Xia Yiyang stepped curiously into Qin Zaozao’s tiny “shop.”
Calling it a “shop” was really overselling this patch of land. It was clearly a run-down newsstand on the verge of collapse, whose current main business was selling one-yuan salted popsicles and three-yuan chilled bottled water—oh, and there was a power bank rental machine at the entrance, with six of its eight slots empty.
Qin Zaozao moved aside the freezer blocking the doorway. Xia Yiyang took a deep breath, trying to make himself as thin as a sheet of paper, and squeezed his way in sideways. The myna bird hanging from the beam poked its little head through the gaps in its cage, eyeing the unfamiliar guest curiously, repeatedly muttering “Dummy, dummy.”
The young master looked up at it, annoyed: “This bird is so mean—why is it cursing at me?”
“You’re overthinking it!” Qin Zaozao laughed heartily. “It’s not calling you that—’Dummy’ is its name!”
Xia Yiyang: “Huh? Why would you name a bird that?”
“That you’d have to ask its previous owner.” Qin Zaozao shrugged. “The previous owner had some family issues and was looking for adopters in a bird group. I happened to be in that group too, so I took it in. Apparently it didn’t have that name originally. Mynas can learn to talk by six months old, but no matter how the owner tried to teach it, it just wouldn’t learn. In frustration, he started calling it ‘Dummy’—and wouldn’t you know it, it suddenly picked that up.”
The boy found it amusing and reached his hand toward the cage to pet the bird, but afraid of getting pecked, he just waved at it through the bars.
Seeing how much he liked it, Qin Zaozao simply opened the cage door. He was extremely tall and thin, and when he stood up, he practically filled the entire newsstand, as if a telephone pole had suddenly sprouted inside.
As it happened, birds absolutely loved telephone poles.
The myna nimbly hopped onto the young man’s finger, then bounced up his arm step by step, finally landing on his nest-like dreadlocks. It pawed at the hair with its little feet, nibbled here and there with its tiny beak, and finally found the most comfortable spot, perched with its tail up, settling in contentedly.
Xia Yiyang watched the interaction between the man and his pet, envy practically streaming from his eyes: “Brother Qin, your bird is so affectionate.”
“Animals love interacting with their owners.” Qin Zaozao asked, “Have you ever had a pet?”
“I have,” Xia Yiyang replied a little sheepishly, “Does something that doesn’t breathe count?”
Qin Zaozao: “?”
Xia Yiyang gestured as he explained: “In my senior year of high school, it was trendy in my class to raise ‘tape balls.’ Whenever we made a mistake on a test, we’d use transparent tape to lift the ink off, but you couldn’t throw away the used tape—you had to roll it into a ball. The thinner the tape, the better, and the roll couldn’t break. Once your tape ball got big enough, you’d compete with classmates to see whose was the biggest and stickiest. The winning tape ball would be sliced in half by its owner with one clean cut—it was so satisfying!”
Qin Zaozao: “…Honestly, I don’t see how that’s satisfying. All I hear is that you guys were under a lot of pressure.”
The young man pulled a folding low table out from between stacks of newspapers and set it up on the floor. He then grabbed two piles of squashed magazines to use as stools and gestured for Xia Yiyang to sit down and chat.
Xia Yiyang didn’t mind the cramped, cluttered, dusty space at all. He sat down without hesitation, pulled his crossbody bag to the front, unzipped it, and carefully brought out two takeout containers.
“Ta-da!” He announced proudly. “This is our boss’s signature sweet tofu pudding! No other place has it—only two batches made a day, limited supply, and it’s always the first thing to sell out!”
“I know, I know,” Qin Zaozao said, his ears practically calloused from hearing it. “I’ve never seen a worker who hypes up their boss as much as you do. Where did Sheng Lin dig up such a treasure?”
The boy solemnly opened the lids. The journey had been bumpy, and with the heat, the tofu pudding had seeped out quite a bit of liquid, and the once-intact pudding had broken up somewhat—but luckily, the flavor wasn’t affected. One bowl was the matcha red bean that Qin Zaozao had specifically requested; the other was topped with a cluster of panda-shaped tangyuan (glutinous rice balls), covered with a thick layer of osmanthus sauce.
Needless to say, that bowl of panda tangyuan sweet tofu pudding was specially prepared for Xia Yiyang.
Qin Zaozao had thought his matcha red bean bowl was pretty good—until he saw Xia Yiyang’s, and then he got jealous.
Xia Yiyang placed the two bowls together, snapped a photo, and sent it off to Sheng Lin.
