Wen Shiqing followed him into the courtyard. This was a small private inn run by an elderly couple. Guest rooms lined both sides of the courtyard—simple mud-brick buildings. Though modest, the couple kept everything clean and orderly. In one corner of the yard, they had set up a simple shower area for overnight guests.
The elderly woman, dressed neatly and tidily, led them to the door of one of the rooms. Smiling, she opened it and said, “This is the last room available. You’re lucky—anyone coming after this won’t have a room.”
Inside, the bed was a traditional heated brick bed (tangkang) with a large mat laid on top and a thin quilt folded neatly. Beside it stood an old wooden table with two worn stools.
“Our water is from a mountain spring, and the shower uses the same spring water. Don’t worry, it’s clean. We raise our own chickens, and there are fish and shrimp ponds behind the house. Whatever you want to eat, just let us know—we can make home-style dishes.”
“Thank you. You go ahead and take care of your things; we’ll rest first.”
“Alright.” The elderly woman lit an oil lamp and left, closing the door behind her.
Wen Shiqing sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed. “Brother, have you ever stayed here before?”
No wonder Sister Chen said driving big trucks wasn’t easy—eating and sleeping on the road was rough. With conditions like this, there was no way to sleep well; who knew what kinds of rats or cockroaches might be around at night?
“No,” Xie Yucheng replied. Previously, when he drove trucks, he had fixed routes. Lodging along the way was arranged by the factory, usually at designated guesthouses with proper receipts. The accommodations weren’t bad—state-run factories treated their drivers well.
But now that he was on his own, it was different. Independent drivers trying to save money usually slept in their trucks or in big shared rooms, with a dozen men sleeping on one large bed.
He’d heard of this inn from fellow drivers who stayed here. It was privately run by a kind elderly couple, and the rates weren’t too high. That’s why he hurried to get here before dark.
He could rough it in the truck alone, but with Wen Shiqing, he had to figure out a proper place for her to stay—no sleeping in the truck if he could avoid it.
Wen Shiqing looked at the tangkang taking up half the room—it would be enough for the two of them.
The inn’s central row of rooms was where the couple lived, along with the dining room and kitchen.
There was no electricity, but candles and oil lamps lit the space brightly enough.
Several truck drivers who were staying overnight ate at separate tables—some alone, some with spouses.
When Wen Shiqing and Xie Yucheng entered, the others assumed they were a young married couple.
They found an empty table and sat down. Xie Yucheng waved for the owner to come over. “Do you have shrimp?”
“Yes.”
“One braised shrimp with extra sugar, a stir-fried vegetable dish, tomato and egg soup, and two bowls of rice.”
The elderly woman asked, “Any dietary restrictions?”
“Just light on salt.”
She nodded and went to the kitchen to prepare the meal.
Wen Shiqing asked, “Brother, don’t you like fish?”
He rinsed her bowl and chopsticks with hot tea. “Not today.”
She lowered her gaze, her long lashes casting shadows in the dim light. Quietly, she felt that the dishes seemed chosen entirely according to her preferences.
She liked shrimp. Her taste ran along the lines of Yang Ying’s—she preferred sweeter dishes, and meat dishes always with extra sugar. She had a mild palate; the dishes at this inn were slightly salty for her. She also disliked fish. As a child, she’d been pricked by fish bones several times and had sworn off fish completely. Removing the bones was troublesome, and she never managed to do it well—she’d lose some meat each time—so she simply avoided fish altogether. Only her mother, Yang Ying, knew these little details.
Soon, the two dishes and the soup arrived, each in generous portions: crisp green vegetables, fragrant braised shrimp, and tomato-egg soup topped with chopped scallions.
The aroma was irresistible, and Wen Shiqing’s stomach gave a timely growl, which she awkwardly covered with a hand.
The man’s thin lips parted slightly. “Eat.”
The rice was steaming, each grain separate, with a layer of golden, crispy crust on the bottom.
Wen Shiqing hungrily ate half the rice plain, leaving the other half to soak in the tomato-egg soup.
“Aren’t you eating the shrimp?” Xie Yucheng asked when she took two but stopped.
Shaking her head, her clear, lazy eyes shone like a mountain stream.
“I don’t want to peel them,” she said.
The man was momentarily stunned, then furrowed his handsome brows and muttered, “Such a fuss.”
Wen Shiqing glanced at his stern face, pouted slightly, and turned back to the vegetables.
In the courtyard, Xie Yucheng washed his hands and then, resigned, returned to the table. He peeled a shrimp and placed it beside her bowl.
Before long, all the shrimp were peeled—some eaten by the girl, the rest neatly arranged on the plate.
The translucent, plump shrimp dipped in the sauce were salty, fragrant, slightly sweet, and rich with flavor.
His long, elegant fingers were glossy with oil, with a tiny piece of shrimp shell still clinging to them. Under the dim light, his sharp features softened in a handsome way.
At the next table, a couple watched Xie Yucheng attend to Wen Shiqing—rinsing her chopsticks, pouring tea, peeling shrimp. The woman glared at her husband, saying, “Look at him pampering his wife. When will I ever get this treatment?”
The woman happened to sit behind Wen Shiqing. As she lifted her bowl to eat, she overheard the remark and felt her ears heat up; her neck flushed red.
Not sure if Xie Yucheng heard, she stole a glance at him—he remained calm, likely oblivious.
The man at that table looked at them and said, “We didn’t order shrimp. Want me to peel some for you too?”
“Go away, this isn’t about shrimp!” the woman said, annoyed.
The couple bickered back and forth.
Wen Shiqing couldn’t help a quiet laugh, deepening the dimples in her cheeks, her eyes sparkling.
“What’s so funny?” a cold voice cut through.
She coughed, smiling shyly. “Nothing, nothing.”
Xie Yucheng gestured for her to eat the shrimp. She grabbed several pieces and stuffed them into her mouth at once. He murmured beside her, “Don’t expect this next time.”
She wouldn’t expect him to peel shrimp for her again.
After the meal, night had fallen completely.
Wen Shiqing and Xie Yucheng returned to the room. She asked, slightly awkwardly, “Brother, do you want to shower first, or should I?”
After saying it, she realized it sounded strangely intimate and quickly added, “Maybe you go first.”
In the dim light of the oil lamp, the small room held one sitting, one standing.
Xie Yucheng walked a few steps to the bed, pulled a set of change-of-clothes from his bag, and said, “Alright, I’ll go first.”