Ever since Xiang Xi started working part-time at the clay-pot rice place, the young nurse from the inpatient department had been ordering from his place almost every day. After Cheng Boyan had eaten twice when the young nurse ordered, the nurse no longer even asked — as long as Cheng was there, he’d just place an order for him too.

And it was always the same dishes each time. Cheng Boyan never said anything, though to him the food was too salty, too greasy, and the MSG (NT: monosodium glutamate) was probably ladled in with a spoon. After eating, he’d feel thirsty for the entire afternoon. Still, he treated it as supporting Xiang Xi’s job — he’d put up with it for a couple of days and then see.

Close to noon, with nothing much to do, he went to the restroom and then stepped into the garden behind the inpatient department for some fresh air.

There were quite a few patients in the garden. Now that the weather was warm, they’d come out for a stroll. Occasionally, a patient he knew would greet him.

He wandered along the little gravel path for a while. Judging that Xiang Xi would be about to arrive with the food, he prepared to head back to his office.

Just as he turned around, someone called to him from the side: “Doctor Cheng.”

“Mm?” He responded first, then turned his head to see a middle-aged man sitting on a bench nearby. The man looked a little familiar. “You are…?”

“I saw you at the outpatient clinic last week,” the man said, starting to get up. The young man next to him quickly went over to help. The man patted his own thigh. “That day you said I needed a joint replacement.”

“Ah, I remember. Please, stay seated,” Cheng Boyan nodded. That day he’d told the man that if he was still uneasy, he could come back for the department head to take a look. “Did you come today to see the director?”

“Got here too late,” the man said. “The director’s already off duty.”

“You can come again tomorrow morning — he’ll be in all morning,” Cheng Boyan said.

“Doctor Cheng, tell me… if I don’t replace this joint, does that mean I’m just waiting to die?” The man frowned.

“Not at all,” Cheng Boyan smiled. “This won’t kill you — it just affects your mobility. It’ll hurt, and be uncomfortable.”

“Then would medicine work for my dad’s condition?” the young man asked.

“There’s not really any medicine that can cure it,” Cheng Boyan could tell the family’s financial situation wasn’t good — both father and son were dressed in very worn clothes. “The blood-circulation and pain-relief medicines you took before, you can take a little more, but those only provide temporary relief. Mainly, your age is a factor, and your case is severe. That day I told you when we looked at the X-ray — the collapse is severe, and there’s almost no joint space left. That’s why we’re considering replacement.”

The young man was silent for a while before saying, “Even the cheapest costs nearly a hundred thousand.”

“Come earlier tomorrow; Director Liang will be here all morning. Let him take a look — he’s very experienced,” Cheng Boyan suggested.

He chatted with them a little more, without offering any hollow comfort. When he left, the father and son were still sitting on the bench, brows knitted in worry.

This kind of helplessness made him think of Xiang Xi.

In the corners invisible to ordinary people, many guard their hardship and helplessness alone.

And whether anyone sees it or not, many times there is nothing you can do.

That was why, when he’d spoken to Xiang Xi about that photographer’s pictures, he’d said they made him uncomfortable. When these things are laid out before your eyes, beyond the surprise, emotion, sympathy, or even anger and disdain, there is more often a sense of powerlessness.

So the meaning of those things, many times, may only be to tear open some people’s wounds, make others hurt, and then return to calm.

When he got back to the inpatient department, he saw — even from down the corridor — Xiang Xi running up the stairs on the far side, carrying two bags of lunchboxes.

When Xiang Xi turned his head and saw Cheng Boyan, he smiled.

Cheng Boyan felt that in the past two days something was a little off with Xiang Xi. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what — he still smiled, still joked — but the genuine cheer that used to come from deep inside wasn’t there.

Xiang Xi brought the food into his office, holding a large bottle of yogurt drink in his hand. He set it on the desk: “Cold — drink it quick.”

“You bought this?” Cheng Boyan was a little surprised.

“Mm. Can’t remember which day it was, but didn’t you say you wanted to drink yogurt?” Xiang Xi said. “Today the delivery over there asked me to pick up some beer for them, so I got you yogurt at the same time.”

“You have some too,” Cheng Boyan said, feeling the bottle — still quite cold — and poured a cup for him. “You’re sweating all over.”

“This doesn’t really quench thirst,” Xiang Xi said, but still took the yogurt drink and finished it in two gulps. Then he wiped the sweat off his face with his hand, glanced at Cheng Boyan, pulled two tissues from the desk, and wiped his face again. “I’m heading off — anything else you want to eat? I’ll go buy it.”

