Rest assured, dear readers—though young Xia Yiyang may lack a bit of life experience, he’s not foolish enough to actually go sleep under a bridge.
He’d already thought of a second option: if he couldn’t afford a proper hotel, he could always stay at a youth hostel!
Unlike regular hotel rooms, a youth hostel was more like a college dorm—rooms with four to eight bunk beds, shared with other strangers for sleeping, bathrooms, and kitchens. The price was budget-friendly—fifty or sixty yuan for a bed.
Xia Yiyang had a cousin, eight years older than him, who had done both her undergrad and graduate studies abroad. Every holiday, she’d backpack around the world, staying almost exclusively in hostels to save money, and had made friends from all corners of the globe.
Xia Yiyang greatly admired this cousin and had once dreamed of following in her footsteps—sword in hand, roaming the world. But before that dream could even take off, his cousin shot it down with a laugh.
“Yiyi, you’ve never lived in a group setting before. Staying in a hostel would be pure torture,” she’d once said. “If it’s just snorers or people with body odor, that’s one thing—but what if someone steals your stuff? And you’re so naive, so sheltered by your aunt and uncle. If you got into a conflict with another guest, you wouldn’t even be able to defend yourself.”
Xia Yiyang wanted to protest—loudly!
First of all, it was true he’d never experienced group living, but that wasn’t his fault! From elementary through high school, he’d gone to the neighborhood schools right by his house—a five-minute walk away. Originally, according to his parents’ plan, he was supposed to apply to colleges in Beijing—preferably not leaving Haidian District—so he could commute home every weekend.
Second, street smarts didn’t just appear out of nowhere. You had to weather storms to see rainbows, right? And he had a good attitude—no matter what setbacks or hurdles lay ahead, he’d do his best to take them in stride.
Take this current crisis, for example. Sure, he’d lost all his money to a telecom scam, but he’d called the police right away!
And now he was finding work on his own, saving up, and moving from a hotel to a hostel. He was going to prove through his actions that he was no pampered young master!
…
“Your room is Male 301, Bed 4.” The hostel front desk clerk looked half-asleep as he tossed the dorm key onto the counter in front of Xia Yiyang, his voice listless. “We don’t provide free slippers, toothbrushes, or toiletries. You can buy them here or at the supermarket next door.”
“No need, I brought my own.” Xia Yiyang patted his suitcase, mentally patting himself on the back—good thing he’d “liberated” the toothbrush, comb, slippers, shampoo, and body wash from his previous hotel before checking out. See? They were coming in handy now!
On the wall beside the front desk hung a handwritten poster that read: “Hostel guests come and go—don’t overshare with strangers, be cautious about lending money, and don’t accept food or drinks from people you don’t know.”
This hostel was quite large. Inside the entrance, the hallway stretched east and west—east to the male dorms, west to the female dorms. Room 301 was an eight-bed dorm at the very end of the hallway. Xia Yiyang emptied the last four hundred yuan from his WeChat wallet, which just barely covered a week’s stay.
As for what came after the week… well, he’d figure that out when the time came.
He’d mentally prepared himself—he knew a group dorm wouldn’t be as comfortable as his previous hotel.
It was already nine in the morning, but none of his eight roommates seemed to be up. The room was pitch black, all curtains drawn tight. Several open suitcases lay haphazardly on the floor, and the shared table was piled high with clutter. As Xia Yiyang dragged his suitcase in, he accidentally stepped on someone’s shoe, making a noise that drew an impatient grunt from one of the sleeping roommates.
His spot was Bed 4, the lower bunk. The bedding looked freshly changed, with a strong smell of disinfectant. Xia Yiyang tucked his suitcase under the bed and locked his valuables—laptop, iPad, Switch—into the assigned locker, keeping his keys, wallet, and phone on him.
The boy sat in the cramped, dark hostel dorm where nothing could be heard except snores. The old ceiling fan spun silently overhead, stirring the damp air.
It was a far cry from the environment he’d grown up in—but Xia Yiyang found it interesting, fun, novel.
In the darkness, he observed everything around him with keen interest. He felt like a rookie adventurer in an RPG who, after leaving the starting village with the intention of heading straight for the final boss’s lair, had accidentally triggered a side quest.
Only by not following the guide could you truly experience a game. From now on, Xia Yiyang was going to enjoy this life adventure to the fullest!
He pumped his fist in a silent cheer. But he moved too big and knocked his hand against the bunk above him—Bed 3—sending a jolt of pain through his knuckles. He winced, baring his teeth.
Sigh. If only the hostel would turn on the lights.
…
After a quick tidy-up, Xia Yiyang left the hostel and headed straight for his next mission spawn point—the ice jelly shop!
