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“Why are they putting up flags?”
“Isn’t it the 70th anniversary of the founding of the country this year? Every shop along the street has to hang them.” Liao Tao went out to take a look and came back smiling. “They actually look pretty nice once they’re up.”
Zhuang Jie looked outside. Neon lights flickered along the street, lanterns and decorations everywhere. A banner stretched across the road reading: Warmly celebrating the 70th anniversary of the founding of the country. In front of a shopping center, more banners were being hung—it was set to officially open on September 30th.
“Wow, our town’s amazing—they even have KFC!” Zhuang Jie said in surprise, then paused. “Wait… that ‘K’ feels off.”
“What’s wrong with KFC? Your grandpa is still called Liao Genji!” Liao Tao shot back.
Zhuang Jie burst out laughing. Liao Tao always scolded her for it, telling her to stop grinning so foolishly with her head tilted back like that, to act a little more like a girl.
And it wasn’t even real KFC—it was a knockoff called Ken De Qi.
After saying that, Liao Tao went to the cashier to settle the bill, planning to head home early with Zhuang Jie.
Chapter 2: The Mortuary Makeup Artist
Zhuang Jie laughed again. Liao Tao kept nagging her to behave a bit more like a proper girl, not to laugh so openly all the time with her face tilted up like she was carefree beyond reason. The so-called “KFC” outside wasn’t even real—it was a fake brand called Ken De Qi.
Liao Tao went to the register to settle the bill, preparing to head home with her daughter early.
“How many vacuum-packed chickens do you think we sold during this year’s May Day holiday?” Liao Tao asked while tapping at the calculator.
“A thousand. You’ve said it a few times already,” Zhuang Jie replied, glancing at the people passing by outside.
“If this National Day holiday brings enough tourists, we might break three thousand. That’ll be enough to buy each of you sisters a house. Your Uncle He and I would be satisfied.”
“Don’t count me in. I’m not planning to come back anyway.” Zhuang Jie laughed loudly, then turned toward the shop. “Mom, look—his wig just got knocked off! Hahaha!”
Liao Tao grabbed her back inside. “Stop acting like you don’t have a care in the world. Is Shanghai really that easy? It’s so far away—if you get bullied there, you’ll have to deal with it alone. And to be honest, city people are snobbish. Do you think they’ll look kindly on a small-town girl like you? You’re almost thirty already—don’t end up with nothing, neither here nor there.”
Zhuang Jie was about to reply when Liao Tao gestured toward the east side of the street.
“I looked at apartments last month with your Uncle He. We booked two units in the same building. I’m preparing them for you and your siblings—whether you live in them or not is up to you. As parents, we’ve done our part. When Niao Niao grows up, I’ll get one for her too. All three of you will be in the same neighborhood—fair and convenient.”
Zhuang Jie sat down on a stool and peeled a banana.
“Fine. I’ve got some money in my account—I’ll transfer it to you later.”
“Keep it for yourself. I’ve already been saving everything you’ve sent over the years. It’s almost enough for a down payment.”
“Does housing in a small town even hold value?” Zhuang Jie said casually.
“I’m not buying those old ones. The apartments I chose were built by the pharmaceutical factory. Employees get discounted prices—the environment and facilities are the best, and they’ll be easy to resell later. Market price is around five thousand, I got them for a little over three thousand. We’re close to the high-speed rail here—city people are even coming back to buy.”
“Only people who’ve hit their heads would come back to buy,” Zhuang Jie said flatly. “Maybe it’s fine to live in, but as an investment it’ll just sink your money.”
Liao Tao didn’t like that.
“I can only afford to buy in the town. I don’t have the ability to buy city apartments.”
Seeing her mother getting upset, Zhuang Jie hooked an arm around her shoulder.
“Alright, alright. It’s nothing serious. We’ll all live in the same building. You can stay wherever you want.”
“Like I’d want to live with you,” Liao Tao pushed her away. “Go walk around outside. I need to finish up here.”
