I came out of the kitchen carrying the porridge from the orphanage and heard these words coming from the yard. The bowl in his hand almost slipped out - my son Lu Ping'an, six years old, was sitting cross-legged in the sand pit under the slide, surrounded by a circle of little carrot heads half a head shorter than him.
He held a stack of paper in his hand. The paper glowed white in the sunset. I could see it clearly. Oh my god, that is the DNA paternity test report that I have hidden for six years. I don't know when he dug it out. What's even worse is that he regarded this thing as an enrollment brochure and was handing it out to the children one by one.
