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“?”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“You know shit.”
“So I should just stand there and let him hit me?”
“Come back and tell me…” Grandma Chen suddenly cut herself off. After a long pause, she finally relented. “Forget it. Everyone has their own fate. I can’t control you for much longer anyway.”
Chen Maidong said nothing. He just kept eating, no longer arguing back.
Grandma Chen went into the kitchen and came out with a big chicken drumstick. She asked why that girl from the shop had just said a few words to him and he’d shamelessly come out to eat. Then she grabbed his face and tilted it up. “What happened to your lip? It’s torn.”
“Fell,” Chen Maidong answered vaguely.
Grandma Chen didn’t believe a word of it. She studied him for a moment but didn’t press further. Instead, she changed the subject.
“I went to see the new apartment this morning. It’s really warm inside even without heating.” Their family had bought a new apartment in town a few years ago, renovated it half a year back, and only just finished everything this month.
“Because both upstairs and downstairs have underfloor heating. That’s why it stays warm,” Chen Maidong said.
“Oh? So we won’t have to pay heating bills anymore?”
“We still will,” he said, tearing at the drumstick. “Should we move in before the New Year?”
“I’m not going,” Grandma Chen refused immediately. “I can’t get used to elevators.” In her mind, taking an elevator was like descending straight into hell.
“How did you go up today then?” he asked.
“Stairs. The stairwell is bright and spacious.”
“All the way up to the twelfth floor? You’re not tired?”
“Not tired at all. I feel great.” She swung her arms like she was exercising. “Money spent well really does make life comfortable. I looked at a few units upstairs and downstairs—ours is the best decorated.”
She launched into a stream of commentary.
“Your Aunt Wang’s place—oh my god—I almost went blind the moment I opened the door. The walls were covered in all kinds of flashy patterns, and the sofa was weird too, all floral lace nonsense. Doesn’t that prick your backside when you sit? She said it’s ‘European royal style.’ I didn’t dare say anything, just said it looked nice.”
“And your Aunt He’s place too—they hung this huge painting on the wall. A bird with one leg, staring wide-eyed. Or maybe it was a chicken. Her son said it’s an authentic painting by some Eight Great… Eight Great Mountains guy.”
Grandma Chen shook her head. “It’s just a bird painting, fine—but underneath it they lined up fish tanks, with these strange fish inside. Her son said they’re golden dragons. Golden dragon fish… isn’t that cooking oil? I didn’t understand any of it, so I didn’t dare speak again.”
Chen Maidong searched “Eight Great Mountains Man” online and read it to her.
Grandma Chen muttered, “I thought Eight Great Mountains meant eight people.”
The next day, Grandma Chen went to buy roast chicken and ran into a girl in the shop. She turned her head away immediately, pretending not to see her. The girl had been about to greet her but, sensing the cold attitude, left awkwardly.
Zhuang Jie, packing fried chicken at the counter, observed everything with curiosity. When Grandma Chen saw the girl leave, she spat a curse under her breath:
“Vixen.”
Zhuang Jie instantly understood—this must be Chen Maidong’s first love. She had heard a bit before: Chen Maidong’s juvenile detention incident was apparently caused by this girl cheating on him.
Grandma Chen leaned in and whispered, “Why does her work uniform look so familiar?”
“Bank uniform,” Zhuang Jie replied.
Grandma Chen was surprised. “She works at a bank?”
“I’m not sure,” Zhuang Jie said.
Grandma Chen stared at her lips suspiciously. “Why is your lip torn too?”
“Fell,” Zhuang Jie replied casually.
Grandma Chen’s expression shifted subtly. Then she said calmly, “Xiao Jie, fry me a chicken cutlet.”
“Sure.”
Zhuang Jie fried it herself, cut it into small pieces, and was about to pack it when Grandma Chen stopped her.
“I’m not taking it to-go. I’ll eat here.”
Zhuang Jie plated it for her. “You need to watch your diet, don’t eat too much.”
“Alright, alright.” Grandma Chen sat down, eating while smiling at her.
Zhuang Jie had recently installed a new cashier system and was teaching the cashier how to use it. The cashier was a local woman with limited education and struggled to understand. Zhuang Jie patiently explained everything step by step.
Before leaving, Grandma Chen bought another big drumstick and rode her old electric scooter to the funeral home. She slapped Chen Maidong on the shoulder.
“Grandson, Grandma’s rewarding you.”
Chen Maidong was baffled.
On his way home from work, he passed the roast chicken shop and ran into Zhuang Jie coming out. She was wearing a thick fur-trimmed hooded down jacket and riding an electric bike.
He stepped forward and leaned in close to her face. “Old classmate?”
Zhuang Jie jumped and immediately cursed him.
Chen Maidong reached out and tugged at the fur trim on her hood. “What kind of fur is this?”
“Get lost.”
It was expensive fox fur—thick, dense, long, flowing in the wind.
She smoothed it back into place and was about to leave when Chen Maidong followed alongside her.
“You’re mad at me?”
Zhuang Jie ignored him.
That day, after he kissed her, he had said they were even. If she couldn’t define their relationship, then they were just old classmates.
“You got mad because I kissed you?” he asked lightly. “Is your mouth that valuable?”
Zhuang Jie stopped the bike, looked at him for a long moment, then finally said, “Fine. We’re even.”
