After using his tarot cards to score some free food and drink (Xia Yiyang: For the record, that comment about “scamming” was purely the boss’s biased opinion—he never once thought Master Qin was a fraud!), Qin Zaozao left, thoroughly satisfied.
Before he left, he made a point of exchanging contact info with Xia Yiyang.
Xia Yiyang’s WeChat name was “Yiyi”—just the number one—and his profile picture was a selfie. The photo looked like it had been taken at an amusement park. The boy was wearing light summer clothes and an exaggerated, childish headband, standing in front of a giant dinosaur model with a bright, carefree smile.
His Moments was open for the past month. Qin Zaozao scrolled up and saw posts including his high school graduation photo (the school emblem of a prestigious Beijing school clearly visible on his uniform), a family hotpot dinner on the night the college entrance exams ended (with neighborhood location tagging), and screenshots of him gaming online with friends (horribly bad, and he hadn’t even blurred out his gamer ID).
The latest post was from a few days ago—Xia Yiyang had taken a photo of the Chengdu high-speed rail station sign, and in the reflection of the glass door, you could see the boy looking travel-worn with a giant suitcase beside him.
@Yiyi: Vacation mode activated! [grinning emoji]
Qin Zaozao: “…………”
Just what kind of young master was this? Zero guard up whatsoever.
“Vacation,” my foot—he’d vacationed himself straight into an ice jelly shop.
Qin Zaozao instinctively looked at Sheng Lin. Sheng Lin’s eyes were full of helpless resignation—See? Clueless.
Xia Yiyang hadn’t noticed the silent exchange between Qin Zaozao and Sheng Lin. He asked: “Brother Qin, why is your WeChat name Jia Wanwan?”
Qin Zaozao said mysteriously: “When you roam the world, you need a stage name!”
Xia Yiyang muttered: “Isn’t that just a fake name…”
Sheng Lin seized the opportunity to warn him: “Not everyone’s like you, blurting out your real name the moment someone asks.”
“What does that have to do with being naive?” Xia Yiyang argued. “If we don’t exchange real names, it doesn’t count as truly knowing each other. I just want to offer sincerity in exchange for sincerity—is that wrong?”
“You’re too naive. You want to trade sincerity for sincerity, but in other people’s eyes, your sincerity might just be something they weigh and calculate as leverage.” Sheng Lin spoke bluntly. “You never know what’s in someone’s heart. You think you’re open and have nothing to hide, but what if you run into a bad person? All they’d have to do is scroll through your Moments to find out which high school you graduated from, where you live, what your usual online IDs are—don’t expose so much of your life to strangers.”
“Boss, why do you have to think so badly of people!” Xia Yiyang felt he was being alarmist. “Besides, I never add random people on WeChat—like subway salespeople, online gaming strangers, I don’t even have my hairdresser on there.”
Before high school, his family had been strict about phone use. Even in high school, he was only allowed two hours on weekends. His contacts were all classmates or relatives, and his posts were no different from anyone else’s everyday life.
Since arriving in Chengdu, he’d only added three friends—Sheng Lin, Qin Zaozao, and Wen Sen. Surely none of them could be bad people?
Impossible!
Sheng Lin took one look at the defiant expression on Xia Yiyang’s face and knew that not a word of his advice had gotten through.
But then he thought about it—Xia Yiyang had just graduated high school, and had grown up surrounded by the love of his elders and the care of friends. Everyone he’d encountered had been good to him, so naturally he assumed the whole world was full of good people. It was normal for him to lack some real-world experience.
He’d just have to teach him slowly.
“You two quarrelsome souls, stop bickering. I’m about to leave, and you’re not even seeing me out?” Qin Zaozao turned to remind Xia Yiyang, “Xiao Xia, remember to guard your wallet. You can’t be too careful around others.”
Xia Yiyang nodded vigorously: “Got it, Brother Qin!”
