Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4-7 2019 | Page 83

smiles and points back at Cece, but I can’t figure out what she’s getting at. After phasing out for a few moments, Cece
tells me that we need to be leaving now, so as she gathers her papers, I walk over to the old shop lady, and ask her why
she pointed back at Cece.
‘You two are very special kids, you know?’
‘Why?’
‘Everything your sister is trying to tell you, it’s true.’
I look at Cece, and by the time I turn back around to face the old lady, she’s gone. As Cece and I walk to the front
door, we find a note on it saying:
What you seek to find is a treasure that was meant to be found by a descendent of the Ming family.
Is that you?
It’s not as if the old lady is able to magically reply, but just for jokes, I write ‘yes’ on the paper left on the door. We step
through the rustic looking door in its ill-fitting frame and we expect it to slam behind us. But there she is again, the old
lady, holding the note, and this time, she looks suspiciously happy. She stares at us, wishes us good luck, and walks
down towards us, handing us a little slip of paper, again with an address on it. A thought pops into my head - what if
she was the unknown person that sent me the email? As if she wanted me to find my sister?
It’s been a long day, so I’m planning to head to the nearest and cheapest motel I can find.
As a child, before he passed away, my father always used to tell me that all great philosophers and adventurers write
down everything. All their adventures, all their thoughts, are logged in a diary so that maybe one day, when that
philosopher is long gone, someone can learn from what they did, what they thought, and make new discoveries and
write it all down. Unlike Mother, he also used to tell me that usually, the things that Cece would think, were right and
if it ever came to it, to believe what she says, even if it contradicts what I think of the matter. And that’s what I’ve
done, my whole life, until there was a gap for a year where I didn’t have a ‘Cece’ to rely on. I think about that as I
walk, and realise I want to follow Cece because I believe in her, just like my father did. After hours of walking, we find
an old scrappy box, hidden under some leaves, in the middle of nowhere.
You’re not going to believe what we’ve found.