“No, don’t run around,” Cheng Boyan opened his lunchbox. “Remember to talk with your boss about getting the steel pins removed. Don’t worry about the surgery cost — I’ll cover it for now.”

“I’m really afraid I won’t be able to pay you back. How much is it already — two, three tens of thousands?” Xiang Xi sighed.

“It’s fine,” Cheng Boyan said slowly, “if you can’t pay it back…”

“Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t sell that pendant of mine,” Xiang Xi quickly waved his hands. “I’ll definitely pay it back.”

Cheng Boyan smiled at him. “You can do it.”

When he walked out of the hospital, Xiang Xi looked back. He’d never had a good impression of hospitals before — birth, ageing, sickness, death — they gathered the entirety of countless lives here.

Good people die, bad people can live.

But now the hospital had a different meaning for him — a new page, and Cheng Boyan.

It was just that today he was in a bad mood — very bad, in fact.

For the past two nights he hadn’t slept well, constantly thinking about those few glances Da Jian had cast at his face. Even though he’d been giving himself excuses, he still had to summon the courage to face the reality he least wanted to face.

Even if Da Jian had been wearing a mask, he’d probably have recognized him after a few glances.

When he got up this morning and washed his face, he usually just gave it a few careless wipes and left. Today he was a bit dazed, and looked into the mirror for a moment longer — and that was when he became certain: Da Jian had recognized him.

Working in the shop was exhausting; he was always sweating. While working, he never wore a band-aid, but when facing the mirror, the patch of skin just below the corner of his eye — noticeably lighter than the surrounding skin — made it almost hard for him to breathe.

That day, he’d worn his mask very tight, but… even when he covered half his face with a towel, that lighter patch of skin still showed more than half of it.

Da Jian had recognized him.

Damn it, even an idiot in the late stages like Da Jian had somehow learned to keep a straight face — that was a leap forward so great they should give him a rocket-propelled progress award.

Xiang Xi felt powerless. He leaned against the restroom wall for a long time before he could catch his breath.

Even though this was an answer he had always known in his heart but had only been unwilling to believe, actually facing it still left him unable to accept it.

Uncle Ping knew where he was. These past two days there had been no movement — maybe he was just watching him in the dark.

He knew Xiang Xi was working at this shop, knew that every noon he would deliver meals to two places.

But he might not know where he lived.

Every night after cleaning up and locking the shop door, he would leave through the back door, because the narrow alley behind it led directly, by a shortcut, to the bus stop.

All morning, he turned these matters over in his mind, wondering what he should do.

He hadn’t told Fang Yin. He wasn’t sure if something like this would make Fang Yin help him or just get more excited. He hadn’t told Cheng Boyan either.

He really didn’t want to be, in Cheng Boyan’s eyes, a small-time punk forever mired in trouble.

He didn’t even want to tell the boss he was quitting. Clinging to the last bit of hope, he wished he could stay working here — even if the job was hot, exhausting, and dirty, he didn’t want to give it up.

On the way back from the hospital to the shop, he kept nervously scanning his surroundings — was anyone following him? And what, exactly, should he do next?

When he turned onto the old street where the clay-pot rice shop was located, his phone rang.

Xiang Xi hesitated, pulled his little electric scooter to the side of the road, and took out his phone. The display read “4” — it was Fang Yin’s number. When he had saved it, he hadn’t bothered with names; apart from Cheng Boyan and the boss, both Fang Yin’s and the boss’s numbers were stored as digits.

As soon as he answered, he heard Fang Yin’s voice — whether excited or nervous, it was hard to tell: “Xiao Zhan, where are you?”

“Still on the road,” Xiang Xi gave a vague answer.

“Maybe you shouldn’t come back yet,” Fang Yin said. “Two people came to the shop just after you left. Now they’ve finished eating but still haven’t left. They… don’t look like good people — they’ve got that Zhao Jiayao vibe. Are they here for you?”

Xiang Xi had no idea what “that Zhao Jiayao vibe” was supposed to be, but at that moment he was still grateful Fang Yin had called.

“Anyone else?” Xiang Xi asked.

“Didn’t see any,” Fang Yin said. “I’m sitting in the milk tea shop across the street now. Where are you? Want me to come over?”

“Don’t come to me,” Xiang Xi knew that in situations like this, anyone with him would be dragged into trouble. “If nothing’s up, just go.”

“All right,” Fang Yin thought for a moment. “Stay safe. I’ll take a few more photos.”

