Mu Wen's gaze drifted to the side.
She picked up her glass and tossed it back in one go, then scolded Xie Chong: "You drink too! Are you raising fish in there?"—all to cover the chaos brewing inside her.
Mu Wen was a very rational person.
She had always understood one thing: her feelings for Xie Chong were her own business, and she never expected him to return the same level of affection.
She was climbing a mountain, and Xie Chong was a tourist on that mountain. He stood at the summit while she had just bought her ticket and taken the first step. Whether she could reach the top, or how far she could climb, was still unknown. Their connection was nothing more than calling out across the distance—they could hear each other's voices, but to truly meet, she would have to climb up, or he would have to come down.
She was barely past twenty and wouldn't have understood these principles on her own—it was Chu Ling and Xiao Gu who had told her their stories.
Xiao Gu was from Henan. She had married a "true Beijinger" and lived with her in-laws in a tiny sixty-square-meter apartment. Xiao Gu's husband worked for the street office, earning a pitiful salary. She herself had always worked as an assistant, measuring rooms and sketching floor plans day in and day out. Despite all this, Xiao Gu's in-laws still said she had "married above her station."
They would always say: "A country girl from a Henan village managing to marry into Beijing—that's truly one in ten thousand."
Mu Wen would comfort Xiao Gu: "You're really wonderful. You've read so many books, you have a decent-paying job—why would they say such things to you? They have no reason to."
Xiao Gu would always smile wearily and say, "Engineer Mu, please never end up like me. You started from a higher place than I did—don't put up with this kind of humiliation."
As for Chu Ling, she was dating a colleague.
Her company was excellent—an internet company, constantly exploring new business ventures. Her boyfriend was also a graduate of a prestigious university, working there as a programmer.
Once, Mu Wen accompanied Chu Ling to her office for a weekend shift and saw the young man. He was simple and clean-cut, setting down two boxes of fruit in front of them before quickly excusing himself.
"We're evenly matched—neither of us is lacking," Chu Ling said. "That's why we respect each other."
The stories of Chu Ling and Xiao Gu had moved Mu Wen deeply. She realized that Beijing was a brutally realistic city, where everyone was desperate to prove their worth in order to gain more leverage.
Mu Wen had never once reached out to Xie Chong on her own initiative. She was afraid of how he might see her—and then her feelings for him would become worthless.
Even when she received her first official paycheck and felt such an urgent desire to share it with him, she still went to sing karaoke alone.
Xie Chong hadn't called her out on it.
He asked Mu Wen if the Moutai was good, and Mu Wen said it was, adding, "Then give me a little more?" So Xie Chong poured her another small cup.
Mu Wen pointed toward the kitchen and said, "There's still some dough and filling left over. I'll wrap them all up in a bit—you can freeze them and cook some whenever you don't feel like eating out."
"Aren't you tired?" he asked.
Mu Wen slapped the table: "We're only this young and we're already saying 'tired, tired, tired' every day? No more of that! We young people should have the strength and vitality of youth!" She shouted her slogan loudly, and it was genuine—she truly believed it.
"All that bull-like energy you've got—should I strap you to a millstone and have you grind grain, or maybe send you out to plow the fields?" Xie Chong said, then gestured at the things in the living room. "You're making me dumplings, and I've got nothing to give you in return. If I paid you, you'd think I was insulting you…" He wanted her to pick something to sell—it would fetch a good price.
"Pay up!" Mu Wen cut him off, thrusting her hand straight out toward him. "Give me the money! I'm being paid for my labor—what's there to be ashamed of?" She was delighted that Xie Chong had this kind of awareness. Now she felt she hadn't made enough dough or filling—she should have made much more, so she could earn more money.
"How much would be appropriate?" Xie Chong asked deliberately.
Mu Wen said, "How about counting by finished dumplings? One yuan per dumpling?"
"Deal."
"Then I'm off~"
Mu Wen went happily into the kitchen.
Xie Chong followed her in.
She wrapped dumplings while he watched from the side. Mu Wen's fingers were so nimble—she'd lay a wrapper flat on her palm, scoop in a spoonful of filling, and within a second pinch out a plump, round-bellied dumpling. Then she'd line them up neatly in rows and transfer them to the freezer.
She said to Xie Chong, "Someday I'll have to let you experience eating them fresh, right off the boil."
"What do you mean?" Xie Chong asked.
"It's when you've got a big pot of water rolling and boiling, you toss the dumplings in, and when they're done you just stand right by the pot and eat them straight from the ladle." Mu Wen described it to Xie Chong: "So delicious you'll be jumping for joy!"
Xie Chong laughed.
He had drunk nearly a full bottle of baijiu himself, but he was far from drunk—still, he felt warm all over. Mu Wen's voice made him feel light and floaty, like being transported back to an afternoon at his grandmother's or maternal grandmother's house years ago.
