As a child, I went and sojourned with my grandfather in the country on summer vacation. A chemist, Grandad operates his pharmacy in the village.

During my stay with Grandad, my brother and I often sneaked into his drugstore and smuggled some drugs out of the place. Then we retreated to the attic or the backyard, where we would be conducting our experiments with the drugs.

First, we dropped the tablets, capsules and pills into a basin of water. Instantly, the water turned red, blue, purple and many other colours. After that, the coloured “magical water” was bottled in vials and buried in a wood near the house. We were doing the whole thing with gusto, as if we were boffins working on a great invention.

Years passed, and I became a middle school student. I had thought Grandad would never find out about our crime, well, until Mid-Autumn Day last year. That day, the family were seated at a table by the pond near the house, savouring the festival delicacy mooncake, when a weird thing happened. Enticed by the aromas of our food, some chickens were making their way tentatively to us from the wood by the pond. Their plumage was of varied hues, releasing odd smells. The family were very much amused by the sight.

That evening while the family were watching TV in the living room, my brother took me out to the wood, where we had buried the magical water years before. He flicked on the phone torch. By the light, we saw the wood had turned into a playground for the birds. The floor was riddled with holes, which the feathered devils had made while scratching about for bugs and insects. The upturned soil was colourful. Broken phials lay here and there on the floor of the wood. It turned out that the bright chicken feathers had their origins in the crime we had committed years before.

A sudden pang of guilt crept over us. We were about to go back to the house and apologise to Grandad when I felt a gentle pat on the shoulder. Turning around, I found myself looking up right into a smiling face. It was none other than Grandpa.

“Sorry, Grandad,” I mumbled a feeble apology, face blushing and head bowed.

Grandad laughed it off. “Kids,” he went in a chirpy tone, “I knew all along what you were up to with the drugs. I did not stop you, because I liked the bliss on your faces. It was priceless. No money could possibly have bought it for me.”

Oh, what a grandad! I love you!