Yang Zhiyan’s nose stung with emotion.
Teacher Mu really was the person who treated her best in this world.
“Teacher Mu, it’s okay. I have enough.”
“Enough? How is that enough? You only have three thousand yuan left each month. Renting a decent place would eat up most of it. Don’t stand on ceremony with me. If you’re being polite with your teacher, you’re treating me like an outsider.”
Yang Zhiyan bit her lip and stayed silent.
“Alright, alright. How about this—you don’t bother looking anymore. I’ll ask around among my acquaintances.”
With that, Teacher Mu hung up.
Still, Yang Zhiyan insisted on seeing the remaining apartments. What if one of them turned out to be suitable? She truly wanted to move out as soon as possible.
Unfortunately, the second apartment was even worse than the first.
It was advertised as a two-bedroom, one-living-room unit, but in reality it was just an old apartment crudely divided with thin partitions. The walls were so flimsy she could probably hear the neighbor snoring.
The kitchen faucet wouldn’t shut off completely, dripping steadily—drip… drip… drip.
The bathroom door wouldn’t lock either. Where the lock should have been was nothing but a dark hole. Someone could open it with a single hooked finger.
The roommate was a man in his forties, sitting shirtless in the living room scrolling through his phone.
When he saw Yang Zhiyan enter, his eyes slowly swept over her from head to toe before he lazily stood up and reached for the undershirt draped over the back of a chair.
He only managed to pull it halfway down.
His stomach was so large that the shirt got stuck across his chest, leaving his round belly fully exposed.
Yang Zhiyan stood at the doorway for three seconds without stepping inside.
“I’m sorry. This isn’t suitable.”
After saying that to the agent, she turned around and left.
The agent called after her, “Miss!”
She didn’t stop.
She skipped the third apartment altogether.
Everything this agent had shown her had been terrible.
She decided to keep looking on her own.
Teacher Mu was right. It was better to spend a little more money than sacrifice safety. A secure residential community was worth paying for.
She sat down on the edge of a roadside flower bed.
Several half-withered rose bushes grew inside. Their leaves had curled and yellowed around the edges, as though they had been scorched by the sun.
A line of ants marched busily along the flower bed’s border, hurrying somewhere with no end in sight.
A message from the agent popped up.
Sis, are you still going to see the third place?
She typed two words.
Not anymore.
Then she felt it sounded too blunt and added another sentence.
Thank you. I’ll think about it some more.
She placed her phone face-down on her knees and looked up at the sky.
The clouds were thicker than they had been that morning, hanging even lower overhead.
The lead-gray sky resembled an enormous concrete ceiling.
The air was unbearably humid, as though a rainstorm was waiting to burst—but stubbornly refused to fall.
She opened her apartment rental app and adjusted the filter to within a thirty-minute commute from the studio.
The listings refreshed.
Half the apartments disappeared.
But the remaining ones were clearly in a different league.
The apartments on Binjiang Road all looked clean and bright in the photos.
The curtains were simple solid colors. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting bright patches across polished wooden floors.
She looked at the rent.
3,500 yuan.
3,800 yuan.
4,200 yuan.
She scrolled through them one by one.
Each number felt like a tiny pebble striking her chest—not painful, but deeply uncomfortable.
She only had three thousand yuan of spending money each month.
If she rented a place for 3,500 yuan, she’d not only spend every cent of that allowance but also have to dip into her savings.
Still…
Starting next month, she wouldn’t have to hand over living expenses to her family anymore.
She could manage it.
Her savings.
She opened her banking app.
52,300 yuan.
That was everything she’d managed to save over more than two years of working.
Most of it came from the commissions Teacher Mu had given her.
She had secretly deposited the money into a separate bank card that her family knew nothing about.
She stared at the balance for several seconds before closing the app and slipping her phone back into her bag.
Forget it.
I’ll go home today and continue looking tomorrow.
By the time Yang Zhiyan got off the bus, a light drizzle had begun.
The raindrops were so fine they were almost invisible, but when they landed on her skin they felt cool, as though someone had lightly misted her from afar with a spray bottle.
She pulled a folding umbrella from her bag and opened it.
Walking along Binjiang Road, she headed toward the subway station so she could return to the studio.
She rarely came this way.
Binjiang Road was one of Haicheng’s most expensive neighborhoods.
French plane trees lined both sides of the street, their broad canopies interlocking overhead to form a green tunnel.
On one side lay the river.
The water looked gray beneath the overcast sky, while the buildings across the river resembled distant mountains in an ink-wash painting—soft, blurred, and colorless.
