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She huffed softly and went back to her room holding the assignment.
Zhuang Jie sat down on the chair by the bed and began taking off her clothes—jeans, wool pants, thermal leggings—layer by layer. She wrapped herself in a thick robe before finally sitting back down to remove her prosthesis. When the residual limb was fully exposed, she leaned on her crutch and made her way to the bathroom.
She was applying a warm compress to the stump when Chen Maidong sent her a voice message.
“I’m at your door. Brought you some medicated patches. A friend of mine made them himself. They’re supposed to help with neuropathic pain in the residual limb.”
Zhuang Jie replied, “Is this stuff even reliable?”
Chen Maidong sent another voice message. “He uses it himself. Just try it. If it works, keep using it. If not, forget it.”
Through the recording, she could hear wind in the background.
She replied, “Wait for me.”
She put her prosthesis back on, changed into a cotton loungewear set, and went downstairs to get the medicine patches.
Chen Maidong was waiting on his motorcycle. She walked over quickly.
“Why didn’t you give it to me when I was at your place?” she asked.
“I just picked up the delivery,” he said, handing it to her. “If it works, I’ll have him send more.”
“Alright. How much?”
“No need for money.” He adjusted the handlebars. “Use a hot compress first, then apply it. Don’t leave it on for more than an hour.”
“Got it. Thanks!” Zhuang Jie looked at the patches in her hand.
“This isn’t some cheap snake oil. My friend comes from a family of traditional Chinese medicine doctors. His grandfather even studied under Shi Jinmo…”
“You know people like that?” Zhuang Jie said in surprise.
Chen Maidong didn’t even respond. He twisted the throttle and rode off.
Zhuang Jie hugged the patches and went back inside, slightly shivering.
Luotao was sitting in front of the computer.
“Who was it?” she asked without looking up.
“Chen Maidong. He brought me some medicine patches,” Zhuang Jie said, locking the door. “Said they help with stump pain.”
“That boy’s decent.” Luotao pushed her glasses up and typed steadily. Then casually added, “Does he like you?”
“Where is this even coming from?” Zhuang Jie leaned over to look at what she was typing.
“I’m practicing typing,” Luotao said. “If I take online orders later, I’ll be faster at replying. I’m learning bit by bit now. When you go back to Shanghai, I’ll already be skilled.”
“You should just focus on production. This is overkill for you. When it grows bigger, hire customer service,” Zhuang Jie said.
“I still need to understand it myself,” Luotao insisted.
“Don’t waste energy on these small things… fine, fine, do whatever you want.” Zhuang Jie hugged the medicine patches and went upstairs.
“People who can’t even handle small things, what big things can they do?” Luotao muttered after her.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re always right!” Zhuang Jie called back.
Upstairs, she first used a hot compress on the stump. Then she tore open the patch, sniffed it suspiciously, and finally stuck it on.
Ten minutes passed.
The sharp, intermittent pain gradually softened into a faint itch.
She messaged Chen Maidong: It seems to work a little.
He replied: How long have you had it on?
Zhuang Jie: Twenty minutes.
He sent a voice message. In the background, his grandmother was scolding him nonstop, complaining that he’d “burned the fig tree in the yard with his piss.”
Zhuang Jie typed: Grandma’s still awake?
Chen Maidong: She doesn’t sleep before eleven.
Lying in bed, Zhuang Jie waited for the effect to stabilize while chatting with him.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore. Just a little itchy.”
He sent her a screenshot. It showed his conversation with his friend. His friend said the itching was normal and would disappear after three uses.
Two lines in the screenshot were blurred with mosaic blocks.
Zhuang Jie asked: What’s in the blurred parts?
Chen Maidong replied: He asked if you were my girlfriend. I said no.
Zhuang Jie: Why even blur that?
He didn’t reply.
Half an hour later, she had already fallen asleep when Chen Maidong called.
“Take the patch off,” he said.
The next morning, she woke up and stepped on the patch that had fallen onto the floor. She bent down to pick it up, then checked the call log.
So the call last night wasn’t a dream.
Luotao came in holding a pair of fluffy slippers.
She told Zhuang Jie that she had added non-slip soles because it was raining outside and snow was forecast for the evening. She told her to dress warmer.
Zhuang Jie stood by the window with her crutch, pulled open the curtains.
Outside, a fine, dense rain was falling.
That morning, the village women’s director arrived early.
She had come under the pretext of checking in, but her real purpose was to understand Chen Maidong’s situation. Old Madam Chen had been running to her house repeatedly, insisting she be the one to arrange her grandson’s marriage. She smiled on the surface, but it was difficult—Chen Maidong’s reputation made it hard for decent families to agree.
He wasn’t bad in recent years, but his past still followed him: a stint in juvenile detention, and now working at a funeral home. His family situation was complicated. Most girls shook their heads as soon as they heard.
Finally, there were two families willing to meet him, but he himself showed little enthusiasm.
