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Chapter 1 — I Have No Interest in You
Zhuang Jie took the high-speed train from Shanghai back to Beijing, then transferred inside the station to another train bound for Nanping Town.
She worked in Shanghai, in medical device sales. This time, she had no choice but to take leave and return home because of a stomach surgery—minor, but enough to force her into recovery.
She walked fast—two steps of hers equaled three for others. When she reached the ticket gate and saw she still had time, she pulled out her phone and returned a call.
The moment the call connected, she laughed twice. Her laughter was crisp and bright, drawing glances from passersby. While talking, her eyes kept moving, scanning the shops on both sides.
She needed to take her medicine. She wanted to buy a bottle of water.
Just as she spotted a small convenience store, the broadcast announced boarding.
Zhuang Jie strode straight in, scanned to pay, grabbed a bottle of water, and came back just in time to join the end of the queue.
On the train, she found her seat, stowed her luggage, then went to fetch hot water with her thermos. Back at her seat by the window, she mixed it with the bottled water, then took out her medicine—only to hear the elderly woman next to her loudly demanding a seat change; her family was seated in the row ahead.
A man in a suit then took the seat beside her.
He sat with his legs casually crossed, hands resting on his knees, eyes closed as if resting.
While drinking her water, Zhuang Jie studied him. Her gaze landed on his long fingers.
“You from Nanping Town?” she asked casually.
No response.
Zhuang Jie didn’t mind. She smiled faintly and took out her notebook to handle her own work.
She had been in sales for six or seven years—met all kinds of people, seen every kind of attitude. She was least afraid of dealing with people.
When she finished, she couldn’t help glancing at his profile again.
Thin lips. A high nose bridge. A faint scar near his brow.
As she was still looking, the man suddenly opened his eyes—impatient, sharp—and looked straight at her.
……
Zhuang Jie just smiled, unscrewed her thermos, took a sip of tea, and asked again without changing her expression:
“You’re from Nanping Town, right?”
At that moment, the announcement came over the speaker—arrival ahead, passengers preparing to disembark.
Zhuang Jie packed up her things. She was about to get off when the man said flatly, without a trace of politeness:
“I’m not interested in you.”
Then he stepped off the train first.
Zhuang Jie only smiled again, unbothered, and followed with her luggage.
Outside the station, she took a deep breath of air. She noticed a smoking area nearby, walked over, and borrowed a lighter from someone.
Just as she took a few puffs, she saw the man walking past toward the parking lot.
She stamped out her cigarette and called after him.
“Chen Maidong.”
The man stopped and turned.
Zhuang Jie smiled openly. “I’m Zhuang Jie.”
Chen Maidong looked at her blankly, not responding.
She pointed lightly to her left leg. “Class Five of Nanping Middle School. Zhuang Jie. I’ve got a prosthetic leg.”
Only then did he look at her leg, thinking for a moment before saying, almost perfunctorily, “Sorry. Didn’t recognize you.”
His tone carried no real apology, as if there was no reason she should have stopped him.
Zhuang Jie tapped her brow lightly. “I only recognized you because of that scar.”
She had transferred into their class in ninth grade. They hadn’t been close, and it had been fourteen or fifteen years since they last saw each other. It was normal not to recognize one another.
What surprised her more was how much he had changed.
Back then he was a troublemaker—someone who probably didn’t even get into a proper university.
She didn’t care much.
“I need a ride,” she said. “Your car’s in the parking lot?”
“Yes.” He nodded, then added politely, “We’ll talk later.”
“Sure. Later.”
Talk later my ass.
Zhuang Jie watched his back disappear and cursed silently.
She had come back on impulse. No one was here to pick her up.
She dragged her luggage toward a taxi, but a few motorcycle taxis immediately surrounded her, saying it would cost twenty-five yuan to Nanping Town. Taxis wouldn’t use the meter either—same price.
She glanced at the bus stop sign. They told her buses were unreliable—sometimes one every half hour.
Zhuang Jie smiled faintly and casually knocked the price down by ten yuan, saying she wasn’t a tourist, she was from Nanping.
One of the riders thought she looked familiar and asked if her family ran the roasted chicken shop near the town center.
She said yes.
Immediately, he turned the bike around.
“Get on, get on. No charge for you. Our families are practically neighbors.”
The motorcycle sped along a long country road. The asphalt had only been laid in recent years. On both sides, freshly harvested corn was laid out to dry. Beyond that stretched endless farmland—some plots freshly turned, others still standing with dried stalks.
The driver pointed at a machine beside the corn.
“That’s a stalk shredder. Crushes corn stalks. City people don’t see this.”
“What happens to the shredded stalks?” Zhuang Jie asked.
“Plowed back into the soil,” he said.
“Back into… what?” The wind was too strong.
“Back into the soil!” he shouted. “Burning straw gets fined now. It’s all crushed into fertilizer!”
“That’s efficient,” she said, pushing wind-blown hair back.
“But fewer people farm now. Land’s either polluted or rented out for factories.”
He spoke loudly over the wind. “This summer the industrial zone leaked sulfide alkali—burned all the corn in the neighboring village. People protested and filed complaints.”
“Wasn’t the industrial zone shut down?” she asked.
“Officially, yes. But some factories still run at night. You know how it is—every cat has its own path, every dog has its own way. But it’s been strict lately. Even equipment’s been hauled away.”
Then he changed the subject.
“You the eldest daughter of Old He’s family?”
“What?”
“Old He’s eldest daughter?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t come back often.”
“I’m busy. Two or three times a year.”
They passed under the town archway.
She pointed ahead. “What’s that construction site?”
