Lin Yinan didn’t know when he’d woken up.
When he woke, his palms were warm, as if they’d been holding something.
But his hands were empty.
He sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at his hands.
His knuckles were faintly red.
He didn’t think much of it.
He stood up and walked into the kitchen.
Opened the fridge.
Took out flour.
Poured water.
His movements were the same as always.
The rhythm of his wrist was steady, the angle of the measuring cup just right.
As the water fell into the bowl, he’d already reached out to turn the stove knob—— No flame.
He turned it again.
Still nothing.
He stood there, still holding the measuring cup.
The flour was already in the bowl, the water already added.
But the burner was dark.
No blue flame.
No heat.
No sound.
He set down the measuring cup.
Walked to the door and pulled it open.
The rain was heavy.
It was already light out, but the alley had no light.
Rain splashed in from the edge of the eaves, wetting the tips of his shoes.
The mouth of the alley was indistinct; the whole street seemed covered by a gray cloth.
No smoke.
The soy milk shop’s metal shutter was closed.
The breakfast shop’s was closed too.
No white steam seeping through the gaps in the tin roof.
Nothing.
He stood under the doorway, the sound of rain filling the entire alley.
His hands hung at his sides.
Nothing to hold.
Rain pounded on the cart’s canvas tarp, making a dense, pattering sound.
The tarp was pressed flat against the copper molds by the rain; the molds were cold.
He didn’t walk over to pull the tarp back.
He knew what was underneath was cold.
He stood there, watching for a while.
Then he turned and walked back into the kitchen.
Opened the fridge.
His hand reached in and touched the bag of flour.
He didn’t take it out.
He stood there, the fridge light illuminating his face, cold air spilling out.
He looked at what was inside——the ginger was still beside the sweet potatoes, side by side, a finger’s width apart.
He didn’t move it.
He closed the fridge door.
On the third floor of the apartment building beside the repair shop, a light was on in the window.
Jiang Shoushi stood in the kitchen, holding an empty cup.
She didn’t remember when she’d brought it back.
The cup was white.
Clean.
Not a trace of water at the bottom.
She stood in front of the counter, looking down at the cup for a long time.
Then she set it on the counter, turned, and walked into the bathroom.
Changed into her coveralls.
Tied her hair back carelessly.
As she left, she didn’t look back at the cup.
But her hand paused on the doorknob for an extra beat.
As if checking something.
The repair shop’s metal shutter rolled up.
Jiang Shoushi had already been there an hour.
When the shutter rolled up, rain splashed in from the track and wet her shoes.
She stepped back, waited for the shutter to rise fully, then walked inside.
A row of fluorescent lights came on, humming very low.
The work order rack was empty.
No cars would come today.
The rain was so heavy no one would drive out.
She knew.
She still checked the rack to make sure it was empty.
Then she walked to the tool wall, took down every wrench, and wiped them clean, one by one.
14 mm.
12 mm.
Open-end.
Box-end.
She wiped each one with a dry cloth and hung them back, in positions more precise than yesterday.
After she’d wiped the last one, she stood in front of the tool wall, put the cloth back in the sink.
She walked into the storeroom.
Took inventory.
Screws.
Gaskets.
Oil filters.
Counted each one.
Wrote a list.
When she was done, it was still before nine.
She stood at the storeroom door, the list in her hand.
No cars.
No parts to disassemble.
Everything she could do this morning was done.
She walked back to the workbench and sat down.
Her hands rested on the tabletop.
The sound of rain came through the doorway.
Loud.
Filling the entire repair shop.
After a while, she stood up and walked to the entrance.
She didn’t step over the threshold.
She stood inside the doorframe, across the alley, looking at the other side.
The cart was covered with a tarp.
The rain had pressed the canvas tight against the copper molds.
Under the doorway across the street stood a figure.
Not mixing batter.
Not flipping cakes.
Just standing there, hands at his sides.
She looked at him for a few seconds.
Then she turned and walked back inside the repair shop.
Walked to the tool wall.
Took down the 14 mm wrench and wiped it again.
Hung it back.
Then took down the 12 mm.
Wiped it too.
Hung it back.
The rain kept falling.
She stood in front of the tool wall, holding the last wrench in her hand, not hanging it back.
Held it for a long time.
Then she hung it back.
Reset to zero.
Around noon, the rain let up a little, but didn’t stop.
Sister Meiyun stood inside the breakfast shop’s metal shutter.
She looked out through the gap.
Her shop wasn’t open today.
The stove was cold, the griddle cold.
She held a cup of plain water and stood by the gap, looking out at the alley.
Across the way, under the doorway, Lin Yinan was still standing.
At the repair shop entrance, Jiang Shoushi was still standing in the doorframe.
