Take the Chance [RED SON]☆COMPLETE☆

9 Hacking through

Monday 7:30 A.M

"Well, look who’s here—it’s Red Son!"

Ying waved, grinning as he welcomed Red Son into the shop. "What brings you here? You’re pretty early!"

Red Son nodded, offering a polite smile as he stepped inside. "I’m here for Emily. Is she still getting ready?"

Ying chuckled, wiping his soil-covered hands on a spare cloth. "Picking her up, eh? Yeah, she’s still upstairs. Probably fussing over who-knows-what, but she’ll be down in a minute."

Handing Red Son a steaming cup of tea, Ying motioned to a wooden chair nearby. "For now, take some tea and have a look around."

Red Son nodded and took a seat, the tea's faint scent of pine calming his nerves. Beside him was a small tray of snacks and a teapot for refills. He sipped slowly, letting the moment settle as his thoughts wandered to the task ahead. He needed Emily—specifically, her knowledge of the archive system. The museum's security measures were reportedly updated yearly, making it a pain to navigate without insider intel.

Then, a soft aroma of pine and something faintly like old paper caught his attention.

Why does this place smell like pine and old paper? he thought.

Curious, he glanced upward. Hanging from the ceiling were dozens—no, hundreds—of letters connected by red strings. Some were folded into intricate shapes: cranes, hearts, flowers, and animals.

"Fascinating, isn’t it?"

Red Son blinked, startled by Ying’s sudden appearance beside him.

"My forefathers put up those letters with care," Ying explained, his gaze soft as he looked up at the strings. "Each one is marked with the name of the original writer."

"Forefathers?" Red Son asked, his brow furrowing.

Ying chuckled, nodding. "Yeah. These letters are from the past. Some date as far back as the 1920s. We keep them here, believing that one day they’ll reach their intended recipients."

Red Son tilted his head. "But they’re so old."

"True, but they deserve respect. Each one tells a story," Ying said, motioning toward a picture frame on the wall. "See that lady in blue? That’s our great-aunt."

Red Son studied the portrait of a freckled blonde woman, her serene smile frozen in time. "She looks just like you"

"Yep. That’s Aunt Lilibeth," Ying said, smiling fondly. "She was deaf, but she could communicate with anyone using sign language. My grandfather always said she was the prettiest woman in town."