“A ski resort. They say it’ll be the biggest in Asia. The industrial zone shut down, so Xiakou Village is turning into a tourist village. Now it’s all tourism economy. But it’s been under construction forever and nothing’s finished.”
Then he glanced at her again.
“Your dad always says you’re doing well in Shanghai. We asked what you do, he just said you deal with hospitals. So what exactly do you do?”
“I sell medical devices.”
Seeing his confusion, she added casually, “Endoscopes. For gastric exams—you swallow a capsule instead of the usual procedure.”
The driver slapped his thigh.
“Girl, sell me one of those! Our town’s got people who’ve done those exams—heard it costs thousands!”
Zhuang Jie laughed out loud, then gave him a list of hospitals.
“If you go for a check-up, just say my name. Won’t make it cheap—but you won’t get ripped off.”
She pointed at an intersection. “I’ll get off here.”
“Girl, your house is still a bit far. I can take you—”
“No need.” She smiled. “I want to surprise my mom.”
“Alright.”
The driver refused to take her money.
He watched her walk normally and couldn’t help thinking—money really changes things. A prosthetic leg that costs tens of thousands and she can still walk like nothing happened.
Her mother had been bragging in the streets recently—her daughter got a high-end prosthetic, can run, jump, even climb mountains. And she paid for it herself.
Zhuang Jie came to Nanping Town at fourteen, in ninth grade, when her mother remarried into the He family.
Her biological father had died in a car accident, and she lost her left leg in that same accident.
Her mother was famous in the town for being capable. After marrying into the He family, she started selling roasted chicken within months. With a family recipe from her maternal side, business thrived, more than enough to support them all.
The year Zhuang Jie entered university, her mother had another child—a daughter from the new marriage.
Now she had a younger brother in high school and a younger half-sister in sixth grade.
Her stepfather was also a loyal man. He had been best friends with her biological father. When her father died, her mother was seven months pregnant. After the baby was born, he brought the mother and three children back to Nanping Town.
Now they ran two roasted chicken shops. Her mother handled sales and new recipes; her stepfather did slaughtering and braising. Life was stable—neither rich nor poor, but comfortable.
The weather was beautiful—clear skies, soft clouds, crisp autumn air.
Even better was Zhuang Jie’s mood.
As she approached home, she slowed down, leaning slightly to peek into the courtyard.
A voice called from behind.
“Xiao Jie’s back?”
She turned.
Her stepfather, He Zhangyue, was coming in from the street. He immediately took her luggage and asked why she hadn’t told them in advance so he could pick her up.
“It’s fine. Ten minutes by taxi,” she said.
He asked if her imported prosthetic was really that good—was it truly like a real leg?
Zhuang Jie lifted her trouser leg for him to see.
“It doesn’t affect walking. Just a bit unbalanced sometimes.”
He Zhangyue led her inside and rubbed his hands together.
“Hungry? I’ll cook you a bowl of noodles.”
“No need, Uncle He. I’m not hungry.”
She smiled. “Where’s Mom?”
“At the shop.”
He suddenly remembered something and headed upstairs.
“I’ll air out your bedding.”
“Don’t bother. It’s almost sunset. Do it tomorrow.”
“Alright.”
He hesitated, then said, “I’ll go call your mom.”
Their relationship was polite but distant—they didn’t really know how to talk to each other.
“No need. I’ll go to the shop later.”
She looked at the stairs.
“Rao Rao’s still at school?”
“Yeah, making up classes.”
“What do you want for dinner?”
“Something soft. My stomach still feels a bit off.”
He immediately became serious.
“You kids only eat takeout all day! That ruins your stomach! I’ll make porridge tonight.”
Zhuang Jie hummed absentmindedly, glancing at his blood-stained apron.
“Still butchering chickens?”
He froze, then hurried away.
……
She showered at home, then went to the roasted chicken shop in the evening.
The shop was in the best location in town center. Not big, not small.
Three or five people were lining up outside.
Zhuang Jie leaned at the entrance watching her mother pack orders efficiently—oil paper wrap, then branded bag.
The logo read: Centuries-Old Brand — Liao Gen Chicken.
Above it was a bright red chicken crest.
“Liao Genji” was her grandfather’s name.
The recipe had been passed down for generations, but her grandfather had made it famous, so they registered it under that name.
Liao Tao saw her and jumped in surprise, then immediately scolded her for not saying anything before coming back.
Zhuang Jie laughed and went to help pack orders.
“I got paid leave for half a month. Figured I’d come back.”
Liao Tao narrowed her eyes.
“Why would your company reward only you?”
“Because I’m excellent,” Zhuang Jie said matter-of-factly.
Liao Tao laughed and pinched her.
Then she gave her a few chicken feet and told her to sit and eat.
While working, she kept looking at her.
“Your company’s smart. After National Day holiday, you basically only got eight days off.”
“My mom’s really good at accounting,” Zhuang Jie replied, checking messages.
Liao Tao was clearly happy. She even added an extra fried chicken leg to an order as a “new product sample.”
Just then, she called He Zhangyue and told him to cook something Zhuang Jie liked.
Zhuang Jie put down her phone.
“Uncle He already said.”
“Why aren’t you eating chicken feet? I just developed boneless braised ones.”
“It’s late. I want something light.”
She didn’t tell her mother about the surgery or dietary restrictions.
“That’s fine. Light food is good for the stomach.”
At that moment, two men came in and started hanging red flags on the shop wall.
After finishing, they greeted Liao Tao, and she handed them fifty yuan.
Zhuang Jie watched them moving from shop to shop, and asked:
“Why are they hanging red…”
