Qing Chen was seven years old and was awakened by the sound of his mother's voice from the hallway. That was how she always woke them up, by singing in the hallways. Their rooms lined the right side of the second floor of their old house.
His mother was not the best singer but they loved hearing her voice in the morning. It was nice that it was her face that they first saw everyday.
"Good morning, my sweet Chen," she said, peeking her head on his door. "Did you sleep well?"
"I'm good, mom. How was your sleep?" he asked.
"I slept great! Breakfast is ready."
Then she would disappear to go to Wuming's room. Qing Chen would go to his bathroom, wash his face and brush his teeth. Clad in his pajamas, he headed to the dining area where he found his father already smoking a pipe while reading the paper.
Wuming and Qing Lok were already there, playing with the new toys that they got the night before.