"Stop right there!"
Blake paused, his shadow stretched long on the polished floor of the house. Beside him, Nina's head slightly lowered, her lashes fluttering down to fix on the floor, giving one a semblance of utter obedience and the demureness of a gentle woman.
Blake inwardly twitched his lips in annoyance at the group of four elders seated in the hall.
The eldest of the group stroked his long white beard, his eyes fixed on his grandson.
"Tell me, boy, if a chicken crosses into one's neighborhood yard, who is liable for the damages?"
Blake stood unfazed. His voice came crisp and neat. "Depends. Whether the chicken trespassed on its own or if someone enticed it to cross the threshold with grains. Precedent: Chicken-on-the-Yard Case, 1890."
Another elder quickly cut in, tapping his wooden cane against the marble floor. "If noodles are slurped too loudly at the dinner table, does that count as a violation of public nuisance?"
Blake didn't even blink. "No. Unless the slurping continues past midnight. In that case, the plaintiff may claim mental anguish."
The elder gave a satisfied nod.
Just then, the third elder fired his question, his eyes narrowed with scrutiny at his grandson.
"Answer me this, then… what is abuse?"
This time Blake didn't answer immediately. Instead, his eyes moved to meet one of his paternal grandfathers, who asked the question. His lips pressed into a thin line, his brows drawn together in visible irritation.
"Abuse… is when a mere teenage boy is not allowed to rest after seven hours of schoolwork but is instead ambushed by his family's in-house Supreme Court."
A heavy silence fell across the hall. The maids stiffened in their places, and the butler, who had just stepped out with a tea tray, swiftly turned back and stuck to the wall like a chameleon, praying his camouflage would help him escape the suffocating atmosphere of the room.
Much to their relief, a peal of laughter filled the room.
"Good, good," the elder praised his grandson, his eyes shimmering with pride.
Nina, who stood silently beside her brother, looked at the last elder, who was still yet to open her mouth. Her grandmother, from the maternal side.
The old woman sat with her shoulders straight, wearing a beige qipao with a high collar that she secretly wished one day would choke her wrinkled neck to death. Her snow-white hair was combed into a slick bun. Not even a single strand of hair dared to rebel.
Perched on her face were golden-rimmed spectacles, their edges curved like sharp cat ears, adding foxiness to her features.
"Nina dear…" she called sweetly, her lips curved into a smile, a perfect symmetry, not a degree more on either side.
Nina lifted her head, her eyes now met her grandmother's. She could feel thousands of butterflies inside her stomach already noosed a rope around their neck, ready to hang anytime. Despite the uneasiness, she kept her smile on her lips.
The elderly woman closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, the corners squeezed, sharp enough to squeeze the fly to death.
"Answer me!"
"If the tea leaves swirl counterclockwise, does it bring harmony… or disaster?"
"If the first steam rises, should one inhale it like incense… or despise it like a fart?"
"When pouring tea for a guest, how high must the stream fall?"
"If your hand trembles and a drop spills, who must you apologize to first—the cup or the god of tea?"
"And lastly, which is more important? Warmth of the cup…or the warmth of the heart?"
Even through the thick glass of her spectacles, the sharpness of her gaze did not dull. It fell on Nina like boiling water.
Nina stepped forward and knelt gracefully on the ground. The smile on her lips never wavering.
"Neither, Grandmother. If the tea leaves move, it means they are alive, just as law is…ever moving and never stagnant"
"One must welcome the first fragrance of tea. To drive it away is to brew only water, without a soul"
"The stream should fall high enough to show grace, yet low enough to show humility. Neither boast nor submission—balanced, like our family arguments"
"If tea spills, one should apologize to the guest first. Tea is made for the guest, not for the gods."
"And lastly, warmth of the heart matters most. After all, the cup is porcelain, but the heart is eternal."
Though Nina's smile is a miserable attempt, her answer isn't. The elder gave a nod of approval.
After testing their descendant's brains, the four elders resumed their heated debate before the siblings arrived.
Nina rose from the ground, the gentle smile on her lips dropped instantly. The siblings climbed the stairs and entered their respective rooms, which stood directly opposite each other. Their doors closed in perfect parallel.
Nina tossed her bag carelessly onto the bed, while Blake carried his and placed it neatly at the head of bed.
Minutes passed.
Blake's slender fingers reached out to fetch the giant SpongeBob pillow on the shelf and laid it flat on the bed. His knuckles carefully smoothed the creases on its soft surface like a lover boy tucking his girl's hair gently behind her ear—smooth, careful and tender.
Nina, on the other hand, pulled out her favorite Zig and Sharko plush toy and clutched it firmly in both hands.
The siblings inhaled deeply, then exhaled with such force that the heat flared their nose hairs, hot enough to fry the flying mosquito. Then…
"POUF!"
"SQUEEE~K!"
"FLOP-FLOP!"
"MEEP-MOP!"