Today was his first day on the job. The hostel he’d picked was only a ten-minute walk from his workplace. He got lost once along the way, but still made it before the shop opened at ten.
When he arrived, the two aunties were already tidying up the counter. Xia Yiyang poked his head in from outside the door and was immediately spotted by one of them.
“I thought you were a customer! It’s you, huh!” Auntie Zhao said. “Xiao Xia, have you had breakfast yet?”
Xia Yiyang answered obediently: “I had a sandwich from the convenience store.”
“A sandwich from the convenience store.” Auntie Li first repeated his words in her less-than-standard Mandarin, as if amused that this out-of-town youngster had come to Rongcheng and was eating Western stuff. Then she added, “Next time, go try the noodles at the corner shop—a small bowl is only six yuan!”
Xia Yiyang quickly made a mental note.
Actually, he’d lied out of pride. After paying for his hostel stay, he had no money left for breakfast! He was just waiting for the shop’s two included meals so he could eat the boss out of house and home.
Speaking of the boss, Xia Yiyang asked the aunties: “Where’s the boss?”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than the kitchen curtain was pushed aside, and a tall, sturdy figure emerged, carrying a heavy stainless steel bucket filled to the brim with freshly made liangxia (rice jelly). The man set the bucket down on the counter with a loud clang, proving with his actions exactly where the boss was.
“You actually showed up,” Sheng Lin said, his tone flat.
Xia Yiyang asked, “What do you mean by ‘You actually showed up’?”
Sheng Lin glanced at his callus-free hands. “I thought you’d chicken out.”
Xia Yiyang was indignant—who did Sheng Lin think he was looking down on?! He was diligently looking for work and supporting himself, okay? Starting today, he was Xia Yiyang, the Employee of the Year!
The Employee of the Year rolled up his sleeves and asked, “Boss, what do I do today?”
“Don’t rush into things yet. Sign the papers on the table first.” Sheng Lin tilted his chin toward it, and only then did Xia Yiyang notice two pages of paper and a pen lying on the table by the entrance.
It was an employment contract.
A contract! An actual contract! Xia Yiyang fought to contain his excitement, putting on a calm front as he read it through twice. In reality, the words went in one eye and out the other—not a single one actually registered in his brain.
Come on—he was holding a contract! He was eighteen, legally old enough to sign one! He was an adult, and his signature carried legal weight! Oh my god, this was so cool, so awesome—he was a grown-up now, signing a work contract! Hehe, a work contract…
Sheng Lin had no idea what was going on inside that little head of his. The contract was a template he’d downloaded online; he’d just spent three minutes filling in the salary details. It stated that wages would be paid monthly and employees must give one week’s notice before leaving—though Sheng Lin seriously doubted Xia Yiyang would last even that long.
After the contract was signed, Sheng Lin took the little Emperor of Employment next door to a copy shop to make front-and-back copies of both their ID cards, then stapled the copies to the back of the contract.
While copying his ID, Xia Yiyang felt a bit embarrassed. His ID photo had been taken five years ago, back when he was still in middle school. He’d been wearing his school uniform, barely splashed water on his face, and sat down in front of the police station camera. The boy in the photo looked clueless and childlike, staring blankly at the lens—a total little kid.
Sheng Lin stared at the child photo on his ID and clicked his tongue. “I really am employing a minor.”
Xia Yiyang wasn’t having it: “Boss, is your ID photo any better?”
As he spoke, he leaned in to sneak a peek at Sheng Lin’s ID photo… Damn, how could someone look so good in their ID photo? Had he photoshopped it?
Xia Yiyang silently vowed that once he got back to Beijing, he’d retake his ID photo—fix himself up properly, make himself look fresh and youthful and handsome. No more using that baby photo!
“Wait!” Xia Yiyang stared at the birthdate on the ID. “Wait—boss, you’re only twenty-three?!”
That meant he was only five years older?!
“What about it?” Sheng Lin took back his ID. “Don’t I look it?”
Xia Yiyang’s mouth moved faster than his brain: “Uh, your face looks a little… mature for your age.”
Sheng Lin’s brow dropped. “And your mouth looks a little redundant.”
He said it, but he wasn’t actually angry.
The copy shop owner, fanning himself with a palm-leaf fan, joked with them: “You two sure have some fate together! Folks’d think you were brothers!”
Sheng Lin gave the owner a silent, puzzled look. “?”
The boss pointed at the ID card and the contract and said, “Your shop is called ‘Midsummer Ice Jelly’—you’re Sheng (summer), and he’s Xia (summer)—if that’s not fate, what is? A match made in heaven!”
Xia Yiyang thought to himself, who wants to be fated with Sheng Lin? There’s nothing between them but a cold, transactional monetary relationship.