@Yiyi: Report to boss! Your little delivery rider has safely delivered the takeout! [Salute] [Salute] [Salute]
The screen showed “typing…” for a long while, but in the end, only three words came through.
@Lin: Got it.
Tch.
Still trying to act cool.
If it weren’t for all the nagging Sheng Lin had given him before he left, he might have actually thought Sheng Lin didn’t care.
@Yiyi: Boss, Brother Qin said you called him every minute asking if I’d arrived. Were you worried about me?
@Yiyi: Don’t worry, I’m a grown-up—I won’t get lost!
@Yiyi: Oh, and did you know what Brother Qin’s shop looks like? You’ll never guess!
@Yiyi: He even keeps a talking myna in there named Dummy!
He rattled on and on, but Sheng Lin only replied with two characters.
@Lin: TD
Xia Yiyang burst out laughing.
Qin Zaozao and the myna on his head both craned their necks—one human, one bird, equally gossipy—staring at the boy’s phone screen. The young man asked, “What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing.” Xia Yiyang waved his phone. “Boss just sent a joke.”
“…………” Qin Zaozao’s hand trembled as he held his bowl, and half the iced tofu pudding splattered onto his lap.
The bird on his head mocked him: “Dummy! Dummy!”
Xia Yiyang quickly handed him tissues: “Oh! Bro, what happened?”
Qin Zaozao frantically wiped his leg while answering: “What happened to me? I’m just shocked—I’ve known him since school days, and this is the first time I’ve ever heard he tells jokes.”
“You’re exaggerating way too much!”
“Don’t believe me? He’s famously cold and aloof.” Qin Zaozao cleared his throat, suddenly putting on a stern face and imitating: “‘No checking in for others, no answering roll calls for others, no picking up meals for others.’ ‘Calling me dad won’t work, and calling me grandpa won’t work either.’ ‘We’ve only played basketball together a few times, don’t act like we’re brothers.’ ‘Our group doesn’t need deadweight who’re just here for credits.’”
…Not bad—the tone was surprisingly accurate. Xia Yiyang could almost picture Sheng Lin’s expression and mannerisms when saying those things.
When he’d first met his boss, he’d also thought he was stern and hard to get close to. But after getting to know him, he’d found him far more thoughtful than he appeared on the surface.
Take the bowl of tofu pudding in front of him, for instance. The pudding was snowy white, and the panda-shaped tangyuan, when bitten into, released a rich black sesame filling. White pudding, black sesame, golden osmanthus sauce—all perfectly melded together—and every single flavor happened to be exactly what Xia Yiyang loved.
This was a new item not yet on the menu, and Xia Yiyang was always the first to taste it.
Would someone who made him desserts be a cold-hearted bad person?
Impossible. Absolutely impossible.
The boy pressed his lips to the spoon and took a big, satisfying bite.
Every time he ate something good, he couldn’t help bobbing his head, his eyebrows dancing along with the flavor.
Qin Zaozao joked: “You should become a mukbang streamer—you’d make way more than working for Sheng Lin.”
“No way—I’m the backbone of our shop! If I left, where would the boss ever find another server as sweet-talking, good at selling, and hardworking as me?” Xia Yiyang had always had a gift for bragging about himself.
“True,” Qin Zaozao replied with a pointed edge. “If you left, Sheng Lin would definitely be reluctant to let you go.”
“…” That hit a little too close to home.
The reason he’d found this job in the first place was because he’d hit dead ends everywhere trying to get a summer gig, so he’d had to lie and say he didn’t get into college and was just looking for work. Now it was already mid-July. In a little while, his admission letter would arrive—how would he even bring that up with his boss?
He knew Sheng Lin would be happy for him getting into university. But the thought of leaving the ice jelly shop, leaving the warm aunties, leaving that second-floor little house with its spacious terrace and the sounds of insects and birds—it made a pang of sadness rise from deep within him.
…Wait, that second floor had no AC and he had to sleep on a sofa—what exactly was he so attached to?
Xia Yiyang took another bite of sweet tofu pudding, hiding the inexplicable bitterness welling up inside him.
Sweet things always soothed the soul. The young master quickly composed himself, looked up again, and asked, “Brother Qin, can you tell me more about our boss?”
“Oh? So eager to know about him?”
The boy nodded, both shy and bold at the same time.
“Alright. I know astronomy above and geography below, I can read fortunes and guide the lost—ask me anything!” Qin Zaozao boasted.
Xia Yiyang had been waiting for exactly this. He quickly poured out all his curiosities: “I want to know—what’s our boss’s favorite color? His favorite movie? Where does he like to go when he’s in a bad mood?”