“Idiot,” Xiang Xi said, “Uncle Ping’s people know you and your ‘cannon’.”

“I’ll keep my head down… Is it really Uncle Ping’s people coming after y—” Fang Yin hadn’t finished speaking when Xiang Xi hung up.

The sun was blazing today; the midday sunlight already had the force of summer. Xiang Xi had been burning under it, but after hanging up, he suddenly felt cool.

The wind brushing over his skin even carried a chill.

He quickly scanned the surroundings but saw no one approaching him — not even anyone giving him a second glance.

He sat on the scooter, staring ahead for several minutes, then finally turned it around and headed into the alley behind the shop.

He should run. From what Fang Yin described, it was almost certain Uncle Ping’s people had come, and there were definitely more than two — there must be others around the shop as well.

But after thinking for a while, he still decided to sneak back and check the situation. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t let it go and wanted to confirm one last time — he was also worried about the boss and his wife.

He parked the little scooter about ten meters from the shop’s back door, turning it so the front faced the mouth of the alley.

On this side of the alley, most of the doors were back doors of houses rented out as restaurants. A few were the main entrances of private residences.

Xiang Xi pulled a discarded old window frame from a trash bin outside one house and held it in his hand as he slowly approached the clay-pot rice shop’s back door.

He’d barely taken two steps when his phone rang again.

Startled, he pulled it out without even checking the caller and hit “silent” first.

It was the boss calling. Xiang Xi didn’t dare answer — he couldn’t bring himself to pick up, knowing he’d brought trouble to this good-natured couple.

When the call ended, Xiang Xi was already at the kitchen door.

From inside came the sound of raised voices.

“How would I know! Normally at this time he’s already back!” the boss was shouting. “What are you doing — get out!”

“We’re just looking for someone,” a man’s voice said, followed by the sound of a chair being kicked over.

Xiang Xi didn’t recognize the man’s voice — he’d never heard it before. Maybe it was a new underling Uncle Ping or Er Pan had taken in. They weren’t saying much, but the noise of clattering and banging in the shop made it clear they were determined to cause trouble.

After the sound of a stack of clay-pots being overturned, the boss’s wife cried out: “What are you doing! He’s just working here! We don’t know anything else!”

“He lives here, doesn’t he!” the man from before said. More crashes and thuds followed, mixed with the shouts of the boss and his wife. The man kicked something with a loud bang. “Once you close up at night, he’s nowhere to be seen! His stuff’s here too, right? Look for it!”

“If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police!” the boss shouted.

“Call them? Go ahead,” the man said. “Let’s see if the cops can come every day.”

“He doesn’t live here!” the boss’s wife yelled in anger and frustration. “He moved out a few days ago! There’s a back door here — he leaves through the back!”

Xiang Xi didn’t listen further. He turned and ran a few steps, jumped on his little scooter, and shot out of the alley.

After turning a corner, he drove while pulling out his phone to call Fang Yin: “Call the police.”

“What?” Fang Yin didn’t seem to understand.

“Call the police! You just going to sit there and watch them smash up the shop?!” Xiang Xi shouted.

“Smash up the shop?” Fang Yin was stunned for a moment. “I’m across the street — can’t see. They’re smashing the shop? Then I’ll call.”

“Hurry up!” Xiang Xi hung up the phone, not even caring which direction he was headed, and just gunned the scooter forward.

He kept going until the battery was nearly dead. Ahead was the moat, so he slowed down, rode another half a block, and found a repair shop where he rolled in to charge the scooter.

“Also check for anything loose or broken, fix it all for me,” Xiang Xi said, squatting at the shop entrance.

“Alright, I’ll take a look,” the repairman replied.

Xiang Xi opened his bag, reached to the bottom, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He’d kept them there all along, but since Cheng Boyan had told him not to smoke, he hadn’t lit one.

“Do you want to replace the front shield? It’s all shattered,” the repairman asked.

“Replace it, but pick me a cheap one,” Xiang Xi said, taking out a cigarette, lighting it, and clamping it in his mouth.

“There’s a cheap one, but the colour won’t match,” the repairman said.

“That’s fine,” Xiang Xi took a drag and then pulled out his phone to call Fang Yin again.

“I called the cops,” Fang Yin said as soon as he answered. “They’ve already arrived, but they didn’t catch anyone. I went inside and had a look — not too much damage…”

“Boss and his wife — they’re not hurt, right?” Xiang Xi cut him off to ask.

“No, just clay-pots smashed all over the floor,” Fang Yin said. “Where are you?”

