Lin Qiao’er opened her mouth to refuse, but after glancing down at her ankle swollen like a steamed bun, she swallowed her words.
“Then… thank you for your trouble.”
Fortunately, the doctor said Lin Qiao’er’s sprain wasn’t serious—just a ligament strain with no bone injury.
He applied a cold towel to her ankle for about ten minutes, prescribed several medicated plasters, and instructed her to change them daily, avoid walking for the next few days, and rest well.
“Thank you, doctor.” Lin Qiao’er took the plasters, feeling a wave of relief.
Zhao Moting stood beside her. When she tried to stand, he reached out to support her and casually took the bag of plasters from her hands.
The elderly Chinese medicine doctor tidied the items on his desk, glanced at the two of them, and suddenly smiled.
“Your husband is very considerate of you.”
Having practiced on this street for decades, the old doctor had seen all kinds of people. Hospitals were places where human warmth—or lack thereof—was most apparent.
He had witnessed many women coming for treatment alone—registering, queuing, and collecting medicine by themselves—a sight that always tugged at his heartstrings.
Lin Qiao’er’s face flushed bright red with embarrassment. She quickly waved her hands to explain, “Doctor, you’ve misunderstood. He’s not my husband. He’s just… helping me out.”
As she spoke, she stole a glance at Zhao Moting, worried he might mind.
The old doctor studied Zhao Moting’s stern face, then looked back at Lin Qiao’er’s crimson cheeks, his smile deepening. “Oh, just helping out, huh? Then this young man has a kind heart. Such good men are rare these days. You should seize the opportunity and turn him into your husband.”
Lin Qiao’er was left speechless. She opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say, her blush spreading all the way to the tips of her ears.
She discreetly checked Zhao Moting’s expression.
His face showed no emotion—neither denying nor explaining anything. He stood there upright and composed, as if the old doctor were talking about someone else.
Lin Qiao’er wasn’t sure whether she felt relieved or a little disappointed.
She lowered her eyes and whispered, “Doctor, we’ll be going now.”
The old doctor nodded with a smile.
Downstairs, Lin Qiao’er took out her keys to unlock the door. Zhao Moting handed her the bag of plasters and took a step back.
Turning to face him, Lin Qiao’er said earnestly, “Thank you so much for today. I’ll treat you to a meal another time.”
Zhao Moting glanced at her, his gaze lingering on her face for a moment before shifting away.
“Don’t set up your stall tomorrow because of your foot.”
With that, he turned and left, his leather shoes tapping steadily and unhurriedly on the terrazzo stairs.
Lin Qiao’er stood at the doorway, watching his back disappear around the stairwell corner before slowly closing the door.
Sigh. Another favor owed to him.
How was she ever going to repay it?
Lin Qiao’er obediently rested at home for a week.
Her ankle gradually went from swollen like a steamed bun to nearly normal, finally allowing her to run and jump again.
Having not worked her stall for a whole week—spending money without earning any—she grew increasingly anxious.
As soon as her foot felt better, she got up before dawn.
She made over a hundred flatbreads, shouldered her carrying pole, and headed as usual toward the entrance of the automobile factory.
But when she arrived, she immediately sensed something was off.
Normally at this time, seven or eight people would already be lined up in front of her stall. Today, however, only two or three scattered customers were there.
She stood for nearly half an hour but sold fewer than ten flatbreads.
Lin Qiao’er began to feel uneasy.
A worker who had just finished the night shift approached and ordered one savory pancake.
Lin Qiao’er deftly wrapped up the pancake and handed it over with a smile. “Eat it while it’s hot.”
The worker took it and took a bite, mumbling through his mouthful, “Qiao’er, your pancakes are still the best. The snack window at the factory makes sauce-flavored pancakes, but they’re nowhere near as good as yours.”
Lin Qiao’er was taken aback. “The factory opened a snack window?”
The worker nodded. “It’s been open for a few days now, and it’s free. Everyone’s been going there to get some—after all, it doesn’t cost anything.”
He took another bite of the pancake and sighed. “But honestly, theirs really isn’t as good as yours.”
Only then did Lin Qiao’er understand.
In these times, no one had much to spare. If there was free food available, who would still be willing to pay?
She looked at the half-full basket of pancakes still left, feeling as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over her heart.
Zhou Jianjun came over with a bowl of soybean milk, concern in his voice. “Qiao’er, where have you been this past week? I thought you’d quit.”
Lin Qiao’er forced a bitter smile. “I sprained my ankle and had to rest at home for a few days.”