His memories always revolved around August. The tail end of summer.
Flowers in the alley were blooming in fierce competition, cicadas were screaming their hearts out. He'd wake from a nap, rub his eyes, and pad over to see the old woman bustling about at the stove.
Xie Chong had a keen nose back then; with a slight twitch, he knew what was for dinner. The fresh scent of shredded cucumber meant zhajiang noodles; the smell of lamb meant lamb broth noodles; the aroma of scallions meant dumplings stuffed with lamb and scallions; the scent of carrots meant hu tazi pancakes were on the menu…
He alternated between his paternal grandmother's and maternal grandmother's homes. He couldn't stay long in either because he still had uncles on both sides—such small rooms, and if he lingered too long, his uncles would grow dissatisfied.
His parents had money and bought a big apartment, asking him to come back and live there. His grandmothers took turns staying with him, and his uncles would tag along too. The old women feared that if they stayed too long, their sons would start coveting the new place, so they stopped coming.
Once they stopped coming, his parents hired a "little nanny." The "little nanny" was nearly fifty, said to be a good cook, but Xie Chong never got to taste her food. He remembered she had a bad temper. Sometimes when he said he was hungry, she'd just soak a pack of instant noodles for him. When he said, "Shouldn't we add an egg?" she'd pinch his arm and say eating too much would turn him into a fat pig. Then she'd ask him, "Am I good to you or not?" Fearing her, he'd say, "You're very good to me."
Xie Chong was still small then, and all he felt was that the "little nanny" was a man-eating monster, so he cried and threw tantrums, demanding to go back to his grandmother's house…
It was still the tail end of summer, in August.
He carried his schoolbag with his textbooks; he carried a bag with his change of clothes. When he entered his grandmother's house, he saw her drenched in sweat. The old woman hugged him the moment she saw him and told him to take an afternoon nap to recharge, saying, "By the time you wake up, Grandma's dumplings will be ready."
Xie Chong fell asleep to the endless chirping of cicadas.
That day must have been hot, because when he woke up, he was covered in sweat. Rubbing his sleepy eyes, he went looking for his grandmother and found her lying on the kitchen floor.
They said she didn't suffer, that she went quickly and peacefully.
After that, Xie Chong lost one place to eat. Getting a decent meal became increasingly difficult for him. Fortunately, he had more and more money on him, and he grew more adept at eating out. But none of it tasted like home cooking. Only at the riding school could he get that homely flavor.
Jiang Wu always saw him looking like he'd never had enough to eat, so she'd give him the meat from her own bowl. When he offered to pay her, she'd get furious: "What's so great about your stinking money?"
Jiang Wu wouldn't take his money and looked down on it. She said, "Eat if you like, don't eat if you don't! If you're going to eat at my house, don't pull that disgusting stuff."
But Mu Wen would take his money, which inexplicably put his mind at ease.
He thought making dumplings looked fun and asked to help. Mu Wen taught him: "See, first you pinch it like this, then squeeze it like that—and a dumpling is done~" She looked up at Xie Chong. "Did you learn?"
Xie Chong said, "What's so hard about that?" He mimicked her pinch and squeeze, and a misshapen dumpling was born.
Mu Wen burst out laughing at the strange dumpling. "Forget it, forget it, you'd better go have a drink."
She shooed him out of the kitchen.
By the time she finished, it was already evening. The living room window was wide open, and Xie Chong lay asleep on the sofa, hugging a cushion. He looked like a different person: neither arrogant nor childish. The breeze gently played with his hair and the flowers by the window, and he looked so peaceful, so content.
Mu Wen tiptoed to the bathroom, grabbed a bath towel, and draped it over his stomach to protect his navel. She crouched there watching him for a few seconds, taking in his long, curled lashes and the high bridge of his nose. He really was a "pretty boy."
For some reason, Mu Wen let out a sigh. She rose quietly, picked up her toolbox, slung her canvas bag over her shoulder, and left Xie Chong's home.
On her way back, her steps felt light and airy. She felt the wind was kind to her because it blew gently; the flowers were kind to her because they were in full bloom; even the bus was kind to her—there was hardly anyone on it, and she got a window seat… She sat on the bus listening to music, and the song in her earphones kept singing:
"Let it be
let it be
let it be…"
The bus swayed along, and she slept for the length of one song. Her heart felt tender. So this is what it's like to like someone… as if everything in the world is connected to him.
When Xie Chong woke up, the sun had already set.
The house was dim and quiet, as if he'd had a long, dreamy sleep. He couldn't remember what was in the dream, but that feeling of fullness and happiness still lingered in his heart.