“You’re more generous than me,” Chen Maidong said sincerely, sitting on his motorcycle with both feet on the ground.
“Got anything else? If not, we go home separately.”
“Fur got on your lip,” he said casually.
Zhuang Jie wiped it off and silently cursed the seller—he had promised it wouldn’t shed.
“Come to my place for pear soup?” Chen Maidong asked.
“You think that’s appropriate?” she glanced at him.
He lit a cigarette against the wind. “What’s inappropriate about it?”
“From now on, we’re just nodding acquaintances.”
“So you’re still mad,” he said.
“Yes. I’m mad at you.”
Chen Maidong pulled out his phone and showed her his WeChat name: “Dog Face.”
“You’re the dog face.”
“You’re more dog than me,” he said. “Faster to flip than anyone.”
He put the phone away. “We’re even. It’s over.”
“Fine,” she agreed. She didn’t exactly have the moral high ground anyway.
“Not worth arguing over something this small. If we don’t get along in the future, then we can flip again,” he suggested.
“Fine.”
“It’s cold. Come drink pear soup first?”
“I’m going home,” she said. “Don’t want people saying I’m flirting around.”
“I’m the flirt. I’m the one,” Chen Maidong said, nudging her bike lightly with his motorcycle wheel. “Don’t take it personally.”
“I don’t really want it,” she said, stubborn without meaning to be.
“Jie’er, I was wrong,” he said in a lazy, teasing tone.
“Get lost.” She laughed anyway—and followed him home.
Inside, pear soup was simmering over the stove, red dates floating in it, filling the room with sweetness. Grandma Chen reminded her to let it simmer another half hour, then left, saying she was going to Mass.
Zhuang Jie was confused. Mass wasn’t on Sundays?
Grandma Chen said this was a “small mass,” only for lonely old people.
Chen Maidong came out drying his hair. “Where’s Grandma?”
“Went to Mass. She told me to heat your food.” Zhuang Jie glanced at him. He had changed into a camel-colored turtleneck sweater, looking unexpectedly soft.
“Your neck is long. Turtlenecks suit you,” she said casually.
He didn’t respond and walked to the living room.
“Hair shouldn’t be dried like that—you should blow-dry it,” she said, placing the food down.
“You’re not eating?”
“I’m not hungry.” She added rock sugar into the pot.
He stood in front of the mirror applying moisturizer, his skin chapped from the wind. Zhuang Jie leaned over.
“You need cream too. Just lotion isn’t enough. Your nose is peeling.”
“Haven’t had time to buy it.”
“Order online.” She pointed. “And get lip balm. Your lips are cracked too.”
“You too,” he said, glancing at her.
They both avoided mentioning their own wounds.
“I have mild cheilitis,” she said, pursing her lips. “Cold weather triggers it.”
She took out a lip mask and applied it absentmindedly.
“You use that with your fingers?”
“It’s a mask, more effective than balm.”
“Is there a male version?”
“No.”
She glanced at him—he was slightly puckering his lips.
“Get lost. Eat first,” she laughed.
Chen Maidong leaned against the wall. “Girls should take care of their lips.”
“Why?”
“So they’re softer when kissing.”
Zhuang Jie closed the lid, turned her head toward him. “Who’s flirting now?”
“I am,” he admitted openly. “Got you?”
She gave him a look and said nothing.
He sat down to eat. “We’re too intense.”
She ignored him, scooping pear soup into a bowl.
He handed her a bag. “Use this first.”
Inside were medicated patches.
“Should we pay him?” she hesitated.
“He won’t take it,” Chen Maidong said. “Just send him a box of roast chicken later.”
“Fine.”
He asked, “How’s your livestreaming?”
“Average,” she said, blowing on the soup. “I’ll focus on the shop first.”
Then the class reunion came up.
“The class monitor contacted you yet?” he asked.
“No.”
“He probably will soon. He’s organizing a reunion before New Year to visit Teacher Wang.”
“What happened to her?”
“She had a stroke.”
“I’ll go,” Zhuang Jie said. She remembered her teachers fondly. When she transferred schools, the class had been unusually kind—only later did she learn the teacher had briefed them in advance.
Chen Maidong handed her lip balm.
She applied it.
He imitated her, applying it too.
Zhuang Jie burst out laughing. “You’re so girly.”
He ignored her.
“Wait—you actually shape your eyebrows?” she said in surprise. “And they look good.”
“I learned it,” he said.
“Help me do mine,” she said, standing beside him.
Then both froze.
She quickly waved it off. “Never mind, I’ll do it myself.”
Later, he used the eyebrow razor in front of the mirror.
Zhuang Jie watched him quietly for a while, then walked over. She wiped the lip balm off his mouth and applied her own for him.
“Open your mouth,” she said.
He did.
“Too big. Smaller.”
He complied.
“Now a little pout.”
He looked at her eyes and obeyed.
When she finished, she closed the lid and handed it to him.
“Yours.”
He took it mechanically.
She lit a cigarette by the stove, took a drag, and said, “I’m going. Remember to apply it every night.”
Outside, the alley was pitch dark.
“Streetlights broken?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Go back inside,” she said.
He took her cigarette, smoked a drag, and returned it.
“Why were your hands shaking earlier?”
“Bullshit,” she said, then slowly took another puff.
He didn’t ask again. He just took the cigarette once more and smoked quietly.
