Bak Kwa and the Midnight Thief

The air at the Geylang Serai night market was thick with the scent of roasted corn, fried fishballs, and the king of all aromas: sweet, smoky charcoal-grilled Bak Kwa. It was New Year’s Eve, and the Pasar Malam was so crowded you couldn’t even see the ground. People were shuffling shoulder-to-shoulder, uncles were shouting about “Lelong! Lelong!” (sales), and neon lights flickered like a techno-color dream.

In the middle of this chaos stood twelve-year-old Zhi Hao. He wasn’t there to play the claw machines or drink overpriced bubble tea. He was on duty. His family ran “Old Man Tan’s Golden Slices,” a stall famous for Bak Kwa so tender it could make a grown man cry.

“Zhi Hao! Don’t just stand there like a blur sotong (clueless person)!” his father, Uncle Tan, barked while flipping meat over glowing coals. “Go check the cooling rack. The Midnight Batch must be ready!”

The “Midnight Batch” was legendary. It was a special recipe made only once a year, marinated in a secret blend of honey, five-spice, and a “magic” ingredient only Uncle Tan knew. It was supposed to be sold exactly at the stroke of midnight to bring “Huat” (prosperity) for the New Year.

Zhi Hao wove through the stacks of red boxes to the back of the stall. He looked at the special bamboo tray where the thick, glistening slices were supposed to be resting.

His heart dropped. His stomach did a somersault.

The tray was empty. Not even a crumb was left.

“Pa…” Zhi Hao’s voice was a tiny squeak. “Pa! The Bak Kwa is gone! Someone curi (stole) it!”

Uncle Tan dropped his metal tongs with a loud clatter. “What?! Impossible! I just put it there five minutes ago! That batch is worth hundreds of dollars, and my reputation is on the line!”

Zhi Hao looked around. The back of the stall opened into a narrow, dark alleyway used for trash. “I’ll find it, Pa. Stay here and keep the customers happy. If they find out the Midnight Batch is gone, there will be a riot!”

The First Clue

Zhi Hao grabbed his best friend, Mei Lin, who was busy eating a giant sweet potato ball nearby.

“Mei Lin, stop chewing! Emergency!” he whispered, dragging her toward the alley. After explaining the situation, Mei Lin’s eyes went wide.

“Who would steal Bak Kwa? It’s delicious, but you can’t exactly hide it. It smells like a campfire!” she said, wiping sugar from her lip.

Zhi Hao pointed to the ground. In the muddy patch near the alley entrance, there was a footprint. But it wasn’t a shoe print. It was a small, three-toed claw mark. And next to it? A sticky, red smudge of honey glaze.

“Not a human thief,” Zhi Hao muttered. “A monstrous thief.”

“Or just a very hungry animal,” Mei Lin corrected. “Look! More honey drips leading toward the Uncle Lim’s Fruit Stall!”

The Suspects

They sprinted past the “Tik Tok” fried chicken stall and skidded to a halt behind a mountain of durians. There, they saw Fatty Chan, the neighborhood stray cat. He was licking his paws aggressively.

“Aha! Caught red-handed—or red-pawed!” Zhi Hao cried.

But as they got closer, they realized Fatty Chan was licking… fish skin. A discarded bag of salted egg fish skin lay next to him.

“Not him,” Mei Lin sighed. “Fatty Chan hates honey. He’s a savory guy.”

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the direction of the stage where the New Year countdown performances were happening. A group of teenagers was running away, laughing, but one of them was clutching a heavy-looking red bag.

“Hey! Stop!” Zhi Hao yelled.

They chased the group through the maze of stalls. Zhi Hao used his “Night Market Instincts,” taking a shortcut under a clothes rack and jumping over a crate of pineapples. He intercepted the boy with the red bag near the Uncle Bob’s Burger van.

“Give it back! The Midnight Batch belongs to the Tans!” Zhi Hao panted, trying to look tough despite being a head shorter than the teenager.

The teenager looked confused. “What? My laundry?” He opened the bag. It was full of sweaty gym clothes.

“Aiyoh, so smelly!” Mei Lin plugged her nose. “Sorry, brother. Wrong bag.”

The Sticky Situation

The clock was ticking. 11:30 PM. In thirty minutes, the crowd would gather at Old Man Tan’s stall, and if the Bak Kwa wasn’t there, his father would be the laughingstock of the Pasar Malam.

“Wait,” Zhi Hao said, closing his eyes. “Use your nose, Mei Lin. The Midnight Batch has a hint of… cinnamon and toasted orange peel. Uncle Tan’s secret.”

They sniffed the air like bloodhounds. Amidst the smell of stinky tofu and grilled squid, there was a faint, sweet trail. It didn’t lead to the ground. It led up.

They looked up at the colorful canvas roofs of the stalls. A shadow was moving quickly across the tarpaulin. Squeak! Squeak!

“A macaque!” Mei Lin shouted. “The monkeys from the nearby forest park must have come down for a New Year feast!”

The monkey was dragging a grease-proof paper bundle—the Midnight Batch! It was heading toward the giant power generator at the edge of the market. If it got over the fence, the Bak Kwa was gone forever.

The Great Catch

“We need a plan,” Zhi Hao said. “Monkeys are fast, but they are greedy.”

He ran to a nearby stall selling “Dragon’s Breath” snacks—those corn puffs soaked in liquid nitrogen that make you blow smoke out of your nose.

“Uncle, give me a cup! Quick!” Zhi Hao handed over his pocket money.

He and Mei Lin raced to the generator fence. The monkey was sitting on top of a pole, struggling to open the tightly tied bundle.

“Hey! Mr. Monkey!” Zhi Hao yelled. He took a Dragon’s Breath puff and ate it, blowing a huge cloud of white vapor into the air.

The monkey stopped. It had never seen a human turn into a chimney before. It looked fascinated.

“You want some?” Zhi Hao tossed a puff into the air. The monkey caught it effortlessly. As the cold vapor puffed out of the monkey’s nose, it got startled and dropped the Bak Kwa bundle.

“I got it! I got it!” Mei Lin lunged, catching the greasy package just inches before it hit a puddle of muddy water.

The Midnight Reward

They sprinted back to the stall. The countdown had already started.

“TEN! NINE! EIGHT!”

Zhi Hao burst into the stall, gasping for air. “Pa! I got it!”

Uncle Tan didn’t ask questions. He grabbed the bundle, threw the slices onto the grill for a quick ten-second “re-heat” to get the sizzle back.

“THREE! TWO! ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

The fireworks exploded overhead in bursts of gold and red. The crowd cheered, and a long queue immediately formed.

“One box of Midnight Batch, please!” the first customer shouted.

Uncle Tan sliced the meat with lightning speed. He looked at Zhi Hao and Mei Lin, who were covered in sweat and monkey-attracting honey. He handed them each a warm, thick slice of the legendary Bak Kwa.

“Good job, son,” Uncle Tan smiled, his face glowing in the charcoal light. “You have the nose of a true Tan. Now, go wash your face. You look like a hantu (ghost).”

Zhi Hao took a bite. The smoky, sweet, tender meat melted on his tongue. It was the taste of victory, the taste of tradition, and the best way to start the New Year.

“Next year,” Mei Lin said, munching on her slice, “we should just put a lock on the tray.”

“And maybe buy some monkey snacks,” Zhi Hao laughed, watching the fireworks fill the night sky.