(Jiang Shoushi’s Perspective) The sky wasn’t fully bright yet.
Jiang Shoushi was already standing behind the repair shop’s metal shutter.
She was twenty minutes early today.
She hadn’t meant to wake up early—when she opened her eyes, it was still dark.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, not sure why she couldn’t fall back asleep.
She didn’t toss or turn.
She just lay there for a while, then sat up, got dressed, and left.
She didn’t run into anyone on the way.
The whole street was like a box that hadn’t been opened yet.
She stood behind the metal shutter, her hand on the handle.
She didn’t pull it up right away.
She listened through the crack.
The alley was quiet.
The soy milk shop hadn’t sent up steam yet.
No footsteps.
No engine sounds.
Nothing.
She waited.
Then she heard a sound—very faint, the sound of fur brushing against canvas.
The cart’s tarp was lifted at one corner, then dropped again.
Not the wind.
Something had jumped up.
She didn’t know what it was.
But she knew that cat had come.
Her hand stayed on the handle.
She didn’t pull.
Through the gap in the shutter, she saw a small movement outside—a cat’s silhouette walking across the edge of the cart’s awning, then sitting down.
Its ears turned toward the repair shop.
She crouched down.
Looked through the gap.
Oil Seal sat there.
Facing the crack in the door.
Like someone waiting for a door to open.
Jiang Shoushi didn’t move.
She crouched there, hands on her knees, looking back at the cat through a metal door and a slit of light.
A long time.
Long enough that she noticed her knees were starting to ache.
She stood up.
Put her hand back on the handle.
Pulled.
As the shutter rolled up, the morning light poured in through the gap.
The alley was still dark, but there was a thin line of pale gold at the edge of the sky—like the crease left after folding a piece of paper.
Oil Seal was still sitting there.
Didn’t meow.
Didn’t leave.
Just sat there.
Facing her.
Jiang Shoushi stood at the entrance.
Her gaze passed over Oil Seal’s head.
Across the alley, the cart’s tarp was already pulled back.
The burner under the copper molds had just been lit—a blue flame flickered once in the morning light.
Behind the flame stood a figure, pouring batter, his back to her.
He didn’t turn around.
She stood at the doorway, watching his back.
Oil Seal stood up.
Walked to her feet.
Didn’t rub against her.
Just sat beside her shoe, tail wrapped around its front paws.
She looked down at it.
Oil Seal wasn’t looking at her.
Its gaze was fixed on the cart across the alley.
Jiang Shoushi looked too.
The flame grew larger.
The copper molds began to make a faint hissing sound.
The figure was still pouring batter, the rhythm of his wrist steady.
He didn’t turn around.
But after he finished pouring, he paused.
Didn’t turn.
Didn’t look back.
He just stood there, like he was listening to something.
Across the alley.
She stood in the doorframe.
He stood behind the burner.
No one spoke.
Jiang Shoushi put her hand in her coverall pocket.
Her fingertips touched something hard—a nut.
She’d put it in there yesterday.
She didn’t remember why anymore.
She didn’t take it out.
She just kept her hand in her pocket, holding it.
When Sister Meiyun pushed open her shutter and stepped out, the light in the alley had brightened a little.
She held her tea, stood at the breakfast shop entrance, and glanced at the cart across the street—the burner was already hot, white steam rising from the copper molds.
Then she turned her head to look at the repair shop—Jiang Shoushi was standing at the entrance, coveralls already on, hair tied back.
She was still standing there, hadn’t yet turned to walk inside.
Sister Meiyun took a sip of her tea.
Didn’t speak.
She noticed the cat sitting by Jiang Shoushi’s feet.
Oil Seal.
Then she glanced down at the stopwatch in her apron pocket.
Didn’t press it.
She stood for a while, then turned and walked back into her shop.
The metal shutter slid down slowly behind her, hiding half the storefront.
Jiang Shoushi was still standing at the entrance.
She looked down at Oil Seal.
Oil Seal was still sitting by her feet, tail wrapped around its front paws, facing the cart across the alley.
It wasn’t looking at her.
It was looking at something else.
Jiang Shoushi followed its gaze.
On the edge of the cart, the silver thermos had appeared again.
Its cap was slightly ajar, mouth facing up.
Beside it sat a red bean cake in a brown paper bag, one corner of the bag folded down.
She stood there.
Didn’t cross the street.
But she took her hand out of her pocket.
The nut had been in her grip so long that a shallow indentation remained on her fingertips.
