The morning sun filtered softly through the tiles like a mist, casting light on the semi-open kitchen stove. Mo Xiaobei, wearing a mask and gloves, was mixing ingredients in a stainless steel bowl for the barbecue set ordered by guests for the evening. At six in the morning, the courtyard was quiet, and his gaze flickered through the courtyard’s flowers and plants to Room 302, where the door remained firmly shut.
"Morning, Xiaobei." Ah Ya, the young girl from the front desk coming to start her morning shift, yawned and glanced over at him with some surprise. "Wow, did someone finally book the Big Fool 488 outdoor camping package?"
"Yeah, the rooftop’s locked, and the ethnic-style photo spot with a circle of sofas facing the snow-capped mountains is finally open for business a year after launch," Mo Xiaobei chuckled, playfully tapping a synthetic steak with a small hammer.
Ah Ya sneered, "Stop hammering, it’s just synthetic meat. Sister Chen is good at squeezing every penny out of guests. The rooms and everything else are just for reference, no matter how pretty you make it, it’s just lipstick on a pig."
Mo Xiaobei slowly put down the hammer, paused for a moment, then smiled again. "Old habits from previous jobs."
Ah Ya pursed her lips, clearly grumpy from the early shift, and spoke without much thought, "You think you’re a top chef? This place is just a makeshift setup, but your food is really good. Still, for what little pay, just fool the guests and be done with it."
Mo Xiaobei bit his lower lip awkwardly, slowly removed his disposable gloves, and turned away without responding.
"Hey, I was just talking nonsense, don’t take it to heart!" Ah Ya regretted her words and hurried after him, patting his shoulder.
Mo Xiaobei naturally didn’t hold it against her; she didn’t mean any harm. So he changed the subject, asking with some curiosity, "By the way, you’ve been on the day shift lately. Have you seen the guest from Room 302 come out?"
Ah Ya paused, then exclaimed, "I don’t think so! I feel like I saw him three days ago. Oh no, he wouldn’t have…"
"Don’t jump to conclusions. I’ll go check." Mo Xiaobei rummaged through the front desk drawer for the master key card and dashed upstairs.
Though it wasn’t ideal to disturb guests so early, Mo Xiaobei had a nagging feeling something was off, so he knocked on the door without hesitation. "Hello, room service. Do you need cleaning, Mr. Fu?"
After knocking several times with no response, he gritted his teeth and used the master key to open the door.
A choking smell of smoke mixed with alcohol hit him, making Mo Xiaobei stagger back. Oh no, it couldn’t be a crime scene, right? Please, let there be no criminal case.
His mind raced through crime shows he’d watched, and steeling himself against the smell he hated most, he ventured inside.
The curtains were drawn, and the room was dim. He saw a guitar case wide open on the floor, a guitar lying there with two broken strings. A gust of wind from outside scattered the overflowing ashtray’s contents onto the guitar. Then he spotted Fu Yanlin lying silently on the bed, seemingly asleep. But Mo Xiaobei wasn’t reassured, so he leaned over the foot of the bed to check.
"Hmm?" Mo Xiaobei paused, then sighed in relief. Thankfully, Fu Yanlin was still breathing, but his face was flushed, his chest heaving, and sweat beaded on his forehead. Mo Xiaobei instinctively touched his forehead, diagnosing altitude sickness.
Mo Xiaobei jumped off the bed, yanked open the curtains, and pushed the window wide to let fresh air in. The noise roused Fu Yanlin. He opened his eyes, feeling a pounding headache. He’d been in a daze for three days, barely eating, his stomach filled only with alcohol and water. He’d lost a lot of weight, his cheeks sunken, hair disheveled, bangs hanging over his eyes like a disheveled youth.
"What… who?" Fu Yanlin’s native language slipped out instinctively. He’d been holed up smoking and drinking for days, his voice nearly gone, sounding like a cat scratching the floor to Mo Xiaobei’s ears.
"Hold on! You’re trying to kill yourself," Mo Xiaobei didn’t wait for him to react, running downstairs and returning with an armful of items, dumping them on Fu Yanlin’s bed.
"You’re oxygen-deprived. Get up and eat these, then lie down and breathe some oxygen. Seriously, young master, Lijiang’s altitude is too much for you. If you’re so weak, don’t push yourself."
Fu Yanlin found a cup of warm water and a handful of rhodiola in his hands, bewildered, his oxygen-starved brain foggy as he blinked at Mo Xiaobei.
Mo Xiaobei figured his brain might be fried, sighed, and set up the oxygen tank, pushing it toward Fu Yanlin. "Don’t know how to use it? I’ll show you. Just take a deep breath, and you’ll feel better soon."
Fu Yanlin shook his heavy head, swallowed the medicine, and started breathing the oxygen.
"Thanks… I do feel much better." Fresh oxygen filled his lungs, dispelling the suffocating heaviness, just like Mo Xiaobei’s whirlwind entrance had blown away all the negative emotions. Fu Yanlin felt his mind clear, as if a trash bin had been emptied with one click.