"Mu Wen?" he called out. There was no answer, and he realized Mu Wen had already left. He was thirsty—so thirsty. He got up to get some water and saw the dining table was spotless, the leftovers covered. The kitchen was also clean, with no smell of cooking oil, as if no one had ever cooked there.
So diligent.
Xie Chong thought to himself: She really is diligent.
Remembering he hadn't paid her "labor fee," he texted her: "How many dumplings in total?"
Mu Wen replied: "Eighty-six. Round it up, just give me two hundred."
“Is that how you round up?”
“Three hundred works too.”
Mu Wen wasn’t trying to rip Xie Chong off—she’d thought it through afterward: this was her private chef service. Other private chefs charged 2000 for a single meal, so her dumplings couldn’t be cheap.
“Bandit,” Xie Chong called her.
Qian Song asked Xie Chong if he wanted to grab dinner, saying a new Hubei restaurant near Sanyuan Bridge was excellent. Xie Chong said no—he’d been drinking and had food at home. Qian Song was stunned. Since when did Xie Chong ever have food at home? He hung up and showed up uninvited.
The sight before him was shocking. His good brother’s place not only had food—it had handmade jumbo dumplings! Qian Song said nothing, sneaking from room to room like he was hunting for evidence of a lover. He was convinced someone must be staying at Xie Chong’s place.
But the apartment was spotless, with no trace of any woman’s presence—except for the vegetables and the dumplings.
“Who is it?” Qian Song said. “Are you secretly dating? You don’t like Jiang Wu anymore?”
“I’m not dating anyone,” Xie Chong said. “Just a friend.”
“What kind of friend?”
“An ordinary friend.”
“An ordinary friend comes to your place to cook for you?” Qian Song said. “Bro, have you lost your mind? Have you ever seen an ordinary female friend come over to cook? Are you playing dumb on purpose?”
“I’m not,” Xie Chong said. “I’m not.”
Xie Chong felt he couldn’t tell Qian Song the whole story. Before today, he hadn’t known Mu Wen liked him. Because she was so natural, never made the first move, and treated him like any ordinary client. And she was the kind of person who was warm to everyone—he didn’t think he was special to her. Maybe at some moment he’d sensed she might have a flicker of feeling for him, but that didn’t amount to love.
“I’m hungry.” Qian Song was determined to stay at Xie Chong’s place. “I want to see how your ordinary friend’s cooking tastes.” Expecting Xie Chong to reheat the food for him was out of the question, so he helped himself. He tossed the lettuce into a lightly oiled pan, stir-frying constantly while sniffing and praising: “Smells great! Really great!”
Qian Song kept stealing glances at Xie Chong’s expression, trying to see what was different about him, but he couldn’t find anything.
Xie Chong told Qian Song that tomorrow he was going to Jingdezhen to confront that Chen guy. Since this nobody had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, he had to make a trip.
Qian Song said, go ahead, go ahead—I’m eating dumplings.
Xie Chong didn’t want to give Qian Song any dumplings.
Qian Song ate like a glutton—he’d wolf down each dumpling in one bite and wouldn’t even taste it. Might as well feed them to a dog!
But Qian Song insisted, and in the end they reached an agreement: Xie Chong would boil ten frozen dumplings for Qian Song, and Qian Song would pay Xie Chong five hundred yuan.
Xie Chong demanded “cash on delivery.” Qian Song cursed him for being heartless while handing over five hundred in cash. Xie Chong tucked the money into his wallet and granted Qian Song special permission to eat the leftovers and the big dumplings at his place.
Qian Song ate while marveling at how rare it was to taste such good home cooking, pressing Xie Chong for the real story. Xie Chong had no choice but to say the renovation company’s workers had come to fix the furniture and happened to have a meal there. Qian Song was baffled and asked Xie Chong: then why didn’t my renovation company cook for me?
“The company you picked was cheap. Next time, pick an expensive one. Pick expensive, and you get all kinds of services.”
After seeing Qian Song off, he grabbed his wallet and headed out.
He valued his word—he’d promised to pay Mu Wen, so it had to be today. When he reached her window, he initially raised his hand to knock and call her out, but pulled it back at the last second before it landed.
He took eight hundred yuan from his wallet and tucked it under a stone on the windowsill. Then he walked to the corner and texted her: “Your fee is outside your window. Besides the three hundred, I sold ten dumplings. Total eight hundred.”
Worried someone might take the money, he waited there. A dozen minutes later, a hand reached out and retrieved the cash from under the brick. Only then did Xie Chong turn and leave.
Mu Wen sat on her bed, the eight hundred yuan lined up neatly in a row. She hadn’t had time to dry her hair, and dripping water fell onto the bills. She let out a pained “oh no” and quickly tucked the money away.
Looking up, she saw the bright moon hanging high in the sky and smiled.