“Don’t come looking for me at my place these next couple of days,” Xiang Xi didn’t answer the question.

“Alright, I won’t,” Fang Yin thought for a moment. “You worried someone’s following me? Why are they still after you?”

“You watch yourself too. If you get yourself beaten up, don’t come to me,” Xiang Xi said, glancing at the embankment along both sides of the moat, bleached white by the sunlight. “If you let them find out where I live, I’ll kill you.”

“I’m not that kind of person,” Fang Yin sighed. “What a mess… then take care of yourself. I’ll wait for you to contact me.”

“Mm.” Xiang Xi hung up.

There were several missed calls on his phone, all from the boss. It made him feel awful.

This job was gone, and he’d dragged the boss into trouble too.

A wave of frustration and suffocation hit him — something heavy sat on his chest, lodged in his throat, neither going down nor coming out.

He squatted there for a bit, then stood up and kicked the tree by the roadside hard.

The tree didn’t even sway.

He pounced on it and shoved it hard, then started yelling at it and kicking it, finally picking up a broken piece of plastic casing from the repair shop entrance and swinging it at the tree — one shout, one swing.

He kept going until the plastic casing was smashed to bits. Then he sat down on the ground, back to the tree, his palm cut open by the sharp edges, blood slowly seeping out.

Anger.

Grievance.

Emotions with nowhere to go.

When he saw the blood on his hand, he finally started to calm down.

Turning around, he saw the repairman standing there with a wrench in one hand, watching him.

“Can I wash my hands here?” Xiang Xi asked, sitting cross-legged on the ground.

“There’s a hand pump out back,” the repairman pointed.

“Oh.” Xiang Xi responded but didn’t move.

“Go wash up,” the repairman added. “Your hand’s covered in blood.”

“Tired,” Xiang Xi lowered his head to look at his hand. “I’ll rest a bit.”

After sitting in a daze for a while longer, Xiang Xi finally got up, went to the back, and washed his hands. The cut wasn’t big, but a lot of blood had flowed — probably because his circulation had been running strong lately.

“There’s a small pharmacy up front — they’ve got band-aids,” the repairman said, eyeing his hand.

“I have some,” Xiang Xi sat on a stool in the shop, pulled out his stash of cartoon band-aids from his bag, and stuck four of them on his hand one by one. Then he took another and stuck it under the corner of his left eye.

The repairs cost over two hundred, which Xiang Xi thought was fair. The scooter felt better to ride than before.

He rode back to the old street and parked by the clay-pot rice shop’s back door.

It was locked with an old-style padlock. Xiang Xi had a key, but after looking at the lock, he tossed the key in his hand onto the ground — the boss had already changed it.

He locked the scooter carefully to the railing by the back door, then turned and left.

*

When Xiang Xi suddenly stopped delivering meals, Cheng Boyan was a bit surprised to see a different young man making the delivery that day. He’d been waiting for Xiang Xi to arrive so he could talk to him about something.

He asked a few nurses who knew Xiang Xi better, but the young man only shook his head and said he didn’t know anything.

Cheng Boyan pulled out his phone and dialed Xiang Xi’s number.

“Hello?” Xiang Xi answered, his voice sounding a little tired.

“You’re not working at the clay-pot rice place anymore?” Cheng Boyan asked directly.

“Huh?” Xiang Xi’s voice instantly became alert. “Ah — yeah! Not working anymore!”

“Weren’t things going fine? Why’d you suddenly quit?” Cheng Boyan frowned. “Did something happen?”

“How could it be!” Xiang Xi clicked his tongue, then suddenly lowered his voice. “I’ll tell you a secret…”

“What?” Cheng Boyan was baffled by his tone.

“I changed jobs,” Xiang Xi said softly.

“What are you jumping for? Job-hop?” Cheng Boyan almost didn’t react in time. “Where’d you jump to?”

“Jumped to the Shaxian Snacks place across the street,” Xiang Xi sniffled, his voice carrying a note of pride. “I was headhunted, you know — salary’s a hundred more.”

That made Cheng Boyan laugh. “Wow, so badass, huh? Not only job-hopped, but got poached?”

“Mm,” Xiang Xi said. “If you feel like eating Shaxian, I’ll deliver it to you — steamed dumplings? Mixed noodles? Soup dumplings?”

“Alright, quit listing them,” Cheng Boyan chuckled. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

“What is it?” Xiang Xi asked.

“Want to invite you to dinner on Saturday,” Cheng Boyan said. “A few of my friends will be there too. Are you free?”

 

Translator : DarNan