Zhuang Jie went out for a walk.
Her family lived in the center of Namping Town, the busiest area. The town governed eighteen administrative villages and twenty-six natural villages, with a population of about 190,000. There was a listed pharmaceutical company, a large electronics factory, and government-supported tourism, livestock, and agriculture industries. Just the listed company alone brought in significant employment and tax revenue.
Even so, the wealth gap in town was still wide. The first wave of people who became rich had invested early in the pharmaceutical and electronics factories. Zhuang Jie’s family, however, was only comfortably middle class—not wealthy, just stable.
Besides resorts, the town had developed two food streets and a trendy “internet-famous” street, attracting wave after wave of influencers. Online opinions were divided—some praised it, others said the town had become too commercialized and no longer felt like a quiet place.
Zhuang Jie wandered aimlessly for a while. It really had become commercialized. But what “quiet, away from the noise” ever truly existed? Only people already inside the noise were obsessed with calling it “escape.”
She was getting hungry and about to head back when she noticed a woman selling wontons at the corner of the street. The woman was busy cooking for customers while a child tugged at her clothes, crying for a toy. The woman scolded him a couple of times, pulled him aside, then returned to serving food. In a brief moment of lifting her head, her eyes met Zhuang Jie’s.
The woman froze for a second.
Then quickly looked away, pretending she hadn’t recognized her.
On the way back, Zhuang Jie sent a WeChat message to Wang Xixia, saying she had run into someone from the past on the street—but that person had pretended not to recognize her. She didn’t know how to describe that subtle, strange feeling.
She said they had been best friends in junior high and stayed in contact through university, but she couldn’t even remember when they stopped talking. There was no conflict—just a quiet fading away. Their lives diverged, and naturally, the connection loosened.
Wang Xixia replied: I feel that too. It’s not necessarily that we’re doing better—it’s just that in their eyes, staying in a big city already counts as doing better.
She continued: back then, very few people from their village got into university. If a family had one college student, it was a huge deal. Most classmates went to work after high school. Ten-plus years later, those who didn’t go to college were still stuck at the bottom because they had no qualifications. Society had moved on too fast—they were being left behind.
Zhuang Jie agreed. The interns her company recruited now were all master’s degree holders, and she herself had only just completed her master’s two years ago. The younger generation was fierce—she sometimes felt she could barely keep up.
Wang Xixia said: If you don’t get promoted before thirty-five, your career is basically over. Our company already laid off several women over forty this year.
They rarely had such serious conversations, talking about classmates who hadn’t gone to university, and how their lives had turned out.
Then somehow, the topic turned to Chen Maidong.
Zhuang Jie said she had seen him today—he had changed so much she almost didn’t recognize him in a suit.
Wang Xixia had some knowledge of him and replied: Back in his college entrance exam year, he got into a fight and injured someone. He spent a year in juvenile detention. After coming out, he drifted for another year, then retook exams and went to Changsha. He studied funeral science. Now he’s a mortuary makeup artist.
Zhuang Jie stared at the screen in shock.
A mortuary makeup artist? And he was in juvenile detention?
She had known he was a bit of a troublemaker, but not to that extent.
She remembered that in junior high, when her family was struggling and she had to walk to school on crutches, the teacher asked boys in the class to help her. On rainy days, Chen Maidong had even carried her to the restroom twice.
Wang Xixia replied: He’s not a bad person. Just wasn’t raised by his parents. His grandparents couldn’t control him, and he got mixed up with the wrong crowd.
Zhuang Jie stopped walking. She was curious—how did someone like that end up as a mortuary makeup artist?
Wang Xixia replied: His grandfather had connections at the funeral home. At least he had a position inside. And honestly, he probably couldn’t do anything else.
Zhuang Jie understood.
No wonder. I thought too highly of him.
Wang Xixia: Don’t overthink it. It’s just a job.