Old Madam Chen had even said, “Find someone like the eldest daughter of the He family…”
“Zhuang Jie?” the director immediately shook her head. “I’ve looked into her. That girl won’t stay. She’ll go back to Shanghai sooner or later.”
Chen Maidong put on his gloves, got on his motorcycle, and left without a word.
His grandmother called after him, complaining that riding a motorcycle in cold weather would fill his stomach with wind.
At the funeral home, he hesitated for a moment, then turned back.
The director had already gone home—but coincidentally, she was hosting a family celebration that day. He almost left again, until she saw him and warmly invited him in.
“I won’t sit, Aunt Wu. Maybe another day,” he said.
“What’s wrong? Not convenient to talk?” she asked.
After a brief pause, he explained his purpose.
She was surprised at first, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll feel her out first.”
“Thank you, Aunt Wu.”
“What are you thanking me for? I don’t even know if it’ll work.” She teased him, “Not bad though. You’ve got good taste.”
Afterward, he rode off again for work. On the road, he met an acquaintance, braked with both feet, greeted him, and was tossed a cigarette.
Chapter 16: What are you running away with your tail between your legs for?
Zhuang Jie was livestreaming with her niece while holding a goose, even though hardly anyone was watching.
They didn’t sell many roast chickens, but the goose attracted bids—someone even offered two thousand.
Niece Niaoniao accused Zhuang Jie of selling out just for attention. She had even dressed the goose and tied a pink bow on it. They forgot to mute the mic, and their argument went live.
The comment section exploded with laughter. Within minutes, they sold over a dozen roast chickens.
Luotao didn’t approve of the livestreaming. She said Niaoniao should focus on studying.
Zhuang Jie thought doing it twice a week was fine, especially since she was right there.
While they were talking, the village women’s director called from the courtyard. Luotao went out to greet her.
Zhuang Jie stayed in front of the computer, teaching Niaoniao how to reply to buyers.
Their online shop had only been running for half a month. Zhuang Jie occasionally posted links on her social media. People who wanted to buy naturally did.
She didn’t think selling through social media was shameful—as long as you weren’t scamming anyone.
Sales were surprisingly good at first, mostly thanks to friends sharing the links. But she knew that could only last for a while. In the end, it depended on the taste of the roast chicken itself. If it wasn’t good, no amount of promotion would save it.
Good matchmaking required skill too. Whether it worked or not depended entirely on the matchmaker’s tongue.
The women’s director didn’t state her purpose directly. She only said she had just come back from work and stopped by.
Luotao poured tea for her. They were already familiar, so conversation came easily.
The director glanced at Zhuang Jie and asked Luotao, “She’s in Shanghai alone—you’re not worried?”
“She’s better than me,” Luotao said. “More educated, quick-minded. I’m at ease.”
“She doesn’t want to come back at all?”
Luotao shook her head. “People like us who’ve never seen the world are willing to stay here. But she’s seen too much. How could she come back willingly?”
The director sighed. “I actually had someone in mind for her. But if she’s not staying, there’s no point.”
Luotao replied helplessly, “I can’t decide anything for her. She’s more stubborn than I am.”
The director laughed bitterly. “Same at my house. I can’t say a word without her flipping the house over.”
They chatted a while longer—small talk, gossip, comparisons of children who had left and returned.
Eventually, the director left.
Luotao returned inside.
Zhuang Jie asked, “She’s trying to set me up?”
“You noticed?”
“She kept looking at me. I’m not blind.”
Luotao sighed. “Time’s about right anyway. Someone did bring it up.”
“Who?”
“She didn’t say. Probably won’t work out.”
Zhuang Jie sniffed the medicated patch. “I’m not going.”
Luotao paused. “I’m heading to the factory. Don’t cook dinner. I’ll take the workers out for hotpot.”
“I’m not going,” Zhuang Jie said.
Niaoniao complained, “I envy Zhuang Yan. He gets to study in the city and escape your oppression.”
Zhuang Jie tapped ash from her cigarette. “Finish your order forms.”
Outside, the rain had stopped, but the sky remained heavy and gray.
She stretched slightly, then went back inside to pack the roast chickens, one by one sealing them into boxes.
Chen Maidong didn’t react much when he heard the news.
The women’s director said she would try again next time.
He went out to meet friends for mahjong. Cigarettes were passed around, and they chatted while playing.
Most of his old friends had drifted away after his juvenile detention days, but a few still kept in touch. Now they had all “reformed”—working, married, living ordinary lives.
They met once a month, complaining about life and catching up.
“Winter, Xiewei got out last month.”
“Let him out,” Chen Maidong said, tossing a tile.
“He went to shake down Wudalang for money.”
“Did Wudalang pay?”
“He’s got people eating and drinking at his place every day, putting everything on credit. He just wants peace, so he lent it out.”
“He’s not doing easy either. I even donated two hundred to his father’s crowdfunding.”
“You’re still counting two hundred? My brother-in-law’s wedding alone cost me over a hundred thousand. I barely make that in a year.”
Everyone laughed at him. Chen Maidong laughed too.
Then, suddenly, as if remembering something, he asked, “Was there…”
