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Chen Maidong asked what was going on. Xiao Sun said the paperwork still hadn’t been completed, but the deceased’s daughter had requested makeup—she wanted her mother to leave this world with dignity.
As he spoke, voices at the front desk rose into an argument. A college-aged girl stood there, clutching her younger brother as they both cried. The boy was clearly terrified, screaming at the top of his lungs—“Mom, I want Mom… I want Mom…”
Chen Maidong went to take a look at the body, then headed to change into protective gear. Xiao Sun caught up with him and said, “Master, the two families have reached a settlement. The husband’s side is handling the paperwork now.”
“They say the husband’s family wrote an IOU to the wife’s family. They’ll pay after the funeral’s done. Seriously… anything can happen, and anything can be solved with money. Rural places are just full of this messy stuff.”
Chen Maidong didn’t respond.
Xiao Sun continued, half venting, half numb. “I’ve stitched up bodies in the city before—men dismembered by their husbands, murder victims from break-ins, people stalked and tortured to death, women killed by lovers and left soaking in bathtubs…”
“Master, master, I get it—I get it.” Xiao Sun quickly changed clothes and slipped away.
By the time Chen Maidong came out, it was already dark.
He went to the shower room first. The boiler at the funeral home made the water hotter than at home. After showering, he changed into a sweater. The moment he stepped outside, the wind hit him and he shivered hard, reluctantly turning back to dry his hair.
After that, he lit a cigarette.
From the mourning hall came the sound of a child crying nonstop. He tightened the borrowed military coat around himself, got on his motorcycle, and rode home.
At home, he saw Zhuang Jie again.
She was sitting at the dining table, listening to Grandma play the accordion. When Grandma saw him come in, she said, “I called Xiao Jie over for meatball soup. Go make yourself a bowl in the kitchen.”
Chen Maidong took off the military coat and went into the kitchen to cook the meatballs.
Grandma added, “Put your coat on. Don’t wait until you catch a cold.”
“Yeah, listen to her,” Zhuang Jie chimed in. “It’s freezing these couple of days—barely eight or nine degrees.”
Chen Maidong glanced at her. She was bundled up tightly in a down jacket.
“Your closet doesn’t even have proper winter clothes,” Grandma went on. “Xiao Jie’s going to the city tomorrow—I’ll ask her to bring you a few sets.”
“Alright,” he said.
He lowered his head, lit a cigarette by the stove flame, and didn’t argue. He didn’t have time for it anyway—he was the only formal embalmer at the funeral home. Unless something special came up, he rarely left the town.
In the living room, Zhuang Jie suddenly laughed out loud at something. He didn’t know what she was laughing at.
He brought the soup back out.
Grandma noticed the cigarette between his fingers and scolded him a few words, saying he’d end up with black lungs like his grandfather.
Zhuang Jie looked at him meaningfully and raised an eyebrow. Earlier, Grandma had been talking about how he once got into fights over girls and ended up in juvenile detention—how he was a good kid at heart, just led astray when he was young.
Chen Maidong slurped his soup, listening as Grandma turned to Zhuang Jie with sympathy.
“You’re unlucky too,” she said. “Just like our Winter boy—bad luck at birth.”
Zhuang Jie didn’t care. She smiled and said she wasn’t doing great, but she wasn’t worse off than anyone either.
Grandma, suddenly inspired, insisted on singing. She picked up the accordion and started playing Soviet-era songs—“Katyusha,” “Troika”—saying these were the revolutionary songs of her youth.
Old people, when lonely, talked too much. She repeated herself, circling back to the same stories, sometimes incoherently. Chen Maidong usually didn’t have time to listen.
But Zhuang Jie had grown up distant from her own grandparents, and her mother wasn’t talkative either, so she found Grandma’s chatter strangely new and interesting.
Eventually Grandma grew tired. Zhuang Jie said goodbye and left.
Chen Maidong walked her out.
Outside, she wrapped her scarf tighter and asked, “Wanna grab a drink?”
“Where?”
“That place at Old Zhang’s—hotpot. Meatball soup didn’t fill me up.”
“Alright.” He went back to get his coat.
They walked to the night market, where a large tent was set up. Inside, copper hotpots bubbled and steamed.
Zhuang Jie rubbed her hands together and sat down. “I hate cold weather the most,” she said. “Winter’s terrifying. One slip and you’re straight to the hospital.”
Then she ordered lamb slices and tripe.
Chen Maidong ordered two vegetarian dishes and asked what beer she wanted.
Zhuang Jie waved her hand. “Baijiu.”
“Who drinks beer in this weather?”
They stared at each other.
Zhuang Jie tilted her chin. “Say something. I’m cold. Let me rest.”
“Your leg okay? You’re walking a bit off,” Chen Maidong asked.
“Old injury. Phantom limb nerve pain,” she said, taking a sip of liquor. “Your house is freezing. Like an ice cellar.”
“You’ve got heating at yours?”
“Turned it on a few days ago. My mom even burned coal briquettes.”
