The morning air carried the scent of fresh bread and dew-covered grass. Sunlight peeked through the wooden shutters as Lin Hao finished his small bowl of rice, already plotting.
He looked up at his mother.
"Mom… can we go to the city park today?"
She blinked. "The park? What for?"
"I just… wanna see the ducks. And maybe play a little." He forced the most innocent smile his five-year-old face could manage.
She hesitated for a second, then nodded. "Alright. But only after I finish the laundry."
Victory.
Two hours later, Lin Hao stood beneath the canopy of the park's trees, holding his mother's hand. The city was still calm—no mutated beasts, no burning skies. Just laughter, joggers, families, and the peaceful sound of birdsong.
He scanned the surroundings carefully, guiding his mother toward the far edge near the pond. And then—he saw it.
The tree.
Twisted, bone-white, and leaning slightly left. Its branches stretched crookedly above the grass, casting warped shadows. The spot hadn't changed.
"This is a good place to play," he said quickly, letting go of her hand and running ahead.
She sat down on a nearby bench to feed his sister, keeping a casual eye on him.
Lin Hao knelt down beside the base of the tree and started "playing."
He scraped at the dirt with his bare hands, glancing back every now and then to make sure she wasn't watching too closely. His fingers dug into the earth, pushing past pebbles and roots, pulling out handfuls of soil.
The ground was dry and tough. His small hands weren't built for this. After just fifteen minutes, his arms began to ache. Dirt got under his fingernails, and sweat dripped from his forehead.
He pushed harder.
The box had to be here. Somewhere.
But the more he dug, the more the weight of his tiny body betrayed him. His fingers slowed. His breathing turned heavy. His hands trembled.
After an hour, the hole was barely elbow-deep, and all he had found were bugs and a few stones.
His mother called him back when the sun began to sink.
He stood there, panting, staring at the shallow hole with frustration.
Not today.
But tomorrow. Or the next. He would find it.
He had to.
Back home, he sat on the floor next to his father, who had just returned from another long shift. His shirt was damp, his back bent slightly forward as he massaged his shoulder.
"How was the park?" he asked, sipping a cup of barley tea.
Lin Hao perked up. "It was fun! We played near a big white tree. I dug a lot. If I find treasure one day, we can be rich, and you won't have to work anymore!"
His father laughed. "Treasure, huh? What kind of treasure are you looking for?"
"I don't know… maybe something someone buried long ago." He leaned against his father's knee. "If I had money… I could train. Maybe even become a warrior. You too!"
His father raised an eyebrow. "Me?"
"Yeah! If you trained, you wouldn't have to work in the factory. Maybe you'd even be stronger than the beasts one day!"
His father gave a hearty laugh, deep and warm.
"Well," he said, patting Lin Hao's head, "if we ever strike it rich, how about we both train? You and me. Father and son warriors."
Lin Hao grinned, his eyes bright.
"Promise?"
His father smiled. "Promise."
That night, Lin Hao lay in bed, fingers sore and arms aching. But his heart was calm.
That promise wasn't just a joke.
He would make it real.
Even if it took a hundred holes.
Even if his hands bled.
He would find that box.
And he would make sure his father kept living.
Not just to survive—but to fight at his side.