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“Is this the batch from that girl called Zhuang Jie at your place?”
“Net shipments?”
“Yeah.” Chen Màidōng nodded.
“Damn feathers—I’ve never seen a woman like that. She squeezed the price straight into the ground.” Ajie straightened up on the stool. “She sat there in my office and said she’s doing at least a hundred orders a day, asked me what price I’d give her. I quoted her casually, she heard it and got up to leave. I couldn’t even figure her out, so I called her back immediately. She turned around and cut my price again—asked me if I could do it or not.”
“Cut the crap. Did you close the deal or not?” Chen Màidōng lit a cigarette.
“Of course we did. Couriers are competitive—better to earn something than nothing. That woman’s sharp too, like she’d already done her homework on the market price.”
Chen Màidōng tossed down a tile without replying.
“Hey, Winter bro, why you asking about her?”
“About you,” Chen Màidōng said flatly.
“Ask away, ask away, whatever you want.”
The table erupted in laughter. Chen Màidōng didn’t bother with him.
“Hey Winter bro, I saw Juanzi the other day. I was depositing money at the Agricultural Bank and nearly got scared to death.”
“So what does that have to do with me?” Chen Màidōng glanced at him.
“She asked about you. Even wanted your WeChat.”
“She moved back?”
“Probably. Heard she got divorced—her husband drank too much and used to hit her.”
“Hit her?”
“Fuck you, domestic violence means hitting women.”
“I really don’t know what domestic violence is…” he muttered, just as the cotton curtain of the mahjong hall was lifted and a few more people came in.
One of Chen Màidōng’s friends shot him a look. Chen glanced over, then turned back to the table, continuing to shuffle tiles.
One of the newcomers was Hedgehog.
Years ago, Chen Màidōng had fought him and ended up sent to juvenile detention because of it.
Hedgehog pulled up a chair. A guy beside him leaned toward Chen Màidōng.
“Winter bro, lend me some pocket money?”
“Go ask your damn mother,” Chen Màidōng’s friend snapped back.
Hedgehog kicked out instantly—but missed.
The next second, Chen Màidōng kicked him over.
Two days later, Zhuang Jie heard about it.
They said Chen Grandma had beaten her own grandson, then stormed over to Hedgehog’s house with a sickle, yelling she’d cut the boy’s head off.
Hedgehog’s nostrils flared outward—at certain angles he really did resemble a pig, but no one dared say it out loud.
“Chen Grandma’s fierce,” Tiaotao said, dipping a bun into chili paste. “She’s just afraid that brat keeps getting tangled up with that pig boy. Once you get slippery, it’s hard to climb back up.”
“Impressive,” Zhuang Jie replied, picking at shredded potatoes.
Tiaotao smacked her hand. “Don’t dig around the plate like that. Eat from your own side.”
“It’s all green peppers anyway.”
Ignoring her, Tiaotao continued, “Back in the day Chen Grandma almost made the national team. I forget—table tennis or badminton. She was still jogging in her forties.”
“Impressive,” Zhuang Jie said again, sipping soup.
“The old couple are decent people. Just the son dragged them down.”
“Impressive.” Zhuang Jie echoed absentmindedly.
Tiaotao finally smacked her lightly again, said a few more instructions, then rode off on her electric scooter to the factory.
Zhuang Jie washed the dishes, then sat down at her computer trying to figure out a parcel printing machine.
To improve efficiency, she had bought both the printer and the software. Supposedly it could handle up to a thousand orders an hour.
After struggling all afternoon and only getting more irritated, she carried the machine to the courier station to ask someone to teach her.
And there—at the station—she saw Chen Màidōng.
Before she could even adjust her expression, he was already slipping away with his tail tucked.
……
When she returned home and finally got the printer working, she successfully printed her first order. She picked up her phone and called him.
He picked up but didn’t speak.
“Why did you run when you saw me?” she asked.
“I didn’t see you.”
“Cut the crap. If you didn’t see me, why would you run?”
“I had something to do. I’m busy.”
“Was Aunt Wu sent by you the other day?” Zhuang Jie went straight in.
“What?”
“Still pretending?”
“We’ll talk tonight. I’m at the funeral home working.” He hung up and put the phone away, then put on gloves and a mask and went into the mortuary.
Zhuang Jie started to suspect Chen Màidōng liked her the morning she stepped on a medicated patch.
After that, she began collecting clues, piece by piece, confirming it.
She complained casually that her place was cold—he lit a stove and turned on the heating.
She mentioned her stump pain without meaning to—he had a friend send medicated patches and even reminded her at night when to take them off.
She posted about selling roast chicken—he helped her contact a ceramics factory.
She returned to Shanghai—he still found excuses to see her off.
He even sent someone to propose on his behalf; when it didn’t work out, he cut ties completely because they hadn’t contacted each other for three days.
The more she thought about it, the more certain she became.
She slapped the table and messaged Wang Xixia: He definitely likes me.
Wang Xixia, who respected no one, only respected Zhuang Jie’s natural-born confidence.