“Two old people died of carbon monoxide poisoning in the town last year.”
“We extinguish the fire before sleeping.”
The food arrived. Zhuang Jie dropped meat into the pot and asked, “All your friends are in town?”
“What friends?”
“Your social circle.”
“I don’t drink,” he said when she poured him alcohol.
“Then why come? Drinking alone’s boring.”
“I might get called to the funeral home at night.”
“Right… sorry. I’ll drink myself then.”
She poured more for herself.
At the next table, people were talking about a new ski resort—over a billion invested, opening at New Year’s, expected to boost tourism.
Zhuang Jie asked casually if there was a hotel.
“Of course. Built by the resort. They even say there’s a hot spring.”
“A hot spring in this town?”
“Artificial,” someone replied. “Everything can be made.”
Zhuang Jie glanced at Chen Maidong with an unspoken expression—even hot springs can be fake?
He lit a cigarette and told her not to drink too fast.
“I’ve been drinking with my mom since I was a teenager. Nothing ever happened,” she said, laughing. Then, quieter, “Honestly… this feels kind of strange. Me sitting here drinking with you. I don’t even have friends in this town.”
“Aren’t your friends everywhere?” he teased.
She laughed. “Not like that. I do have friends, but everyone’s busy. We only talk when there’s something to say.”
“So what am I? Your boredom cure?” he asked.
She paused, then said lightly, “You’re a proper friend I can talk to. We match in worldview. I don’t just drink with random men.”
“You’ve got improper friends too?” he shot back.
“Fuck off. Can you drop that prejudice? What are you to me anyway?”
“I’m pretty self-respecting,” she said, half-annoyed. “I don’t do hookups. I don’t need to use my body—”
She stopped, uninterested in continuing the argument, staring at the tripe in the pot, considering leaving. Then she thought—why should she be the one to leave?
“If you don’t like me, go home and sleep,” she said.
Chen Maidong refilled her glass. “Sorry. I was narrow-minded.”
She didn’t press it further. “Good that you realize it.”
He clinked his tea cup against hers in apology.
“I want happiness very easily,” she said suddenly. “Sex doesn’t excite me at all.”
He looked at her, then added meat to her bowl. “Same. I don’t feel anything about it either.”
She was surprised, then asked what she’d been curious about for a long time.
“Do people in your line of work… all have psychological issues?”
“Depends on the person,” he said.
She nodded. “I’ve read about male OB-GYNs and female urologists. They say it’s fine, but I think they’re just saying that.”
“That kind of thing varies,” he replied. “There’s psychological counseling for specialized jobs.”
She hesitated. “I once had a colleague whose husband went into the delivery room with her. After that, he couldn’t sleep with her anymore.”
“Why are you researching this?” he asked.
“No reason. Just overheard people talking at work,” she said quickly.
Then, more casually, “I had a friend whose boyfriend freaked out when he saw her amputated limb during intimacy. She lost all self-esteem after that.”
“…Sorry,” he said after a pause.
“No need to apologize,” she smiled. “My disability is just a fact.”
“I don’t have issues either,” she added. “I just haven’t met someone I can comfortably take my prosthetic off in front of.”
He asked quietly, “What about the person you used to like?”
“He’s at headquarters,” she said. “I don’t love him anymore.”
After a moment, she added, “I actually wanted to take it off… I just think he wouldn’t dare look.”
“Why don’t you love him anymore?”
“He doesn’t match my standards anymore,” she said, extinguishing her cigarette. “I’m thirty, not eighteen. If I still can’t see things clearly, I might as well jump off a building.”
“And your standards?”
“Are you interviewing me?” she glanced at him.
“Just helping you check if there are suitable—”
“I’m not coming back,” she interrupted.
Chen Maidong let out a short laugh. “I’ve got friends in the city…”
“Don’t say it’s you,” she cut in.
“Stop talking nonsense,” he said, getting up to buy cigarettes.
When he came back, they didn’t stay long. He eventually borrowed a motorcycle and sent her and her younger sister home.
Back upstairs, Zhuang Jie filled a bathtub with hot water and began removing her prosthetic.
Zhuang Niaoniao peeked in with a math worksheet, chewing on her pen.
“Get out,” Zhuang Jie said irritably. “I’m not signing it.”
Scoring barely ten points and still asking for a signature.
Zhuang Niaoniao held the door, raising her hand. “I promise, this is the last time.”
Zhuang Jie leaned on her crutches and went into the bathroom.
Through the door, the girl still insisted, “Really the last time!”
Zhuang Jie pushed her head out and closed the door.
In the bath, she chatted with Wang Xixia on WeChat, saying she’d go to the city tomorrow and buy winter jackets. Wang Xixia told her not to, saying she’d already ordered two Canada Goose coats for her.
Then a message came from Chen Maidong.
He sent a picture:
“Thigh-length down jacket (for nighttime, warmth first)”
“Regular down jacket (for daily wear, not too bulky, quality and style prioritized)”
