Chapter 042: Xiao Yi Visits the Bar

This story is purely fictional.

Mingyue set up her stall at the street market, beginning another day of hard work. The lettuce sold quickly and was gone in no time. After selling the lettuce, Mingyue carefully gathered the discarded leaves, placing them one by one into an empty vegetable basket beside her. To save money, these leaves could make a dish for dinner.

She stood up and stretched, looking a little weary, and from afar spotted her elder brother, Zhaoming, approaching.

Zhaoming had already seen Mingyue standing there and hurried over to her stall. He handed her two packs of Wahaha drinks he’d bought. Mingyue looked at her brother and asked, “How come you have time to visit today? Aren’t you working?”

“I just happened to have some business to take care of near your market, so I thought I’d drop by to see you and Situ Cong,” Zhaoming replied, though there was more to his visit. In truth, he wanted to see if Mingyue could lend him some money for the down payment on a house.

“Oh, would you like to have lunch here? I can prepare a few dishes, and you and Situ can have a drink together,” Mingyue suggested, eager to spend time with her brother whom she hadn’t seen in a while.

“Sure, that sounds good. My colleagues are still filming at the set; they won’t be leaving any time soon,” Zhaoming agreed. Not seeing Situ, he asked, “Where is Situ? I don’t see him.”

“He was called away by his elder brother today, something about the house we’re living in. His brother mentioned a while ago that he’s short on funds for buying a new house, so he might sell this one. We probably won’t be here much longer. And honestly, making money selling vegetables is just too hard,” Mingyue sighed as she spoke of her husband.

“We’ll have to return the house to his brother soon, and after several years of selling vegetables here, we haven’t made much. At least we didn’t have to pay for housing before, but now with nowhere to live, if we want to keep doing this, we’ll have to rent a place. With all these worries, how can I not sigh? There’s nothing I’m satisfied with, every day is just frustration and anxiety—I can’t find joy in anything,” Mingyue said, shaking her head.

Having finished speaking, she looked over at her son playing in the distance and called out loudly, “Situ Cong, your uncle is here! He bought your favorite Wahaha!” Her booming voice echoed through the entire market.

Situ Cong, who was playing happily, heard his mother’s call and shouted back, “Coming!” The little fellow ran over to Mingyue’s stall, eyeing Zhaoming with a mix of unfamiliarity and recognition, unsure how to address him.

“Don’t you recognize him? This is your uncle. Come, your uncle bought your favorite Wahaha. Say hello,” Mingyue prompted.

“Uncle,” Situ Cong called out to Zhaoming.

Zhaoming patted the sweaty boy, signaling Mingyue to wipe his sweat, then opened a bottle of Wahaha, inserted a straw, and handed it to Situ Cong.

Situ Cong took the bottle, sipping contentedly. After finishing, he stared longingly at the bottle, as if unwilling to let it go.

Zhaoming, charmed by the boy’s cuteness and knowing one bottle wasn’t enough, patted his head and asked, “Want another?”

Situ Cong’s eyes sparkled and he nodded his big head.

Zhaoming handed him another strawed bottle of Wahaha.

“Are you heading home soon? If you are, I’ll help carry Situ Cong back,” Zhaoming offered as he helped Mingyue pack up the stall.

“I’m about to go cook. Situ will be back soon, and if there’s no food, he’ll complain,” Mingyue finished cleaning up, covered her stall with a sunshade, and prepared to head home.

Zhaoming carried Situ Cong ahead, while Mingyue followed, chatting with her brother. Seeing Situ Cong’s nose running, Mingyue took out a tissue to wipe him clean and scolded, “Didn’t I tell you not to play so wildly outside? You’re all sweaty and now you’ve caught a cold. If you get sick this time, I’m not taking you to the hospital—maybe it’s better to let you waste away than to see you suffering every day.” Mingyue’s temper flared at the sight of her son catching a cold.

As they walked down the corridor to their place, a neighbor was lighting a coal stove, and thick smoke filled the corridor with the acrid smell of coal. Zhaoming choked on the fumes, coughing uncontrollably as if something were stuck in his throat.

Mingyue quickly took Situ Cong from Zhaoming’s arms. Zhaoming, covering his nose and mouth, kept coughing. Mingyue hurriedly opened the door and let him inside; only after the door was closed did his coughing subside.

She poured him a glass of boiled water, which Zhaoming gulped down in a few swallows. He wiped his mouth, sighed in relief, and sat down on a chair.

The family dog, seeing a stranger enter, began barking loudly.

Mingyue called its name, “Harry—!” and the dog immediately quieted down.

Harry sat in front of Zhaoming, eyes fixed on him, as if studying the newcomer’s every move.

“You call him Harry?” Zhaoming asked.

“Yes, Situ Cong named him after watching ‘Harry Potter’ on TV. That’s what he calls him,” Mingyue replied.

“Situ Cong named the dog? A five-year-old giving a dog a name, and a foreign one at that—not bad, not bad,” Zhaoming praised, ruffling Situ Cong’s hair. “You’re a smart boy.”

Situ Cong grinned foolishly at his uncle’s praise. Even though his Wahaha bottle was empty, he kept sucking at it, making slurping noises.

“There’s nothing left. Why are you still sucking on it?” Mingyue took the empty bottle from his hands. Situ Cong’s eyes followed it longingly, as if reluctant to part with the last drop.

“Come here, Situ Cong, since you gave Harry such a good name, does he listen to you?” Zhaoming asked.

