Every day at half past six, Hung turns on the TV and begins to prep the day's dinner to the tune of a wuxia drama's deathblows and battlecries. There were tremendous lines at the hypermarket today, and it's already past seven by the time he gets back, with the wuxia on TV long since over. But he leaves it on out of habit anyway, and shuffles over to the kitchen to cook. The meat's red and tender; Hung decides he'll mince it and mix in fresh spring onion, planning to fill two tiers of buns. With the meat neatly stacked on the cutting board, Hung picks up a kitchen cleaver in each hand and assumes the Meat-Chopping Stance, when suddenly a mournful wail comes from the living room TV. 'You've fallen into my hands, Zhong Dafa! You know your blood debt. It's time you finally repaid me!' The cleaver drops with a bang, not into the meat, but straight into the cutting board. Hung shakes his ears—he only hears intermittent gasps and sobs. With no clue about what's going on, he continues the work at hand. A short while later, he tosses the filling into a bowl, and is just about to pour in a few drops of sesame oil when— 'Stop, Dacai! You can't kill him! The truth is, he's your brother!' 'Huh?' Hung abruptly lifts his head in disbelief, face blanketed with confusion, beginning to suspect he just heard wrong. More voices immediately follow. 'Ma, how can that be? I don't believe you!' 'When I divorced your ba, we each took a child. We never thought it would lead to a mess like this.' Hung wrinkles his brows, squeezes the bottle of sesame oil, and barely gives it a single shake, only for way too much to pour out, and the bowl of mincemeat to smell to high heaven of sesame. He heaves a sigh and lays the rolled-out pieces of dough in his hand to wrap the buns, all while his ears stand attentively pricked, as if hoping to catch whatever audible clues the television might make next. 'Hmph. No need to hesitate, Zhou Dacai. Just do it.' 'Ma, what do I—what do I do...' The buns he is pleating shut are incredibly lopsided, and he finally stops what he's doing and devotes his full attention to the ensuing conversation. Unfortunately, however, someone seems to have changed the channel, and the TV is now playing video game noises, with Waai Fu and Aak's clamorous voices reaching Hung's ears soon after, followed shortly by the sound of Lee coming in. Hung shakes his head and smiles, and places the uniquely shaped buns inside the already-boiling steamers. The clock's hour hand has been on eight for a while now, and Hung gently uncovers the steamers, the clouds of billowing steam revealing the plump white meat buns before him, as the filling's scallion scent slyly wafts from the kitchen and spreads through the living room, subconsciously luring the people towards it and the table. There'll always be people who say eight o'clock in Lungmen is for the eight o'clock sitcoms, but Hung knows what eight o'clock is truly for—the little round dining table, with his folks sat huddled in a circle.