shell and squinted at the marking. "It’s Sang Biao."
Little Yuntong leaned back against Zhong Jin’s chest, bumping her head against him. "Dad, do you have milk? For it to drink."
Zhong Jin sighed. "...I don’t have milk."
She thumped her head against his firm chest a few more times. "Then it’ll starve."
Zhong Jin quickly pulled out his phone to look it up. "It doesn’t need food yet. We have to wait until its feathers dry before taking it out. Tomorrow, we’ll need to get a brooder."
"What kind of brooder?" Qiu Sheng asked.
Zhong Jin shrugged. "I’ve never seen one before. We’ll check the pet market tomorrow—they should have something."
Little Yuntong scrambled to her feet. "Let’s go buy it now."
Zhong Jin caught her by the head before she could bolt for the door. "No stores are open at this hour. We’ll go first thing in the morning. The internet says it needs to stay in the incubator for at least half a day after hatching anyway. We’ve got time."
The next day was "Light Snow," the solar term marking the deepening cold. Though Haishan was a southern city where snow never fell, the sky hung heavy and gray, as if threatening a blizzard.
After breakfast, Zhong Jin bundled up in his coat and headed out, returning later with a half-meter-tall brooder under one arm, along with a bag of dry wood shavings and a small pouch of millet—all recommended by the shopkeeper.
Little Yuntong, dressed in the sunflower-patterned oversized-collar sweater Qiu Sheng had knitted for her and matching woolen socks, knelt in front of the brooder, tiny fingers fiddling with the latch.
"Dis is da brooder?" she asked.
"Yeah," Zhong Jin muttered distractedly, skimming through the instruction manual.
Little Yuntong tilted her head. "Is it warm inside?"
"Yep."
She glanced back at him, then suddenly yanked the door open and started crawling inside.
Zhong Jin snapped his head up. "What are you doing? That’s the chick’s house."
"But I’m cold. I need warming," she insisted, still trying to wiggle her way in.
The apartment had underfloor heating—how could she possibly be cold?
Then it clicked. Zhong Jin wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her out, pressing the back of his cool hand against her forehead.
She was burning up. She had a fever.