Then another message came:
He’s actually very skilled—has professional certification. He worked in Beijing’s funeral home for years. Only came back when his grandfather passed away. Now he takes care of his grandmother.
Zhuang Jie asked: Isn’t his father rich?
Wang Xixia replied: His father has a secret illegitimate son. The mistress was extremely arrogant. A few years ago she came back to cause trouble with the child, and his grandfather severed ties with him completely. It got so bad the police were involved.
Zhuang Jie asked: What about his mother?
Everyone in school knew his family situation. His parents had divorced after a major scandal involving an affair; custody disputes followed, and twelve-year-old Chen Maidong was sent to live with his grandparents.
Wang Xixia replied: They divorced long ago. His mother remarried and had another child. His father also remarried the mistress. He’s been living with his grandparents ever since.
Zhuang Jie suddenly remembered a scene: Chen Maidong once carried her downstairs when her leg hurt. A guard came looking for him, saying his mother was waiting at the school gate. He ran into the rain, came back with red eyes, took off his soaked jacket, and continued carrying her to the restroom without saying a word.
That single moment told her everything—he wasn’t a bad person. All his troublemaking back then was probably just a way to get the school to call his parents, so they would come see him.
At the time, Zhuang Jie had also just lost her father. She understood that kind of desperation completely.
Later, she went to high school in the city and lived with her aunt. Chen Maidong stayed in the town school, and they gradually lost contact.
Wang Xixia then added:
Ji Tong already transferred to headquarters—R&D department.
Zhuang Jie replied: I knew two months ago.
Wang Xixia: I’ll come back to keep you company during the holiday.
Zhuang Jie: Stop it. I’ve already moved on.
Wang Xixia asked: Completely?
Zhuang Jie: Whether I have or not, I have to.
She added: I told him clearly. He’s always been vague with me, never gave me a straight answer.
Wang Xixia was surprised: You confessed?
Zhuang Jie stood on the street and lit a cigarette.
Yeah.
She had liked her superior for three years. He knew it, but never responded clearly. This year she grew tired and finally confessed.
I sent him a 520-character confession. He didn’t reply at all. Before he went abroad, he called and said he’d arrange for me to go too. Screw that—I blocked him.
Wang Xixia replied: That’s probably for the best. The gap between your backgrounds was too big.
Zhuang Jie: It’s not the background. It’s his attitude. He never gave me a clear answer.
I have ambition. I want to go abroad, but not like this—uncertain, arranged by him. If he had nodded, I would have gone without hesitation. Even if he said he couldn’t accept my disability, I would’ve accepted it.
I can feel he likes me. But it’s not enough for him to accept all of me.
Wang Xixia replied: Ji Tong has always been cautious. He won’t commit without certainty. He’s a utilitarian type—always leaving himself an exit. You’re not on his level.
Zhuang Jie didn’t reply.
Then Wang Xixia sent another message:
I’m coming back for National Day. My cousin is introducing me to someone.
Zhuang Jie: Didn’t you swear you’d never come back?
Wang Xixia: Why wouldn’t I?
Zhuang Jie: Fine. We’ll meet when you’re back.
She closed her phone and was about to go home when an elderly woman grabbed her.
“Have you seen our Winter boy?”
“Who is Winter boy?” Zhuang Jie asked.
The old woman let go and asked another passerby. A street vendor replied, “Mrs. Chen is confused again. Winter is at work—he’ll be back soon.” Then he helped her home, saying, “Go cook dinner. He’ll be hungry when he returns.”
Chen Maidong got home around seven in the evening. He had been invited to a neighboring village to handle a body preparation for burial. It was supposed to go to the funeral home, but this was a “joyful funeral”—the deceased was nearly a hundred years old, just three years shy. The son believed in feng shui and insisted the burial be held at home, even hiring two bands of suona players and a performance troupe to make it lively.
In rural areas, mortuary preparation is usually handled by family members. Hiring a professional mortuary makeup artist is rare. But Chen Maidong had come from Beijing’s funeral home…