On the other side stood rows of luxury residential compounds.
Their wrought-iron fences were covered with blooming climbing roses. Pink and white blossoms peeked through the railings, glistening under the drizzle.
Yang Zhiyan quickened her pace beneath her umbrella, worried the rain would soon become heavier.
Security guards in neat uniforms stood perfectly straight at every entrance.
Residents entered by swiping access cards.
Outsiders were not allowed inside.
The security around these neighborhoods was excellent.
Unfortunately…
They were far beyond what she could afford.
A short distance ahead, she noticed a hunched figure crouching by the roadside.
As she approached, she realized it was an elderly woman.
Her silver-white hair was neatly combed into a bun.
She wore a navy linen blouse, dark gray wide-leg trousers, and white flat shoes.
Scattered across the ground before her were pieces of fruit.
Several apples had rolled the farthest, with two or three nearly reaching the curb.
Oranges lay scattered in small clusters. Some had split open from the fall, their bright juice staining the pavement.
A few plums—green and crimson—had rolled into cracks in the sidewalk.
The plastic shopping bag in the old woman’s hand had torn wide open.
She still clutched the handles, but the entire bottom had fallen out.
“Oh dear… oh dear…”
She hurriedly tried to catch the fruit, but it kept rolling in every direction.
Yang Zhiyan immediately crouched down.
Still holding her umbrella, she rummaged through her bag and took out a neatly folded reusable shopping bag from the very bottom.
It was one of her habits.
She always carried an extra bag.
Teacher Mu often joked that she was like Doraemon, forever pulling useful things out of her bag.
“Grandma, let me help you.”
She began picking up the fruit.
The apples had rolled the farthest, so she gathered those first, even retrieving one that had rolled beside the roots of a plane tree before placing it into the reusable bag.
Several oranges had burst open.
She kept the intact ones and left the split ones behind—they were beyond saving.
The old woman also crouched beside her, picking up fruit.
She moved more slowly than Yang Zhiyan, but with calm, methodical precision.
After two or three minutes, they finally gathered everything.
Dust had stained the knees of the elderly woman’s trousers, and a black scuff marked the top of one white shoe.
She glanced down at it, patted it twice with her hand, and frowned with mild distaste.
“Thank you, dear.”
She steadied herself against a nearby lamppost as she rose to her feet.
Only after she was standing firmly did she let go.
Her eyes were bright and lively.
The fine wrinkles at the corners spread like a folding fan whenever she smiled, making her whole face come alive.
She looked remarkably spirited for her age.
Yang Zhiyan recognized her.
Some time ago, the elderly lady had visited Teacher Mu to have a qipao custom-made.
Yang Zhiyan had been busy with other work at the time, only catching a few glimpses of her—but she’d left a lasting impression as an exceptionally elegant woman.
Yang Zhiyan handed her the reusable bag.
“Grandma, please keep this bag. It’s reinforced, so it’s very sturdy.”
“Oh my, how could I possibly?” the old woman said as she accepted it. She looked at the bag, then back at Yang Zhiyan. “If I take your bag, what will you use?”
“I have another one.”
Yang Zhiyan smiled as she shifted her umbrella to cover the elderly woman as well.
The old woman glanced at the umbrella.
The smile lines around her mouth deepened slightly, though she said nothing.
“Young lady, do you live around here?” she asked.
Her voice was gentle and refined, carrying the unmistakable cadence of an old-school intellectual—every word clearly enunciated without sounding stiff.
Yang Zhiyan shook her head.
“No. I’m here looking for an apartment.”
“Looking for one?”
The old woman turned to her with renewed curiosity.
“You want to rent a place here on Binjiang Road?”
“Yes.”
Yang Zhiyan nodded.
“I’ve looked at a few places today, but none of them were suitable.”
She didn’t elaborate.
Yet somehow, from that simple phrase—“not suitable”—the elderly woman seemed to understand far more than was said.
People who had lived long enough could always recognize how difficult life could be.
“My dear,” the old woman said, transferring the reusable bag to her left hand while pulling a mobile phone with a dark brown leather case from her pocket, “if you’re willing to trust me…”
“My husband’s surname is Qin. Everyone calls me Grandma Qin, so you can call me that too.”
“I don’t have much to boast about,” she said with a warm smile, “except that I own quite a few houses.”
“I can’t possibly live in all of them.”
“Why don’t you take a look and see if any of them suit you? I’d much rather rent to someone I know than to a complete stranger.”