Sheng Lin nearly laughed in exasperation: Fine. I kindly warn the kid, and he ignores me. But the moment the fake fortune-teller speaks up, the kid listens?
Qin Zaozao suddenly turned back to Sheng Lin and winked at him: “And you.”
Sheng Lin said impatiently: “Any more wisdom from the master?”
Qin Zaozao patted his pants pocket—where his tarot deck was—and mouthed to him: “THE LOVERS.”
Sheng Lin: “…”
Xia Yiyang was curious: “What are you guys talking about?”
“Nothing.” Sheng Lin looked a bit flustered, avoiding the boy’s gaze as he feigned composure. “He’s done playing fortune-teller, and now he’s pretending to be a foreigner again.”
…
Their shop usually closed at 10 PM, but today Xia Yiyang had asked for time off—he needed to leave two hours early.
He said matter-of-factly: “Boss, you can dock my pay!”
Because this young master absolutely had to take today off!
“What do you need time off for?” Sheng Lin didn’t feel at ease letting him go. Though he wouldn’t show it on his face, he still had to ask a few questions. “You don’t have any friends in Chengdu. Where are you going alone so late at night?”
“Who says I don’t have friends?” Xia Yiyang blurted out, taking the bait. “Tonight, a friend’s taking me to watch him perform.”
“Friend?” Sheng Lin immediately thought of that night—the little yellow-haired punk on the electric scooter who’d come to pick up Xia Yiyang. “That hood—” He caught himself and rephrased. “That yellow-haired guy?”
“Yeah.” Xia Yiyang nodded proudly. “Wen Sen’s a singer. He might not be famous yet, but I believe he’s going to be a huge star someday!”
He said it so casually, but the more Sheng Lin heard, the more uneasy he felt—worried that this guy of unknown origins might lead Xia Yiyang to some sketchy place.
There were too many bars in Chengdu. If it was just a regular chill bar, fine—but what if it was one of those places that made boys dance on the bar in fishnets? After all, this young master… looked way too “cute.”
Sheng Lin pressed: “Where’s he performing?”
Xia Yiyang: “Chunxi Road.”
“Where on Chunxi Road?”
“At the panda’s butt on Chunxi Road.”
“Where at the panda’s butt on Chunxi Road?”
“…”
Sheng Lin: “What’s wrong? You don’t know?”
Xia Yiyang hemmed and hawed for a long while before finally saying: “In the alley across from the panda’s butt…”
Sheng Lin realized what that meant and let out a scoff: “Oh. So this ‘future superstar’ is still busking in some alley.”
Xia Yiyang naturally leaped to his friend’s defense: “Don’t look down on people! Don’t mock a poor youth’s ambition!”
Sheng Lin: “Fine. Don’t mock a poor youth’s ambition.”
Xia Yiyang caught the dismissiveness in his tone: “What would a money-grubber like you know about music?”
Sheng Lin: “I really don’t. I’m tone-deaf and born with no ear for it.”
Ughhhhh. Xia Yiyang was so mad. He decided that starting tomorrow, every time a customer ordered ice jelly, he’d upgrade one scoop of melon seeds to two, two scoops of watermelon to three, three scoops of mango to four, and he’d scoop the ice cream balls into XXXXL size!
He’d make Sheng Lin know that even a lowly part-timer had a temper!
At 8 o’clock sharp, Xia Yiyang took off his apron on time and walked out from behind the counter with his head held high.
Auntie Zhao asked: “Xiao Xia, where are you off to?”
Auntie Li said: “Maybe he’s got himself a girlfriend?”
Sheng Lin said nothing, just watched Xia Yiyang’s retreating figure walk out of the ice jelly shop. The headlights of an e-bike by the roadside flickered. Xia Yiyang trotted over, held onto the other’s shoulder, and climbed onto the back seat.
