“Don’t… don’t push it too far!” Uncle Goat was startled. “Your mask reeks—could you stop grossing me out?”
“I don’t care.” Uncle Snake shook his head. “If you won’t help her, I’ll keep grossing you out.”
Uncle Tiger didn’t seem to appreciate his gesture. He just stood up, took my hand, and said, “Little Mouse, forget those two idiots. I’ll come up with a game for you myself!”
He pulled me over to a desk and sat me down, then picked up a pen and paper to think.
A few minutes passed, and he hadn’t written a single word.
“Hiss…” He slowly inhaled, then muttered, “Dodgeball and hopscotch won’t work… maybe shuttlecock kicking…?”
“Oh, come on!” Uncle Snake waved dismissively. “Are you trying to get this kid killed?”
“You—!” Uncle Tiger shook his head in frustration. “How am I getting her killed?”
“Stop thinking about what *your* daughter likes to play! Think about what suits a *Mouse*!” Uncle Snake sighed, then turned to Uncle Goat. “Hey, Goat, give them a hand.”
“With that tiger’s attitude? No way.”
“Then I’ll go hug you.” Uncle Snake said.
“You…” Uncle Goat looked as if he’d been hugged by Uncle Snake before—and he was terrified of it.
He walked over to Uncle Tiger and snatched the pen and paper. “How the hell did your thick skull come up with *shuttlecock kicking*? Why not add jump rope while you’re at it?”
“Jump your—” Uncle Tiger’s temper flared again.
“Uncle… um… swearing isn’t nice…” I tugged at his sleeve.
“Huh?” He blinked, then looked at me with wide, guilty eyes. “I… I wasn’t swearing. I was just… saying hi…”
I blinked. That *definitely* sounded like swearing. How was that a greeting?
Uncle Tiger stared at me for a long moment before softening. “Alright, alright… my bad. I won’t do it again.”
Ignoring him, Uncle Goat sat at the desk and motioned to me. “Kid, come here. I’ve got some questions for you.”
“Huh?”
I hesitantly stepped closer, eyeing him nervously.
“Where did you put on the mask?” His voice was flat, unreadable.
“I think… it was in a warehouse…”
“Warehouse?” He grabbed the pen and sketched a large room. “Like this?”
Uncle Goat was a good artist, but it didn’t quite match my memory.
“Uncle, it wasn’t that big… just a small storage room.”
Nodding, he took another sheet and drew a smaller space.
“Like this?” he muttered, adding a few shelves. “Was there a lot inside?”
“Not really…” I whispered. “Just some shelves along the walls.”
“Anything on them?”
“Um… some boxes, I think. Don’t know what was inside.”
Uncle Goat quickly drew two figures inside the warehouse, paused in thought, then started writing.
**Tentative Game Title: Trust Game.**
“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Kid, come here. I’ll explain the rules.”
“Okay…” I leaned in, studying his little house and stick figures.
“Two players, two ‘Dao’ as entry fee each,” he wrote as he spoke. “They stand inside, asking each other personal questions—especially things they don’t want to talk about…”
“And then?” Uncle Tiger cut in.
“We can lie in the rules. Each player has a different win condition—one must tell the truth, the other must lie.”
“Oh?” Uncle Tiger stroked his chin. “You’re playing dirty?”
“No, it’s just the nature of a goat.” Uncle Goat shook his head. “As they tear off each other’s masks, they’ll also see the ugliest side of human nature.”
Uncle Tiger nodded. “Damn, you’re sneaky.”
“Flattery. Just a bit smarter than you.”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded, then frowned. “Wait—how is this a *Mouse* game? This is a *Goat* thing!”
“Now you’re just being unreasonable,” Uncle Goat sighed. “The game takes place in a warehouse. How is that not *Mouse*?”
“You full of—” Uncle Tiger bit back his words when he glanced at me. “You’re talking nonsense!”
He snatched the paper back. “Besides, your game’s too complicated. Let me fix it!”
He erased all of Uncle Goat’s rules and scribbled new ones.
**Four players, two teams. The team that grabs the vase in the center wins. No restrictions. Weapons provided by the referee…**
Uncle Snake couldn’t take it. “Oh, shut up! You’re one to talk! How is brawling in a warehouse *Mouse*?”
“So what?!” Uncle Tiger shot back. “You think *Mice* don’t fight for territory?”
“Fight my ass!” Uncle Snake grabbed the paper. “You’re all just corrupting kids. Let me handle this.”
He crossed out Uncle Tiger’s rules and started writing.
**Once inside, lock the door with five locks. Each key corresponds to a question. Answer correctly to get the key. The questions are…**
And so it went—one uncle stealing the paper from another, arguing all night without sleep.
They filled sheet after sheet, nearly coming to blows multiple times.
By dawn, they handed me a messy draft. The game they’d come up with was so convoluted I couldn’t even follow it.
Then the door opened.
Brother Ram walked in.
He always stood out—his clothes pristine, his fur snow-white, yet somehow distant.
The three uncles, no matter how scruffy they looked, were kind.
“Mouse, have you decided?” Brother Ram took a seat, his tone indifferent. “It’s been all night.”
“Uh… I…” I glanced at the uncles, who all nodded encouragingly. Taking a deep breath, I said, “I’ve got it…”
“Go on.”
“My game… needs four players. Two teams fight for a vase, but the door’s locked with five locks. Each lock has a question—answer right to escape. And when they get out, they have to ask each other personal…”
“Ridiculous.” Brother Ram cut me off.
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