“Of course he does—otherwise I’d hit him,” Situ Cong replied. At the mention of a beating, Harry immediately stood up, watching Situ Cong as if awaiting instructions.

Unhurried, Situ Cong fetched a small ball from his bed, tossed it into the air, and shouted, “Harry, shoot!”

The moment the command was given, Harry leaped to catch the ball, then ran toward the door. Zhaoming followed Harry’s path with his eyes and saw a homemade basket crafted from wire and hand-woven netting hanging behind the door. Harry expertly tossed the ball into the basket. When the ball hit the ground, Harry threw it back to Situ Cong.

Harry’s precision and antics made Zhaoming burst out laughing.

Seeing his uncle laugh, Situ Cong joined in, giggling gleefully.

Hearing laughter from the house while she was busy with dinner outside, Mingyue rushed in, only to bump into Harry as he made a second shot. The collision made Harry yelp miserably.

Harry’s second attempt was ruined, and Situ Cong was visibly upset, his lips pursed as he muttered, “Bad mommy, you hurt Harry.” He immediately ran over to stroke Harry’s cheek.

Harry stopped barking, his eyes misty as he looked at Situ Cong, panting like a wounded child.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry, Situ Cong. It’s mommy’s fault your Harry got hurt. How about I give you another Wahaha to make it up to you?” Mingyue said, her heart aching for her son.

The promise of another Wahaha delighted Situ Cong. He nodded eagerly, signaling for Mingyue to fetch it quickly.

Mingyue handed him another bottle and went back to preparing dinner.

Situ Cong, unable to put the straw in by himself, brought the bottle to his uncle for help. Zhaoming inserted the straw and handed it back, and Situ Cong sucked on it as contentedly as if he were nursing.

“You really like Wahaha, don’t you?” Zhaoming asked.

Still drinking, Situ Cong nodded, “It’s delicious. I love it. Will you buy me more when you come again?”

“Of course I will. But you have to listen to your mom and not run around outside—there are too many cars, and it’s not safe,” Zhaoming cautioned.

“If I behave, will you bring me Wahaha every time?” Situ Cong asked.

“Absolutely,” Zhaoming promised, holding out his little finger. “Let’s pinky swear on it.” After the pinky promise, Situ Cong was overjoyed.

Mingyue soon finished preparing dinner, a few simple home-cooked dishes: scrambled eggs with tomatoes, lettuce leaves, fish balls, and pickled greens.

As soon as Zhaoming saw the fish balls, he knew they were Mingyue’s special hometown recipe. He’d loved her fish balls since childhood—light, springy, and melt-in-the-mouth. His appetite was instantly awakened.

Mingyue noticed her brother swallowing hungrily. “Craving some fish balls? I’ll get you a bowl,” she offered, fetching a bowl and chopsticks and serving him some fish ball soup.

Having not tasted Mingyue’s cooking for a long time, Zhaoming devoured the food ravenously. When he finished, he looked at the empty bowl, still wanting more but reluctant to take away from the family’s share. “No more for me, otherwise you’ll have nothing left to eat,” he said, shaking his head.

“We can make more for ourselves another day. You rarely visit, so you should eat well,” Mingyue insisted, taking his bowl and serving him another helping. “Here, have some more.” She signaled for him not to be shy.

Zhaoming quickly finished the second bowl, finally satisfied. He patted his belly and exclaimed, “Oh dear, I’m really full.”

Just then, Situ returned home. Opening the door and seeing his brother-in-law at the table, he greeted him, “You’re here—what a rare guest.”

“Well, if we weren’t shooting a show nearby, I wouldn’t have had the chance to drop by. I was lucky today, got to eat your wife’s fish balls—what a treat. How did the house negotiations go?” Zhaoming inquired with concern.

“What do you think? Just look at my face,” Situ replied weakly. “You say it’s a treat, but after today, days like this may be over for good.”

“What’s wrong? Is the house being taken back? You sound so gloomy. Even if it is, you can always rent a place,” Zhaoming tried to comfort him.

“Rent a place? You have no idea what it’s like for us. Right now, we’re barely scraping by, profits are pitifully low. We’ve been at this for four years and talking about money is embarrassing. Day after day in all weather, up before dawn, eating beggar’s food—sometimes just a bun for a meal. The little we’ve made is only because we didn’t pay rent. People in this city, Dahe, are so picky, always haggling for every penny. If you’re not careful with your words, they’ll stop coming to your stall. All this hard work, and we just earn a meager living. Now that we’re losing the place to live, my wife and I have decided to pack up and go home,” Situ said, disheartened.

Mingyue listened, tears welling in her eyes. She pulled out a tissue and wiped her face. “Last time, Zhengzhe helped us find a kindergarten, and it was all arranged—thanks to his connections, they only asked for a six-thousand-yuan sponsorship fee. But now, we can’t even think about that. Please let Zhengzhe know we’re heading home, thank him for all his efforts, and apologize for the trouble. As for us, we’ll take Situ Cong back to our hometown and rest for a while. Situ plans to work at Uncle’s fish farm; I’ll stay home with our parents for now, and then we’ll see what else we can do,” Mingyue said, crying as she spoke.

“Don’t cry. Things will work out in the end. I’ll talk to Zhezhe and see if there’s another solution for your work,” Zhaoming comforted her.

Mingyue wiped her tears with her sleeve and walked Zhaoming to the door.

Only after he disappeared into the crowd did Mingyue return, dispirited, to her little room.

(To be continued.)