Chapter 14: The Elderly Gentleman at the Dumpling Shop

Wang Yong and Jiajia were whispering under their covers, but the room was small, and the two mats lay so close together that their conversation reached the ears of Hao Meng and Jiang Fan, who had not yet fallen asleep.

Earlier, mindful of staying overnight at someone else's place, Hao Meng kept a certain distance from Jiang Fan under the covers. Wang Yong's repeated hurtful words made her feel profoundly embarrassed.

Not knowing whether Jiang Fan had heard the conversation between the other two, Hao Meng, feeling distressed, drew a little closer to him. Her hand, which had been casually draped over his waist, now encircled him, her fingers brushing his chest.

Jiang Fan sensed Hao Meng's unease. He held her small hand, gently kneading it, silently signaling her not to dwell on it.

Seeing Jiang Fan's generous, open-hearted demeanor, Hao Meng cast aside any concern for Wang Yong's discontent. She took hold of Jiang Fan's shoulder, clearly inviting him to turn and embrace her.

Her movements were somewhat loud, and the whispers from Wang Yong and Jiajia's side ceased.

In a dilapidated rented house, with two simple mats on the floor, a single night's shelter led a true couple to sleep with uneasy hearts, while the pair who were not lovers deepened their bond through shared adversity.

Tormented by jealousy and dissatisfaction, Wang Yong barely slept through the night.

Around six in the morning, as the first light seeped into the old house, Wang Yong got up to wash. Seeing Hao Meng curled up sweetly in Jiang Fan's arms, sleeping like a docile kitten, he gritted his teeth with envy, wishing he could stomp on Jiang Fan's head.

Though he never carried out that impulse, he went to the corner where the faucet stood and deliberately turned the water on full, letting the roaring sound wake everyone.

Jiajia opened her sleepy eyes, glanced at the alarm clock on the plastic stool by the bed—it was still twenty minutes before seven—and muttered, “Do you have to make such a racket just to wash your face?”

Fuming, Wang Yong was not foolish enough to offend his pretty girlfriend, whom he'd pursued with such effort, over his unrealistic fantasy about Hao Meng. Hearing Jiajia's complaint, he threw her an unwilling glance and remained silent.

Hao Meng thought that as it was only a one-night stay, they would soon leave, yet Wang Yong continued to take every opportunity to express his dissatisfaction. Rising from the covers, she straightened her wrinkled suit and spoke to Wang Yong with no courtesy, “We stayed one night and disturbed your rest. I won't let you lose out. The hundred yuan you lent me last time, you can keep it—call it the room fee.”

Without waiting for Wang Yong to reply, she took Jiang Fan, who had already gotten up, gathered their straw mat and bedding, picked up Jiang Fan’s bag, and walked out.

“A Meng has always treated you well. She only brought a friend for one night, and look at how you act. Now your sister wants nothing to do with you. If anything happens in the future, see who’s still willing to help you.”

After walking a few meters, Hao Meng and Jiang Fan heard Jiajia’s voice inside, still complaining to Wang Yong.

On a January morning in Dongguan, the breeze still brought a chill. Jiang Fan, accustomed to martial arts, barely noticed, but Hao Meng, in her work uniform—with a shirt and suit jacket on top, but only stockings and a skirt below—was not dressed warmly at all.

Seeing Hao Meng shivering, Jiang Fan first thought of draping the bedding over her, but felt it would damage her image. After a moment’s thought, he took off his own jacket and tied it around her waist, then pulled an autumn shirt from his bag and put it on himself.

Wearing her stylish work suit, now with a drab polyester jacket wrapped around her thighs, Hao Meng looked neither fashionable nor proper, but rather comical.

Paying no mind to her appearance, Hao Meng teased, “It’s still a bit cold. Maybe you should take off your pants and let me wear them?”

Jiang Fan, taking her words seriously, opened his bag again, preparing to take out the trousers he’d changed out of the day before—still unwashed—to wear himself and give Hao Meng his cleaner pair.

Seeing his honest, simple manner, Hao Meng pointed to the street, now bustling with passersby, and laughed, “There are people everywhere. Would you really dare?”

“We can find a quiet spot to change. If you catch cold, it won’t be good.”

Hao Meng quickly grabbed his arm to stop him, “Silly, I was joking. With your jacket to keep warm, I’m much better. Let’s find a breakfast place. Once we eat, the sun should come out and it won’t be cold anymore.”

Though it was still early, stalls and shops selling all kinds of breakfast foods were already open.

A roadside bowl of rice noodles or wontons with an egg cost one yuan, while in a shop it was one and a half, with a smaller portion.

This time, Jiang Fan did not try to save money. He led Hao Meng straight into a breakfast shop at the entrance to the village.

Each ordered a plate of fried rice noodles. The two lingered for nearly an hour—other customers had come and gone two or three times, the factory workday had begun, and they still had not left.

The shop owner, seeing the two carrying straw mats and bedding and deliberately eating so slowly, guessed their situation and kindly reminded them, “Finish your food, and you can rest here after you’re done.”

His kindness made them feel embarrassed. They hurried to finish the last bites and prepared to pay and leave.

The owner brought over two steaming bowls of wonton soup. “I’m not rushing you out. I just worry you’ll get sick eating cold food. Here, have some hot soup to warm up. You haven't found jobs yet, have you?”

The warmth in his words touched them deeply, and they rose to thank him repeatedly.

Hao Meng took the initiative to explain, “I have a job. My friend just arrived. It’s hard for a man to find work. We’re looking to rent a room nearby, so we can settle in and take time to look for work.”

Seeing how polite Hao Meng and Jiang Fan were, the shop owner grew even more enthusiastic, pointing across the street to an old courtyard, “Renting without a temporary permit can be troublesome. Getting one costs two or three hundred yuan. Let me tell you a way: that house across the street belongs to the security captain’s family. Renting there costs ten or twenty yuan more than others, but they never check the rooms. Once your friend finds a job, you can move to a cheaper place and save the permit fee.”

Hao Meng, hearing of such a good opportunity, worried aloud, “Is it easy to rent? Are there any rooms left?”

“Normally, you’d have to queue to rent there. But as the year ends, fewer people are looking for rooms. Yesterday, a couple moved out to go home for the holiday. It’s still vacant. Stay and wait a bit—the captain’s wife works at Dongsheng Mould Factory, and after clocking in, she passes by here on her way home.”

With the factory shift underway, the shop had no other customers. As they waited for the captain’s wife, they exchanged introductions:

The shop owner’s surname was Qiu. He was fifty-two, from Jilin in the northeast. His daughter met a Hong Kong truck driver while working, married a year ago, and, seeing her parents toil in the fields back home, encouraged them to open this dumpling shop.

As a husband-and-wife team, unwilling to spend money on staff, they first sold only lunch, dinner, and late-night snacks. But seeing so many people eating breakfast nearby, they decided to split shifts and start serving breakfast as well.

“Uncle Qiu, you’re so busy worrying about us that you haven’t even cleared the dishes. Let me help you,” Jiang Fan said, quickly tidying up the shop. The owner, pleased with the grateful young man, let him help, his smile broadening as he watched.