Mo Xiaobei sighed, sitting in the chair opposite Fu Yanlin, resting his chin on his hands as he spoke earnestly, "No need to thank me. You not leaving your room for three days was really worrying. I have work to do, so don’t die here. Playing the brooding artist isn’t like this. What hurdle in life can’t be overcome? I’m not good at comforting people, but I know life is about personal experience. No one’s life is smooth sailing. As long as you’re alive, it’s not over, and there’s still a chance, right?"
Fu Yanlin’s mouth twitched slightly. He’d been oscillating between hope and despair, trapping himself in this small room. Though Mo Xiaobei’s words were clichés, he needed someone to talk to. Yes, as long as life hasn’t ended, everything can start anew. Life is long, and the margin for error isn’t that low. It’s just a detour, a bit more challenging than others.
"I’m fine, much better, thank you." Fu Yanlin stared into Mo Xiaobei’s bright eyes, feeling a tightness in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. The oxygen revived him, easing his headache and heart rate, and then hunger hit him like a wave, making his legs weak and his stomach ache.
He hesitated, then spoke, "Mr. Mo, about what happened in the restaurant that day, it was my fault. Wasting food and disrespecting others’ hard work was really rude. I apologize."
Mo Xiaobei blinked, tilting his head as if recalling, then smiled with relief. "Ah, I’d forgotten if you hadn’t mentioned it. No worries, I’m just particular. Let’s call it even, Mr. Fu. No need for formalities, just call me Xiaobei."
After a pause, he spoke again, more seriously, as if gathering courage, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Was the rice noodles that bad that day?"
Fu Yanlin sensed his nervousness, his heart softening. He could see Mo Xiaobei was someone who took his profession seriously, and he couldn’t brush off someone like that. "Honestly, I was in a terrible mood and feeling unwell that day, so my judgment was unfair. Would you make it for me again? I’ll give you honest feedback."
Upon hearing this, Mo Xiaobei visibly brightened, nodding vigorously with pride. "Of course, I can. I overlooked that Hong Kong people prefer lighter food, and you haven’t eaten in days, so you can’t handle heavy and spicy food. Wait a moment, I’ll make it for you."
With that, Mo Xiaobei dashed downstairs like a whirlwind and disappeared into the kitchen.
Twenty minutes later, Mo Xiaobei returned, carrying a wooden tray with two steaming bowls of chicken soup rice noodles. The broth was clear, almost oil-free, with crisp green vegetables, tender chicken shreds, and golden egg strips on top. Stirring revealed the snow-white noodles, which would slip through the chopsticks if not held carefully. The enticing aroma made Fu Yanlin’s eyes widen.
At the small tea table by the wooden window, the two men squeezed together, sitting shoulder to shoulder, slurping noodles. At this moment, even slurping sounds were forgivable. Behind them, the sky was a deep blue, and today’s wind was refreshing, blowing the drifting clouds low, as if one could reach out and touch them.
Fu Yanlin ate until his back, eyes, and nose were all damp. He nearly buried his face in the bowl, sniffing his runny nose, and Mo Xiaobei handed him a tissue.
"Thank you…" Fu Yanlin’s voice was hoarse as he spoke softly. The chicken soup rice noodles were so delicious he nearly bit his tongue, eating with great satisfaction. All his grievances and frustrations seemed to dissolve in the bowl of soup. As long as one is alive, can eat, and think, there’s endless hope. Fu Yanlin and Mo Xiaobei finished every last bit of the soup and noodles, then collapsed on the sofa, patting their stomachs, silent for a long time.
"Ah… that was delicious. It’s the best rice noodles I’ve ever had. You’re amazing, Xiaobei." Fu Yanlin broke the silence first, crossing his fingers to make a ten. "A perfect ten out of ten! That’s my highest praise."
Mo Xiaobei seemed to relax, lifting his chin confidently. "Of course, I’ve been in Lijiang for three months, learning bits and pieces, and now I can make things better than the local chefs. Many people on travel sites give high ratings to the restaurant here."
Fu Yanlin showed some interest, engaging him in conversation, half-jokingly saying, "You’re overqualified here. In my opinion, you’re much better than those so-called certified chefs and inheritors in Hong Kong."
Unexpectedly, Mo Xiaobei didn’t respond to his compliment. He suddenly became quiet, stood up to clear the dishes, and shook his head with a smile. "That’s a bit exaggerated. I’m just an ordinary cook. I’ll get back to work. If you need anything, just call me. Today’s meal is on the house; it was my staff meal anyway."
Fu Yanlin instinctively stood up, catching a fleeting sadness in Mo Xiaobei’s eyes. He’d heard that many people come to Yunnan with stories, seeking to heal and find themselves. But he didn’t feel it was the right time to ask Mo Xiaobei about it, as their relationship wasn’t there yet. However, he did want to talk more with this young man, who seemed to be the only person he was slowly getting to know in this unfamiliar place.
So Fu Yanlin called out impulsively, "Xiaobei, I’m older than you. Call me Brother Lin. If you have time, could I hire you as my guide? Show me around. I’ll pay you for your time."
Mo Xiaobei paused at the doorway, his eyes lighting up at the mention of money. He turned back with a smile. "I’d be delighted."