Qin Zaozao: “…” He nearly choked on his sweet tofu pudding. “Are you treating me like a magic mirror to make wishes on? If you keep asking boring questions like that, I’m going to start charging—you get one free question. Ask something else.”
Xia Yiyang was a little miser now, and at the mention of money, he quickly covered his wallet.
He thought for a long while, and finally came up with a crucial question: “You said you and our boss are classmates—which school did you go to together?”
Qin Zaozao countered: “What do you think we are—high school classmates? Middle school?”
Xia Yiyang thought about it: “High school or middle school, I guess… or elementary school… Wait, you mentioned ‘credits’ just now—elementary schools don’t have credits.”
Qin Zaozao found it strange: “Why? Couldn’t we be college classmates?”
“College?” At those words, the young master’s face fell as if the sky had caved in.
He first looked around the tiny newsstand, then stared at Qin Zaozao’s tattered clothes that looked like secondhand finds from a flea market (“They’re not secondhand, they’re vintage!”), and muttered to himself: “I know the job market for college grads is tough, but this is way too tough.”
With that thought, he quickly scooped one of his tangyuan into Qin Zaozao’s bowl: “Bro, look how thin you are—you should eat more!”
Qin Zaozao: “…………….”
He admitted he was a bit down on his luck right now, but he wasn’t so destitute that he needed a kid to donate a tangyuan to him.
Qin Zaozao, feeling snarky, decided to mess with him: “Actually, Sheng Lin and I went to a technical school together. He’s a Level 8 fitter. You’ve noticed how he likes tinkering with parts, right? He can fix a car or an air conditioner without calling a repairman—he just fiddles with it himself. Me? I studied hair and beauty. See these dreads? I braided them myself.”
Xia Yiyang: “Level 8 fitter?”
“Yep. College students have CET-4 and CET-6 for English; at our tech school, fitters have to take grade exams too.” Qin Zaozao was getting more and more into his made-up story. “Level 8 is the highest rank. He even competed in a national fitter competition before—hand-crafting aircraft carriers, replicating Gundams, all no problem for him.”
Anyone with a bit of life experience would have seen through the nonsense, but Xia Yiyang, true to his naive nature, didn’t think Qin Zaozao would lie to him.
The young master thought to himself: So the boss is a fitter… a Level 8 fitter… That explained all the mechanical tools in his study and that complex 3D printer.
How impressive—Sheng Lin could make soothing desserts with his hands and also tinker and transform everyday life with them. Was there anyone more perfect than his boss in this world?
Qin Zaozao saw the stars in the boy’s eyes and thought: Oh no, this kid actually believed it!
He felt guilty and wrong-footed. If he admitted he’d been making it all up now, the young master would probably get mad and never come hang out with him again.
So he quickly changed the subject, rummaging through a corner and pulling out a bag of snacks to hand to Xia Yiyang.
“Little Xia, thanks for braving the heat to bring me the tofu pudding. Here’s a little gift for you.”
Xia Yiyang: “What is it?”
He looked at Qin Zaozao’s hand—it was a big bag of fortune cookies, the kind you see in Chinese restaurants in American TV shows. Each cookie was shaped like a little pouch. When you cracked it open, a “lucky slip” of paper would fall out. Foreigners believed they could foretell good or bad fortune.
Xia Yiyang looked bewildered: “Isn’t this just a gimmick for foreigners…”
“Foreigners, locals—who cares?” Qin Zaozao said. “You need to get your mindset straight. Sure, you’re from the capital, but now that you’re in Rongcheng, you’re a chill why did wa!”
The young master from Beijing opened his mouth, then hesitated: “…That’s not very polite. You shouldn’t say that.”
“Juuuust kiiidding.”
The bag of fortune cookies in front of him was huge. Xia Yiyang picked left and right but couldn’t decide—this one looked nice, that one seemed to have a certain connection.
Even the bird couldn’t stand his indecision. Impatiently, it fluttered down from its owner’s head, fanned its wings, and stretched its pointed beak forward, snatching one of the small packets. It then tossed its neck sideways, sending the little cookie flying into the boy’s palm.
“Dummy! Dummy!” The bird’s eyes were full of disdain. It held its head high and flew back up to its nest on its owner’s head.
The young master held the tiny cookie in his palm—it felt as light as if it had no weight at all. He was about to tear open the wrapper when Qin Zaozao stopped him.
“Don’t open it yet,” Qin Zaozao said. “Open it when you have a question in your heart—but not a stupid question like ‘Where does Sheng Lin go when he’s in a bad mood.’”
…What was so stupid about that question?
Xia Yiyang thought it was actually quite important!
