Perhaps because drivers had all returned to their hometowns for the Spring Festival, Su Ying had to wait five minutes for a taxi.
Standing at the entrance to her residential complex, she looked down the street at the shops, most of which were closed. The street was empty and silent, giving it an especially desolate feel.
Su Ying shoved her hands into her pockets and buried half her face in the collar of her down jacket. Suddenly, a wave of inexplicable melancholy washed over her.
This melancholy reached its peak once she arrived at Haidilao.
Haidilao was located on the fourth floor of the Central Mall, an entire floor dedicated to dining. To Su Ying’s surprise, the mall’s dining scene during the Spring Festival was much busier than she had imagined. Although there weren’t the long lines typical of major holidays, looking through the restaurant’s glass windows, she could see that nearly half the seats were occupied.
Su Ying’s timing at Haidilao wasn’t ideal; she had to wait for a few tables to clear.
But that didn’t matter; she had planned to get a manicure first anyway.
Su Ying had come across a viral nude-toned manicure on social media—soft and understated. Not being one for words and knowing nothing about manicures, she simply handed the post to the nail technician, asking her to replicate the exact shade and design shown in the post, one-to-one.
While getting her nails done, she idly watched the passersby. Almost everyone was with their families or in couples. She was the only one there all by herself.
When did she start going places alone?
Back in kindergarten, she had little friends she’d hold hands with on the way home. In elementary school, she’d jump rope with classmates and swap romance novels.
That was until she attended boarding school in middle school. In a place like Chun City, where education was so highly valued, choosing to board even though her home wasn’t far away made her seem somewhat unusual. The subtle stares and whispers among her classmates gradually taught her to keep quiet. At an age when girls still held hands even to go to the bathroom, she grew accustomed to going to the restroom alone, eating in the cafeteria alone, and returning to her dormitory to sleep alone.
By high school, Su Ying had moved from a small town to Chun City. The immense pressure to excel academically and her consistently poor grades weighed on her like a massive boulder, leaving her breathless and making her even more withdrawn.
When she finally entered college and thought she could start a whole new life, she seemed to have forgotten how to begin a healthy relationship.
Whenever she met someone who was even slightly kind to her, she would immediately pour her heart out, desperately wanting to establish a relationship beyond friendship that would bind them together—like best friends in real life, or soulmates in a game.
But this excessive enthusiasm and dependence often only scared the other person away, and at times even made them think she was crazy.
And so, her social circle grew smaller and smaller, and she found it increasingly difficult to fit into others’ circles.
In the end, she became truly alone.
Even on a day like the Spring Festival, when families traditionally reunite, her phone received only a few mass-sent greetings from sales groups. The sole exception was her senior brother, Su Jiayu.
But surely she wasn’t the only friend her senior had?
Su Ying lowered her eyes, watching her nails being meticulously polished.
The manicurist truly lived up to her reputation as a modern-day Aphrodite, fulfilling all of Su Ying’s expectations for her first manicure.
The finished result shimmered like glass beads—gentle and translucent—making her naturally pale, pink hands appear even more delicate.
In the past, she couldn’t believe anyone would spend over a thousand yuan on a single manicure. Even now that she had the money, she still considered it a luxury and had only wanted to try it for a free trial.
But at this very moment, gazing at the beauty on her fingertips, her originally melancholy mood truly brightened.
Indeed, no one can resist beautiful things.
Her manicure was just finished when her number was called.
The manicurist’s thoughtful service and flawless results filled her with anticipation for the “main event” to come, and that anticipation peaked the moment she stepped through the doors of Haidilao.
Perhaps the character “Ying” in Su Ying’s name was too full—it seemed destined that nothing in her life would ever be perfect. Take her experience in the business-class lounge, or her first meeting with her senior classmate; there were always some unexpected hiccups.
Like now.
The server assigned to her was very young and pretty. Su Ying had read somewhere that Haidilao servers these days all held bachelor’s degrees, which gave her a subtle sense of superiority—mixed with a faint sense of unease—as she faced her.
After she was seated, the server placed a stuffed animal across from her and handed her a tablet for ordering—everything was exactly as described in the guides on social media.
Following the guide, Su Ying ordered the four-section pot, requesting just one tomato broth and asking the server to prepare a spicy broth as well.
Once the dishes were all served, the server was slow to come and adjust the broth. In addition to Su Ying, her section included a large family of six at the neighboring table. Clearly, that table’s requests were far more complicated than Su Ying’s.
The neighboring table was a very typical family group: a couple, two elderly parents, and two young children—an older sister and a younger brother.
The family was having a wonderful time.
The two children were like wild horses off the leash, darting back and forth between the booth and the aisle. The grandparents ate while pointing at the dishes with their chopsticks, seemingly discussing something. The children’s mother barely managed to take a single full bite—she was either getting up to discipline the unruly children, serving food to the elders, or helping the waitress clear the table. The children’s father, however, remained as steady as a rock.