Zhuang Jie said she’d been in society for seven or eight years, and what she relied on to get where she was today was sharp judgment and confidence. A person must always trust their intuition.
Intuition is the sum of experience and perception—an unconscious judgment built from life.
She knew how to turn passivity into initiative, sympathy into admiration. In the first year after her amputation, she cried, she raged, she starved herself—she resisted in every extreme way.
Tiaotao had once pointed at her and scolded her: there are plenty of people worse off than you. Do you want to rot away, or live with dignity? It’s your choice.
In that most painful year, she repeatedly watched the Paralympics, read Helen Keller, Hawking, Zhang Haidi, Shi Tiesheng—searching for spiritual strength in them.
Living at her aunt’s during high school, because her uncle drank heavily and was lazy, she learned to read people’s moods, learned social tact, learned not to be a burden. She learned to accept her own incompleteness, to live as a positive, optimistic disabled person.
From her teenage years, she already understood how to distinguish adult emotions, how to earn approval. That survival instinct gave her a maturity far beyond her peers.
A person can carry countless contradictions—virtues and flaws intertwined. Depending on the environment, different sides emerge.
As Zhuang Jie once said: it’s not that I can’t get Jì Tóng; it’s that it would take too much effort to make his family accept me. I’m tired. I don’t need that kind of approval anymore.
Wang Xixia replied: The real reason is you think he’s not worth the effort anymore.
Zhuang Jie replied: Exactly.
They talked about fate versus personality.
Zhuang Jie said without hesitation: personality determines fate. I’m like my mother—strong, unwilling to accept fate. She faces hardship head-on. My brother is like my father—soft, full of sentimentality. My father retreats when things get hard.
Wang Xixia replied: Your brother is gentle, but gentle people don’t cause trouble. And he’s grateful.
Zhuang Jie said: Yes, he is.
The conversation drifted.
Later, she messaged: personality is innate. Even if Chen Màidōng became a priest, he wouldn’t change. He’s already fought in a mahjong hall at his age.
She added: and he has no patience—if something doesn’t work out, he cuts it off completely. He even deleted me after sending me back to Shanghai.
Then she exited chat and sent Chen Màidōng a message: Cleaning contacts. Do not disturb.
After sending it, she went back to Wang Xixia and said: he didn’t delete me this time.
Wang Xixia replied: isn’t it normal for him to delete you? You also deleted Jì Tóng.
Zhuang Jie: same thing?
Wang Xixia: sure, whatever you say.
Zhuang Jie: I’m going to pick up my nephew’s parent meeting notice this Friday.
Then she went to her roast chicken shop and stayed there all afternoon. Business was okay—not booming, but decent compared to others.
That night, Chen Màidōng passed by after work. She saw him and followed him home.
Old Madam Chen invited her in.
Chen Màidōng had just showered and sat by the stove.
“You’re not eating?” Zhuang Jie asked.
“I’m not hungry.”
“He’s too ashamed to eat,” Old Madam Chen said.
Zhuang Jie glanced at him with faint sympathy.
He went back to his room.
Old Madam Chen whispered, pulling Zhuang Jie aside: “Go call him out. He hasn’t eaten in three days.”
Zhuang Jie went to his door and knocked.
When he opened it, sitting on the bed smoking, she said, “You trying to starve yourself to death?”
Chapter 17 — Flirting
“Why are you here?”
“Here to watch the show,” Zhuang Jie sat opposite him.
Chen Màidōng didn’t respond.
She glanced at his hand on the desk, cigarette burning halfway.
“Did you send Aunt Wu to my place?”
“I forgot,” he said deliberately, watching her.
Her gaze fell on the bruise at his eye. Her voice softened without meaning to. “Fighting again. You even got yourself disfigured.”
“You care?” His voice softened too.
“You like me?” she asked suddenly.
He looked at her. “You said it first. I just played along.”
“If it didn’t work out, it didn’t work out.”
“So you admit it?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked back.
“Then why did you run when you saw me?”
“I didn’t see you.”
“Bullshit.”
“I didn’t—see—you.”
“Fine,” she said, smiling. “Jerk.”
“You came all the way here just for this?”
“Yeah.”
He leaned back, flicking his lighter. “Let me ask you something.”
“Ask.”
“Did you ever fall for me?”
For a moment she froze. Then she nodded.
“I don’t compare to Shanghai, do I?”
“Mm.”
“Then why are you flirting with me?” His voice turned cold.
She stood up abruptly, but he grabbed her.
“What now?”
“What do you mean?”
“What are you going to do after this fails?”
“I haven’t thought about it.”
He laughed softly. “Haven’t thought? Really?”
“Jerk,” she said.
Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
At dinner, Old Madam Chen watched her leave.
Later she scolded Chen Màidōng: “Let’s see if you dare again.”
“I dare,” he said, stubbornly. “He hits me once, I hit him once.”
“Put the bowl down.”
He drank another mouthful of soup and set it down.
Old Madam Chen smacked his back hard. “If you dig yourself another hole, what am I supposed to do at my age?”