The yellow-haired young man tossed the cigarette dangling from his mouth to the ground and stamped it out with his foot. Suddenly, he felt a piercing gaze—so tangible it felt like a knife cutting into him. He looked up in alarm and met the eyes of the man inside the shop.
Wen Sen felt a chill run down his spine and asked Xia Yiyang behind him: “Who’s that guy in the shop?”
Xia Yiyang didn’t even need to look up to know the answer: “Who else? That’s my boss.”
“Pretty fierce,” Wen Sen said. “Staring at me like that—gave me the creeps.”
Xia Yiyang thought for a moment: “It’s definitely because you threw your cigarette butt on the ground. He doesn’t like that, so he was glaring at you.”
Wen Sen: “I didn’t throw it in his shop—why’s he giving me the evil eye?”
Xia Yiyang didn’t reply. Instead, he silently hopped off the scooter, pulled a tissue from his pocket, picked up the cigarette butt that Wen Sen had ground under his shoe, and walked over to toss it into a nearby trash can. Only after that did he dust off his hands and climb back onto the back of Wen Sen’s scooter.
Wen Sen: “You’re really getting brainwashed by that scary boss of yours. You’re off the clock—why do you even care?”
“You can’t say that,” Xia Yiyang explained patiently. “Littering is wrong, plain and simple.”
Wen Sen let out a “tsk,” twisted the throttle, and the e-bike shot forward, leaving Sheng Lin and his shop far behind.
…
From the food street outside Rong University’s gate to Chunxi Road was only four kilometers. They zipped along on the e-bike at breakneck speed and arrived at the panda’s butt in under twenty minutes.
Wen Sen found a spot to park the e-bike, then led Xia Yiyang through some narrow alleys until they quickly reached a bustling little intersection—perfect for busking.
Before coming to Chengdu, Xia Yiyang had no idea how vibrant the nightlife was in other cities. Unlike Beijing, where the streets emptied out past 9 PM—no food stalls, no night markets, just boring. On Chunxi Road, 9 PM was when the nightlife was just getting started, and the stalls selling panda souvenirs were packed with people.
Wen Sen flipped open his guitar case, which had two QR codes taped inside—scan and pay 10 yuan to request a song. He set up his speakers, hoisted his guitar, and stepped up to the standing microphone.
Then he cleared his throat and began to sing.
The moment the young man’s voice rang out, the entire street seemed to fall silent for a beat. The passersby who had been hurrying along all turned their gazes toward this blond-haired youth. Though he wasn’t much to look at, his voice carried an incredible piercing quality that made everyone stop in their tracks; more and more people gathered around, raising their phones to film him as he sang. Some applauded, some cheered, and his guitar case was filled to the brim with tips—
—All of the above came from Xia Yiyang’s imagination, and none of it actually happened.
In reality, no one cared whether Wen Sen sang or not.
There were too many people on the street—some discussing where to get late-night snacks, others stopping at roadside stalls to buy souvenirs, others chatting and laughing… Not a single person cast so much as a glance at the busking youth.
Just watching from the sidelines, Xia Yiyang felt secondhand embarrassment for Wen Sen.
“Why are you embarrassed for me?” Wen Sen finished singing a cheesy internet hit and took a swig of mineral water to wet his throat. “In this line of work, it’s not about singing well—it’s about having thick skin!”
Wen Sen shared his wisdom: “Last time at this very intersection, a guy was proposing to his girlfriend. I grabbed my guitar, rushed over, and played ‘Today You’re Marrying Me’ right beside them. The proposal worked, the guy was so happy he sent me a 500-yuan red envelope!”
Xia Yiyang loved hearing stories like this: “Have you ever run into a failed proposal?”
“Yeah, ran into one of those too.” Wen Sen frowned. “That time, the guy almost beat me up after I finished singing. I was so pissed, I swiped the roses and gifts he’d used for the proposal, sold them to another couple, and made another three hundred.”
Xia Yiyang was shocked: “What do you mean ‘swiped’—that’s just stealing!”
