Baru’s feet flew like the wind as he sprinted desperately toward home, as if some terrifying thing chased him from behind. That single gold coin had numbed his body’s pain, driving him to run with all his might.

Finally, a slightly run-down apartment building came into view. Five stories tall, it housed Baru and his adoptive aunt on the fifth floor, room seventeen. The rusted iron stairs thudded under his steps.

"Brat! Lighten your step when you climb!" a gruff voice barked from the apartment nearest the stairs.

"Sorry, sir!" Baru called back without turning, then lunged for his door—a sturdy old iron gate. He yanked a key from his pocket, twisted it lightly in the lock, shoved the door open, and burst inside. He slammed it shut, bolted it tight, and slumped against the metal, gasping for breath. The sprint from District C had drained him completely.

This building sat in District A, the slums’ least grim corner. Cleaner and calmer than Districts B or C, it even had soldiers stationed permanently to keep order—all thanks to Auntie Ling. She worked as a dancer in a wealthy district tavern, a respectable job that covered this "expensive" rent and fed a "burden" like little Baru.

After long minutes, Baru’s breathing slowed. He opened his palm slowly, revealing a finely crafted gold coin gleaming in his hand.

"Hah… haha…"

A grin spread across his face. He glanced around the tiny ten-square-meter room—you could roll from wall to wall without leaving bed. A large bed dominated the right side, its sheets clean and tidy. Beside it stood a dressing table where Auntie Ling always primped before work.

Baru scrambled under the bed, rummaged for a battered tin box, and pulled out his life savings: two silver coins and a handful of coppers. Now, a gold coin joined them. He tucked the box back under the bed, wiped sweat from his brow, and sighed in relief.

Outside, dusk deepened. Exhaustion hit Baru like a wave—ignoring his growling stomach and the bruises from his beating, his eyelids grew heavy. *Thump.* He collapsed onto the bed and sank into deep sleep.

Hours later, familiar footsteps cut through the dark: the *clack-clack* of high heels on iron stairs. Unlike Baru’s reception, the stairwell neighbor greeted the walker warmly, voice dripping with flattery.

Baru jolted upright.

*Click-click.* The door opened.

A woman stepped in, golden curls framing her face, smoky eyeshadow accenting her features. Blood-red lips parted in surprise. A fur coat draped her shoulders, revealing legs sheathed in black stockings, ending in crimson heels. This was Auntie Ling—Lingling—a vision of elegance clutching a heavy bag.

"Baru? I’m home. You here?" She flicked on the light and jumped. The boy sat rigid on the bed, staring blankly at her.

"You little ghost! Why didn’t you answer?" She pressed a hand to her chest, shooting him a mock-scolding glare.

"Sorry, Auntie Ling… just woke up." Baru flashed an apologetic grin and hurried over to take her bag. He hung her fur coat carefully on the rack, brushing off stray dust—her most prized possession.

Lingling settled at her dressing table, removing fake gemstone earrings and a counterfeit necklace with practiced ease. Baru peeked into her bag and gasped. "Auntie, what’s this?"

"Leftover pastries from the tavern," she said, wiping off eyeliner. "Barely touched. Too good to waste—I thought you’d like them."

"Thanks, Auntie!" Baru’s eyes lit up. He tore open a box and shoveled pastries into his mouth.

"Slow down, you starving ghost! I won’t steal them!" Lingling sighed, but her eyes softened with affection.

...

The showerhead hissed to life, spraying hot water. Lingling frowned at the bruises mottling Baru’s back—black and purple patches that made her heart ache even as anger flared. She scrubbed his shoulders with a towel. "How many times must I say it? You don’t need to earn money. I can raise you just fine."

Baru didn’t listen. Face flushed crimson, he hunched away from her, hands clamped protectively over himself. "I can wash alone, Auntie…"

"Alone? *Alone* again?" She flicked his forehead. "Think you’re grown now? Ready to fly from Auntie Ling?"

"I’m not—" he mumbled, head bowed.

She finished his back, gave his bottom a light smack, and ordered, "Turn around."

"I’ll… wash the front myself."

"Nonsense. Now."

"...Fine."

Baru turned, hands clamped tighter, back arched slightly. When Lingling reached for his waist, he still wouldn’t let go.

"Let go already! What’s there to hide? I’ve seen that little thing since you were born!"

"I… I…"

Impatient, she pried his hands apart—and froze. She’d bathed him countless times, but *this* version of her growing boy was new. A faint blush colored her cheeks as she shot him a look that was equal parts amusement and exasperation. "Oh? So you’re all grown up now?"

Baru stared at the floor, face burning like a ripe tomato.