She didn’t speak.
After a while, she pulled the shutter open a crack, stepped out, and placed a low stool under the eaves at her doorstep.
She didn’t say “sit.” Didn’t look at anyone.
After placing it, she walked back inside and pulled the shutter back to its original position.
In the alley, rain dripped from the eaves.
The low stool was dry.
The eaves just barely covered it.
Lin Yinan saw the stool.
He didn’t sit.
But he brought out a cup of water, held it in his hand, didn’t drink.
He stood under the doorway.
The rain kept falling.
The cup was warm against his palm.
After a while, the water cooled.
He didn’t drink.
He set the cup on the step by the doorway.
Then he crouched down and moved the cup ten centimeters, to the edge of the step.
Exactly aligned with the edge of the doorframe across the alley.
He stood up.
Didn’t look at the water again.
Jiang Shoushi also saw the stool.
She didn’t sit either.
But she went inside once and came back with a dry cloth.
She stood at the entrance.
Didn’t wipe right away.
She first looked at where the water marks were on the doorframe.
Then she started wiping.
Left to right.
One, two, three wipes.
On the third wipe, her hand stopped——she realized she was counting.
She folded the cloth, turned it to a clean side.
Kept wiping.
When she finished, the cloth was wet.
She held the wet cloth in her hand, standing there, not walking back inside.
Rain dripped from the eaves, forming a curtain in front of her.
Afternoon.
The rain still hadn’t stopped.
A thin layer of water had pooled in the alley, reflecting the gray sky.
The work truck hadn’t come.
The garbage truck hadn’t come.
The whole street seemed held down by the rain; no one moved.
Lin Yinan still stood under the doorway.
He looked down at his hands.
Today he hadn’t touched flour.
Hadn’t held the tongs.
Hadn’t flipped a single cake.
His hands hung at his sides, knuckles loose.
But he didn’t know when, his fingers would curl slightly on their own, as if holding something that wasn’t there.
He lowered his hands.
Across the alley, Jiang Shoushi still stood in the doorframe.
She held the wet cloth, standing there, not walking back inside.
Her hand was also slightly clenched, as if holding a wrench that wasn’t there.
Rain dripped from the eaves, forming a curtain in front of each of them.
Across the alley.
Through the rain.
No one crossed over.
Evening.
The rain finally lightened.
From downpour to fine drizzle, then to a mist so thin it was almost invisible.
The sky was still gray, but a patch of pale golden light broke through the clouds, falling on the wet alley.
Puddles reflected the sky like broken mirrors.
Lin Yinan walked inside.
When he came out, he was carrying a thermos.
Silver.
He stepped off the doorstep and walked across the wet alley.
His footsteps splashed in the puddles, sending up tiny droplets.
He walked to the repair shop entrance.
Jiang Shoushi was still standing in the doorframe.
She saw him approach and didn’t move.
He set the thermos on the shelf by the entrance.
Its cap was slightly ajar, mouth facing up.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t look at her.
After setting it down, he turned and walked back.
His footsteps splashed through the puddles, water rising and falling back.
Jiang Shoushi looked down at the thermos.
Silver.
Cap slightly ajar.
She stood there, not picking it up right away.
She let her eyes rest on it for a while, then reached out and took the thermos.
It was warm.
She didn’t open it.
She just held it.
For a long time.
Across the alley, the figure under the doorway had sat down.
Across the alley.
Through the post-rain air.
No one spoke.
Sister Meiyun pulled open the shutter and took the low stool back inside.
As she picked it up, she noticed a drop of water beside the stool——not rain.
A watermark left by a cup.
She glanced down at it, didn’t speak.
She carried the stool inside and turned off the light.
The entire street went dark.
Only the repair shop’s light was still on.
Oil Seal sat between the cart and the repair shop.
No one knew when it had appeared.
It sat there, tail wrapped around its front paws.
Its fur was dry.
The spot it sat in was just sheltered from the rain by the edge of the cart and the eaves.
From noon to evening, it had been sitting there.
No one had seen it arrive.
But in the afternoon, Lin Yinan had noticed a dry patch at the edge of the cart’s tarp——not because the rain hadn’t reached it, but because something had sat there and blocked the rain.
He’d glanced at it.
Hadn’t confirmed what it was.
But the dry shape looked a lot like a cat.
Now there was a cat.
Not centered.
One notch to the left.
But a little closer to the middle than yesterday.
So slightly that no one would notice.
Not even Sister Meiyun.
Its ear twitched to the left.
Then to the right.
Then stopped.
The wind came through the mouth of the alley, cool, carrying the smell of earth after rain.
Tomorrow there would be steam.
Today there was none.
End of Chapter 7.