Zhou Jianjun nodded, lowering his voice. “Luckily, you warned me to run fast that day, so I wasn’t caught. Did you know? Auntie Fatty, who sells scallion pancakes, and the one who sells buns were caught on the spot. They were locked up for several days and fined a hefty sum.”
Lin Qiao’er was shocked. “That serious?”
“Absolutely,” Zhou Jianjun shook his head.
Lin Qiao’er didn’t respond, lowering her head to look at the remaining pancakes in the basket as she pondered.
Zhou Jianjun glanced at her basket and sighed. “Why is there still so much left?”
Lin Qiao’er gave a wry smile. “I never expected things to change so much after just a few days of not setting up my stall. I’ll have to find a new spot tomorrow.”
Zhou Jianjun quickly asked, “Where are you going?”
Lin Qiao’er shook her head. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Zhou Jianjun handed her a cup of soybean milk. “Have a drink to quench your thirst.”
Lin Qiao’er took the soybean milk and wrapped the last sauce-flavored pancake, handing it to him. “Have a pancake too.”
The two exchanged a smile.
Not far away, Zhao Moting pushed his bicycle out of the factory and happened to see this scene.
Lin Qiao’er was smiling at Zhou Jianjun, her eyes curved into crescents—completely different from the nervous expression she usually wore around him.
He didn’t know why, but he suddenly found it somewhat grating.
With a cold expression, he walked up to Lin Qiao’er, his shadow falling over the basket in front of her.
Lin Qiao’er was tidying up her things with her head lowered when she sensed someone approaching. She quickly forced a smile and looked up. “Comrade, would you like some sauce-flavored pancakes…”
Halfway through her sentence, she recognized the person’s face, and her smile froze.
Zhao Moting.
The smile on her face was nothing like the one she had just given Zhou Jianjun. Zhao Moting noticed this, and it left a sour taste in his heart.
He cleared his throat, his tone still indifferent as ever. “I’ll take two sauce-flavored pancakes.”
“Mm,” Lin Qiao’er mumbled in response, lowering her head to wrap two pancakes in oiled paper.
After wrapping them, she bent down again and pulled out an aluminum lunchbox from the bottom of the basket, handing it to Zhao Moting.
Zhao Moting glanced at the lunchbox but didn’t take it, raising an eyebrow instead.
Lin Qiao’er pushed the lunchbox forward a little and said softly, “Sweet and sour pork ribs and dumplings. Thank you for what happened last time.”
Zhao Moting looked at her, didn’t refuse, and took the lunchbox. It was still warm, and a sweet and sour aroma wafted from the gaps in the lid, truly whetting the appetite.
“How should I return the lunchbox?” he asked.
Lin Qiao’er thought for a moment: “Why don’t you leave it with the security guard? I’ll pick it up when I have time.”
Zhao Moting looked at her: “You won’t be setting up your stall here tomorrow?”
Lin Qiao’er nodded, her voice dropping a little: “Business isn’t good. I’m thinking of moving somewhere else.”
Zhao Moting nodded, placed the lunchbox in the front basket of his bicycle, and pushed it away.
Only after his figure disappeared did Zhou Jianjun lean over, his face full of curiosity: “Qiao’er, are you close with Engineer Zhao?”
Lin Qiao’er had just taken a sip of soy milk and nearly spat it out, waving her hands repeatedly: “No, no, not at all. Not close at all.”
Zhou Jianjun looked at her flustered expression, somewhat skeptical, but didn’t press further. He just sighed: “Engineer Zhao is the heartthrob of the automobile factory, really popular. The female workers practically drool over him, but he ignores everyone. He’s cold and completely focused on his work.”
Lin Qiao’er was curious: “How do you know so much?”
Zhou Jianjun scratched his head and grinned: “I have friends who work there.”
Lin Qiao’er didn’t ask any more questions. She lowered her head to pack up her things, but her mind was elsewhere.
She couldn’t set up her stall at the automobile factory anymore; she needed to find a new spot.
Where should she go?
She looked up, watching the bustling street. A middle-aged man carrying books hurried past, dressed in a blue Zhongshan suit, with a few thick books tucked under his arm—he looked like a teacher or an intellectual.
Suddenly, an idea flashed in Lin Qiao’er’s mind.
Set up a stall near the school gate.
There are lots of university students, young people with cravings for snacks and a bit of pocket money.
The more she thought about it, the more feasible it seemed. She immediately shared her idea with Zhou Jianjun.
Zhou Jianjun listened and nodded: “Near the school gate is a great idea. Lots of students, business is sure to be good. I’ve heard the street near Shanghai University is packed in the mornings and evenings.”
Lin Qiao’er felt reassured.
Tomorrow, she would go check out Shanghai University.