The two elderly people were constantly directing the waiting staff—one moment asking for more water, the next to skim the foam, then to change the seasonings, and then to fetch toys for the children…
The requests came one after another, never-ending.
Su Ying couldn’t even fathom how eating a meal could involve so much hassle!
Every time a server hurried past Su Ying, they could only offer her an apologetic glance. Amidst the chaos, one finally found a moment to dash over and quickly prepare a spicy hot pot for her.
As for the “hidden” Haidilao eating methods and viral DIY guides Su Ying had saved on social media, the servers simply didn’t have time to help her try them. Su Ying herself couldn’t bring herself to ask, not wanting to add to the workload of such busy staff.
Su Ying’s feelings were mixed.
On one hand, as a former office worker herself, she felt sorry for the waitstaff who were running around nonstop.
On the other hand, she felt a bit angry, along with a sense of injustice and resentment. She had paid for this meal, after all—why was the table next to her receiving such attentive service, while she felt like she’d been left in the corner?
Almost instantly, fragments of opinions from various short videos flashed through her mind, but she couldn’t pinpoint any specific point or make sense of it all.
Yet she knew clearly that if she continued to harbor this mindset of comparison and resentment, she might not be able to spend her envisioned later years with the peace of mind she hoped for.
Su Ying glanced once more at the table next to her.
A seemingly happy family, with a waitress revolving entirely around them.
As her gaze swept over the scene, she happened to catch a moment: the two children had started fighting over the last piece of crispy pork, and in the end, the piece fell into the bubbling hot pot. The younger brother, without a moment’s hesitation, reached in to grab it, only to have his mother strike the back of his hand hard with her chopsticks. Immediately afterward, the grandmother yanked the mother’s sleeve, and the two of them began to murmur something to each other, their expressions growing increasingly agitated. Grandpa was still directing the waiter to add more broth, while the children’s father remained buried in his meal, as steady as a rock.
Su Ying withdrew her gaze and looked back at the dazed, grinning companion doll across from her. Suddenly, she felt that this wasn’t so bad after all.
She took a bite of the cheese fish stick. The crust was crispy, the fish meat tender, and the cheese filling inside made for a delicious, satisfying bite.
She seemed to see herself many years from now. In a clean, bright room, the old lady next door lay peacefully in bed, while her stern-faced daughter stood by, her eyes fixed like rulers on the caregiver as they washed her body.
Meanwhile, lying on the other side—unwashed for days because the caregiver had been slacking off, her body reeking of odor—she could only strain to turn her head and cast a wistful, envious glance in that direction.
Su Ying picked up a shrimp cake—chewy and plump with shrimp. Even though the waitress was too busy to help, she tried her hand at making tomato shrimp cakes following a recipe she found on social media.
In fact, without the waitress watching, she felt even more at ease. She could freely experiment with those “cooking” tutorials from social media. If she succeeded, she’d be happy, of course, but even if she failed, it didn’t matter—no one cared, and she didn’t have to feel embarrassed.
In her youth, she didn’t have to cram under the same roof with a noisy extended family, didn’t have to wait on her in-laws, didn’t have to look after her children, and didn’t have to struggle to get a single bite of peace at the dinner table.
She has already enjoyed such a complete, carefree, and entirely self-directed single life.
So if her twilight years are a bit bleak, it seems… only fair.
She has walked alone for twelve long years—nearly half her life—so spending the rest of her days alone doesn’t seem like such a difficult prospect.
At age six, she had to accept her mother’s sudden departure; at twelve, she had to board at a school less than ten minutes by electric scooter from home; at fifteen, she took the bus every week between Chuncheng and her hometown; at eighteen, she came to terms with her father’s passing; and at twenty-one, she learned to find a job, rent an apartment, and repay her student loans all on her own.
Now, even though she still doesn’t consider herself particularly smart, still feels a bit clumsy and naive, and still can’t avoid getting taken advantage of or falling into traps, she is already capable of facing many people and many situations on her own.
She can go shopping alone, take long trips alone, travel alone, buy a house alone, celebrate the New Year alone, eat hot pot alone… live alone.
In the future, she’ll be able to go to an amusement park alone, get sick alone, undergo surgery alone, hire a caregiver alone, live as a recluse alone, or live in a nursing home alone…
Until, in the end, she dies alone.
As for what happens after she dies—never mind if she hasn’t wiped her own butt; even if she rots and stinks, so what?
She’s dead anyway.
Su Ying took the elevator down to the first floor. Through the glass walls, she caught sight of a large sign outside a clothing store that read, “Spring Collection Now In, Winter Clothing 70% Off.”
Death can be a messy affair, but while alive, one must live well.