“Just kidding, why do you always take everything so seriously?” Wen Sen changed his story with a cheeky grin. “Found them, found them. He threw the roses in the trash after the proposal failed, and I picked them up when I saw them.”
Xia Yiyang didn’t know what to make of it.
The e-bike last time, the roses this time—Wen Sen always seemed to treat “stealing” as a joke.
The young master had never had a friend like this before.
There was a thorn in his heart—a nagging sense that something was off—but then he thought, he couldn’t be so “high and mighty,” judging someone else’s turbulent life through the lens of his own smooth-sailing one.
More importantly, Wen Sen had genuinely helped him; and Brother Qin’s tarot reading had pointed out that Wen Sen was exactly the “new friend” he’d met after his setback.
Wen Sen sang at the roadside from 9 PM all the way until 2 AM. He sang for that long, and Xia Yiyang, being a loyal friend, stuck with him the whole time.
But the young master was exhausted—he had to wake up early every day to work a full shift at the ice jelly shop! Not caring about dirt or grime anymore, he found a spot on the ground outside a milk tea shop, leaned his head against the glass wall behind him, and dozed off in a daze.
When Xia Yiyang woke up, he was surprised to find several bills in front of him—the largest one was actually 50 yuan! All together, they added up to nearly 100 yuan. There were also two unopened cups of milk tea.
Xia Yiyang: “…?”
Wait, hold on—what exactly had happened? He’d just fallen asleep here, that was all.
Wen Sen packed up his guitar case and said, with a hint of sourness: “Turns out the most important thing in this line of work isn’t thick skin—it’s a pretty face.”
He’d sung for hours today and only made a little over two hundred, so naturally his tone carried some bitterness.
Xia Yiyang didn’t know how to respond. The ninety-odd yuan in his hand suddenly felt scaldingly hot.
Luckily, Wen Sen’s moods came and went quickly. He wheeled his e-bike over, patted the back seat, and said to Xia Yiyang: “Come on, it’s late. I’ll take you back to the hostel.”
Xia Yiyang caught the implication: “You’re not coming back?”
“Got a couple of friends calling me out for skewers,” Wen Sen said. “After I drop you off, I’ll go meet up with them.”
Xia Yiyang: “I’ll just take a cab back myself.”
“What cab? Cabs are way too expensive this late, and you’ve barely made any money. Save every penny you can.”
And so, the two of them rode back on the little e-bike in silence. Roads were under construction all over Chengdu, and the scooter bumped along unsteadily—and Xia Yiyang’s heart felt just as unsettled.
At the hostel entrance, Wen Sen handed his guitar to Xia Yiyang and asked him to take it inside and put it on the top bunk.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Wen Sen pointed at Xia Yiyang’s pocket with the hand holding his cigarette. “Lend me the money you made today.”
Xia Yiyang froze.
Wen Sen squinted at him with a smile: “You can rest one hundred and twenty percent assured—I won’t default. I’m about to go grab late-night food with my friends, and last time he footed the bill, so it’s my turn this time. I only made a little over two hundred today—probably not enough. I want to have some extra cash on me so I don’t lose face.”
It was nearly 3 AM now. The alley where the hostel sat was dead quiet, so dark you couldn’t even see the moon.
Wen Sen sat straddling his e-bike, its headlight newly replaced—a harsh beam of light shooting straight out from the front, only to be swallowed by the darkness. A swarm of tiny bugs circled around the light column, blind and pitiful.
Xia Yiyang reached his hand into his pants pocket. The edges of the bills pressed against his fingers, tickling slightly.
His palm was damp and hot. He clutched the money in his hand, looked at this new friend with his earnest words before him—and yet, inexplicably, Sheng Lin’s face floated into his mind.
—How strange. Why was he thinking of his boss at a time like this?
————————
A hundred yuan wasn’t much—would the young master lend it or not? [helpless][helpless]
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