After signing the contract, the two returned to the ice jelly shop next door, just as the first wave of customers arrived. Ice jelly is one of the most iconic snacks in Sichuan and Chongqing—every summer, whether it’s morning, noon, afternoon, evening, or late at night, there’s always a steady stream of customers with barely any downtime.
The ingredients for ice jelly are simple: a base of turtle jelly, ice jelly, or liangxia (rice jelly), topped with various fresh-cut fruits, melon seeds, raisins, and drenched in brown sugar syrup or condensed milk. For those feeling extravagant, a scoop of ice cream crowns it all.
One auntie handled the cash register while the other assembled the ice jelly bowls—a well-oiled division of labor. Xia Yiyang hovered around for a while, wanting to help but not knowing how.
Sheng Lin, though the boss, worked too—he handled all the delivery orders, swiftly packing them into boxes and bags with practiced ease. Afraid of being left out, Xia Yiyang grabbed a stapler and stationed himself next to Sheng Lin. Every time Sheng Lin finished packing a bag, Xia Yiyang would snatch it up and staple the receipt on.
After stapling all the delivery orders, he stood there staring at Sheng Lin expectantly, like a puppy waiting for its owner to throw the ball—completely dependent on a command to know what to do next.
Sheng Lin reminded him: “I didn’t hire you just to staple delivery receipts.”
Xia Yiyang blinked blankly, still holding the stapler. “Huh?”
“Don’t you notice we’re almost out of fruit?” Sheng Lin gave the order. “Go to the kitchen and cut the mangoes and watermelon.”
“Oh…” Xia Yiyang put down the stapler and obediently headed to the back kitchen to cut fruit.
Summer fruits were sweet and cheap—mangoes bigger than the last, a whole box of them piled together, their fragrance wafting through the air. The watermelons had thin rinds and bright red flesh; a light tap produced a deep, thundering echo, as if saying, “I’m so sweet, I’m so sweet—come and taste me!”
Xia Yiyang hoisted a large watermelon onto the cutting board with a grunt. He held the knife over it, measuring his angle—and then froze.
He was embarrassed to admit it, but… he’d never actually cut fruit before in his entire life.
I mean, how was he supposed to explain this?
Peaches, cherries, grapes—all he had to do was open the fridge at home, and there they were, pre-washed and ready to eat. Watermelons, cantaloupes, mangoes—they’d automatically appear peeled and cubed beside his desk, filling his stomach during his study breaks for the college entrance exams. The most his hands had ever done was peel a lychee or segment a tangerine.
Who had washed those peaches and cut those mangoes for him?
His father. His mother.
Certainly not him.
…So maybe when his cousin said he’d been spoiled rotten, she wasn’t entirely wrong.
The kitchen knife in his hand was long and razor-sharp. Xia Yiyang, at a complete loss, stabbed the rounded watermelon with it—looking less like he was legitimately cutting fruit and more like he was committing premeditated murder.
The watermelon did him a solid: with just that one stab, it cracked open cleanly down the middle, splitting into two halves that obediently lay flat on the cutting board.
Xia Yiyang tried to recall how his mother cut watermelon. Slice left, slice right, carefully carving the flesh off the rind, then huffing and puffing as he diced it into evenly sized cubes.
It was his first time cutting fruit, so he started off cautious and clumsy, terrified of hurting himself. Fortunately, he had a brain on his shoulders, and the more he cut, the more comfortable he became.
See? He’d always said he was smart—he just needed a little practice! And look at him now—he’d already mastered the art of watermelon-slaying!
When he got home, he could cut fruit for his mom and dad!
He wasn’t the Employee of the Year anymore—he was the Fruit Ninja! Watch him slash, chop, swish-swoosh, and then—
“Xia Yiyang, how much longer are you going to drag this out?” Sheng Lin, having run out of patience, pushed aside the kitchen curtain and walked in. “Half an hour and you’re still not done—did you go out to the fields to steal a watermelon or something?”
“Huh?” Xia Yiyang reflexively turned to look at his boss—and at the same time, the kitchen knife in his hand plunged deep into the watermelon’s belly.
The fat watermelon split open with a crack, and juice splattered all over both of them.
Sheng Lin: “…”
The man looked at the crime scene, then at the watermelon that had met its untimely demise under the boy’s hands.
Xia Yiyang raised the long-bladed weapon in his hand, red juice dripping from the blade. “Uh, boss, I’m almost done butchering—I mean, cutting it…”
“Just go back to stapling the delivery receipts.” Sheng Lin wiped the watermelon juice off his face with a grim expression. “And no disposable gloves for cutting fruit—are you trying to make sure we fail the health inspection?”
————————
The little Employee of the Year, on his first day on the job, diligently cutting watermelon for everyone! [pat on the head]
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