Before they knew it, the sweet tofu pudding in front of them was gone. Xia Yiyang carefully tucked away the little cookie, then gathered all the takeout containers to throw them out—but he couldn’t find a trash can anywhere in the cramped newsstand.
“Brother Qin, where’s the trash can?”
Qin Zaozao crooked his finger and gestured outside: “See that Mixue Ice City across the street?”
“Yeah, I see it.”
How could anyone miss that big cold-drink shop, with a bouncy Snow King mascot hopping around out front?
Qin Zaozao: “Walk past that bouncing idiot Snow King, and the trash can is right behind it.”
Xia Yiyang had an epiphany: “Brother Qin, you even mooch off other people’s trash cans!”
Qin Zaozao spread his hands: “When you’re running a business, it’s not ‘mooching’—it’s ‘resource sharing.’”
With no other choice, Xia Yiyang had to sneak over to Mixue Ice City with two big bags of trash. He’d never done anything so shameless in his life. He pretended to be calm as he walked around Snow King’s chubby figure, dodged the bustling crowd, resisted the temptation of a two-yuan ice cream cone, and finally managed to stuff the trash into the can by their entrance.
Amitabha—what a sin, what a sin.
He dusted off his hands and was about to slip away when a hand with distinct knuckles lightly landed on his shoulder.
Xia Yiyang’s heart nearly stopped from guilt—he thought he was about to face justice. He spun around in panic—and to his surprise, standing behind him wasn’t a chubby Snow King wielding a scepter, but Sheng Lin.
“Boss!” The boy’s eyes lit up instantly. “What are you doing here?”
Sheng Lin had actually changed into a mechanic’s jumpsuit. Because of the heat, he’d rolled up the sleeves past his elbows and boldly left the collar open. If he bent over just slightly, one could glimpse his powerful chest muscles, full and well-defined—impossible to look away from.
The man answered succinctly: “I took the motorcycle in for maintenance and came to pick you up on the way.”
“On the way” where? The shop and here were in completely opposite directions.
But Sheng Lin was too worried about his little delivery rider, afraid that his unreliable friend might have filled his head with nonsense, so he’d come to pick him up in person.
The young master couldn’t take his eyes off Sheng Lin’s jumpsuit. How could anyone make a mechanic’s uniform look so good? The fabric was stretched taut over every muscle, radiating pure masculinity.
His mouth moved faster than his brain: “Boss, you look even better in coveralls than I imagined.”
Sheng Lin froze, glanced down at himself, and asked with a strange expression: “…Why were you imagining me in coveralls?”
“Brother Qin told me!” Xia Yiyang immediately tattled. “He said you’re especially good at modifying and assembling machinery, and that you even competed in a national competition for your school and placed!”
Sheng Lin sighed helplessly: “That’s ancient history. And he’s still going around bragging about it.”
“How is that ancient history? Winning a prize at a national competition is something you can brag about for a lifetime.”
The two of them were completely talking past each other, unaware that Qin Zaozao’s interference had led them to discuss two entirely different things.
Sheng Lin wasn’t the type to dwell on past glories. He quickly moved on: “Speaking of which, where is Qin Zaozao’s shop? He said it’s between Mixue Ice City and Zhengxin Chicken Chop, very obvious, but there’s only a wall between those two stores.”
“Well…” Xia Yiyang didn’t keep him in suspense. He immediately turned Sheng Lin around 180 degrees and pointed toward the tree-lined path. “It’s right here—right under your nose! Look, that’s it!”
Following the direction of the boy’s finger, Sheng Lin narrowed his eyes slightly after getting a clear view: “Look at what? That abandoned newsstand no one’s taking care of?”
“What abandoned newsstand? It’s clearly—”
Xia Yiyang’s words caught in his throat.
By the tree-lined path, the newsstand that had been open for business just moments ago was now firmly locked, its rusty iron shutters sealed tight, with no sign of life whatsoever.
No tall, thin figure. No myna hopping in its cage. No one-yuan popsicles or three-yuan bottled water.
Pedestrians came and went. The abandoned newsstand stood silent like a snapshot frozen in time, with no one stopping for it.
Xia Yiyang instinctively reached into his crossbody bag.
Something light fell into his palm.
It was the fortune cookie.
Still waiting to answer the young master’s unanswered questions.
———
But where did Qin Zaozao actually go?
—
“AAAAAH YOU STUPID BIRD! THAT’S MY HAIR, NOT YOUR NEST! WHY DID YOU POOP ON MY HEAD?! BLEGH BLEGH BLEGH SO DISGUSTING I NEED TO GO HOME AND WASH MY HAIR RIGHT NOW!!!” [Crying] [Crying]
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