She looked down at her fingers, then placed the nut on the shelf by the door.
Next to the white cup.
A finger’s width apart.
Then she turned and walked into the repair shop.
A row of fluorescent lights came on.
There was a new work order on the rack—engine noise.
An older car.
She picked it up, looked at it for a second.
Then put it down.
She walked to the workbench.
Pulled open the second drawer on the right.
Counted once.
Six.
Closed it.
She crouched down and began to work on the car.
First bolt, torqued down in one go.
Second bolt, also one go.
Third, one go.
Her hands were steady.
The rhythm was right.
But after she’d finished everything under the hood, she stood up.
Walked to the entrance.
Looked outside.
The nut was still on the shelf.
The cup beside it was still there.
But the tea inside was gone.
She stood there.
Didn’t smile.
No expression.
Just stood.
The wind came through the mouth of the alley.
The shelf cast a thin shadow in the morning light.
She walked back inside, sat down, and filled out the work order.
Her handwriting was neat.
Date.
License plate.
Repair items.
Every character sat neatly on the page.
After she finished, she set down the pen and took something out of her pocket.
Small.
Silver.
A piece of wire.
She’d found it at the bottom of the toolbox yesterday.
Didn’t know who’d left it.
The curve was wrong—like it had been bent where it shouldn’t have been.
She placed it on the workbench.
Didn’t fix it.
Just left it there.
She looked at it.
After a while, she picked up the wire.
Pliers.
Three squeezes.
The wire straightened.
Then she bent it into a circle, overlapping the ends twice, clamping them tight with the pliers.
A ring.
Not big.
It fit perfectly in her palm.
She set it on the corner of the workbench.
From the alley outside came a sound—the iron tongs touching a copper mold.
A very light clink.
The wind came through the door, lifting the hair from her forehead.
Her fingers stopped at the edge of the ring.
Didn’t move.
A long time.
Afternoon.
The quietest time on the street.
Sunlight slanted through the repair shop entrance, cutting a bright white trapezoid on the floor.
Dust floated slowly in the light.
Jiang Shoushi had already finished the work order.
Finished the engine.
Finished cleaning the parts.
She hung the tools back on the wall, one by one.
14 mm.
12 mm.
Open-end wrench.
Box-end wrench.
She stood at the workbench, not sure what to do next.
She glanced at the ring.
Then picked it up.
She walked toward the entrance.
Oil Seal was still sitting there.
From morning till now, it hadn’t left.
It had changed positions—now lying on its side, head resting on its front paws, eyes half-closed, like someone who had been waiting a long time.
Jiang Shoushi reached the door.
She stopped.
On the shelf by the door, the white cup was still there.
Beside it, the nut she’d placed there this morning.
And beside that—she hadn’t noticed it earlier—a small saucer.
In it, three pieces of sweet potato.
Cut evenly.
The edges were clean.
No note.
She stood there.
The wind came through the mouth of the alley.
She held the ring in her hand.
Oil Seal stood up.
It walked to a spot between the cart and the repair shop entrance.
Not centered.
One notch to the left.
Sat down.
Tail wrapped around its front paws.
Looking at her.
Then it stood up again.
Walked three steps.
Stopped in front of the cart.
Sat down.
Looking at her.
Jiang Shoushi looked at the cat.
She looked down at the ring in her hand.
Then she walked across.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Just her usual pace—the interval between each step almost the same.
She wasn’t counting.
But her body knew how to walk.
She crossed the alley.
Reached the cart.
Lin Yinan was washing the copper molds.
The water was running.
He heard footsteps and looked up.
The water stopped.
They looked at each other.
A short distance apart.
Close enough that she could see the flour dust on his cuffs.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t hand her anything either.
He just stood there, still holding the half-washed mold.
Jiang Shoushi didn’t speak either.
She looked down.
On the edge of the cart was a brown paper bag.
One corner folded down.
She looked at the bag.
She didn’t take it.
Then she looked up and gently placed the ring on the edge of the cart.
Beside the paper bag.
A finger’s width apart.
After she set it down, she didn’t leave.
After he set down the mold, he didn’t move either.
Oil Seal sat between them.
Not centered.
One notch to the left.
The wind came through the mouth of the alley, lifting a corner of the cart’s canvas tarp and letting it fall again.
The sunset hadn’t come yet.
But light was already slanting in from the mouth of the alley.
Three shadows on the ground in front of the cart, very close together.
The middle shadow’s ear twitched.
End of Chapter 8.