On Mid-Autumn Festival, just as I was about to eat the molten custard mooncake my husband had handed me, I suddenly heard a furious little voice shrieking in my head:
"Poison! It's poisoned, you idiot! That's an abortion-pill mooncake!"
My hand shook, and the mooncake hit the floor.
My husband froze for a moment, then gently patted my back and handed me a glass of water.
The voice instantly went berserk:
"Aaaah! The water's no good either! It's a laxative! He wants you to shit yourself into a miscarriage! Don't drink it!"
I shoved the glass away, splashing water all over him.
The voice clapped its hands in delight.
"The idiot finally gets it! I'm warning you, if you can't protect the baby in your belly, I'll make you come down here yourself and keep him company!"
I thought I was imagining things, until my parents, who had died unexpectedly, appeared in my dreams that night:
"Wanqing, be good and listen to the King of Hell. He lost at mahjong to us, so he's come down to help you this time."
