Shen Qingqing stood in front of the meat stall, her eyes locked onto a small strip of pork belly in the corner of the chopping board.
It was uneven and misshapen, scraps shaved off while trimming a larger bone-in cut, mostly fat with a little lean. It lay there unnoticed, the kind of thing no one would pick up.
She swallowed hard.
Fried noodles without meat had no soul. The S-rank recipe in the system made it very clear. Pork cracklings were the core ingredient, but that alone was not enough. There had to be real bits of meat stir-fried in as well to hold the texture together. Cracklings brought aroma, meat brought depth. Missing either one ruined everything.
“Boss.”
The butcher’s cleaver landed with a heavy thud on the chopping board. He lifted his eyelids slightly.
“Forget the pork cracklings for now. How much is that scrap in the corner?”
The butcher glanced down at what she meant and nudged it with the tip of his blade.
“That? Not even two taels. I don’t sell it separately.”
“I only want that piece.”
“I said no. If you’re buying, half a catty minimum.”
Shen Qingqing pulled out the five yuan and sixty cents from her pocket. The wrinkled five yuan note looked like dried pickled vegetables, and the coins were stuck with lint. She laid the money on the edge of the board and pushed it forward.
“Five yuan, just for that strip. Deal?”
The butcher paused.
“Are you kidding me? Pork is thirteen fifty per catty today. Five yuan doesn’t even buy a proper cut.”
“That’s not even proper pork belly. It’s scraps from trimming bones. If you don’t sell it to me, you’ll just throw it away when you close.”
“Who said I threw it away? I render it into oil.”
“Then you already have pork cracklings. What’s missing in the two taels?”
The butcher clicked his tongue and slammed the cleaver down.
“You’ve been standing here arguing forever. Not this, not that. Do you even have money?”
Shen Qingqing’s face was thicker than the chopping board.
“I’ve only got these five yuan left. My last bit of savings. Your call.”
The butcher was about to shoo her away when his eyes flicked past her shoulder.
Huo Yan stood three steps behind her, holding a crate of eggs. His head was slightly tilted. Blue veins faintly showed under his collar. His wrists were wrapped in bandages, stained with blood that had seeped through to a brownish color. A red string extended from his wrist to hers on the edge of the counter.
His eyes were covered in a dull gray haze, unfocused. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his jawline sharp and gaunt enough to see bone.
The butcher shut his mouth.
He looked at Shen Qingqing, then at Huo Yan, then at the red string that connected them.
“Your man?”
“Yeah.”
“His eyes…”
“He can’t see.”
The butcher tapped the cleaver twice against the board without speaking. He glanced at the scrap meat again, then at the bandaged hands. The bones inside looked thin, almost fragile.
“Tch.”
He gritted his teeth, then reached out and pulled the scrap meat over. With a swift motion of the cleaver, he shaved off another strip from a larger leg cut, this one twice the size of the original, with both fat and lean.
He tossed both pieces onto the scale.
“Take it.” Shen Qingqing froze.
“How much?”
“Five yuan.” He grabbed her money and stuffed it into his pocket. “Now get lost. You’re blocking my business.”
She hesitated for a second, then reached out and carefully picked up the meat. It was small, less than half a catty, but it was still meat.
She opened her mouth as if to say thank you, but the butcher had already turned away, his cleaver resuming its rhythmic chopping.
She packed the meat into a plastic bag and placed it on top of the snake-skin sack, pressing it down with the bag of bean sprouts.
“Let’s go. Done shopping, heading back.”
She carried the heavy sack ahead. The egg crate hung off the side of the cart. The red string swayed between them.
Outside the market gate, sunlight had already climbed high. The road was bright, the asphalt already warm underfoot.
Her slippers slapped against the ground as she walked. Suddenly she turned her head with a grin.
“Huo Yan, do you smell it?”
He paused slightly.
“Meat! We’re having meat tonight!”
Her voice echoed down the morning street. An old sanitation worker glanced at her.
“A little bit of meat! Pork! That boss gave me extra, even fat and lean. Once I fry the cracklings, there’ll still be meat bits left. Stir-fry them into the noodles, it’ll smell amazing!”
Huo Yan followed behind her, hands in his pockets, fingertips rubbing the fabric inside.
Pork, scraps. Five yuan.
His last dinner had been wagyu prepared by a private chef. One meal cost more than what she just spent on the entire meat stall.
Yet she was excited over five yuan worth of scraps.
“You listen,” she continued, swinging the sack over her shoulder. “First I’ll render the pork cracklings. The smell will fill the whole alley. Then soak the noodles, chop the bean sprouts, smash the garlic and fry it till fragrant. Two eggs are enough, the rest I’ll save for tomorrow…”
She rambled on, from cutting meat to controlling heat, until her throat went dry.
Huo Yan walked behind her at an even pace.
When she stopped talking, he spoke.
“You’re short on money?”
His voice was rough, dry, scraped out of his throat.
Shen Qingqing glanced back at him.
“Does it look like I’m not?”
“Very short?”
“Obviously.” She switched the sack to her other shoulder, the burn from the straps still stinging. “Didn’t you see I don’t have a single coin left?”
He didn’t respond.
They walked a few more steps until they reached the bus stop. The tricycle was still locked under the tree, untouched.
She unloaded the sack into the cart and bent down to catch her breath.
“Why are you trying to fix my eyes?”
Her hands paused on the wire lock.
She straightened up and looked at him. He was leaning against the bus stop pole, his face turned toward her.
“What are you asking that for?”
“Answer me.”
She unlocked the tricycle and patted the seat.
“If it wasn’t to fix your eyes, why would I be working this hard?” she snapped. “Waking up at four, riding a broken tricycle, squeezing into that hellish bus, arguing with vendors till my throat’s on fire, buying five yuan scraps like I’m begging for mercy. You think I enjoy this?”
His throat moved.
“I’m not worth it.”
“That’s not for you to decide!” she shouted, pointing at him. “Just stay alive properly! Eyes can be treated, money can be earned. Stop running into traffic, stop grabbing glass cups, stop doing things that scare people half to death!”
Her voice echoed across the stop. A few commuters turned to look.
Huo Yan stayed still.
His hand came out of his pocket and hovered at his side, fingers curling slightly as he rubbed the red string.
No one had ever said that to him before.
Not the Huo Family, not anyone who feared him, not anyone who wanted something from him.
No one had ever told him to stay alive.
“Get on,” Shen Qingqing said, tapping the cart.
He climbed in.
The sack pressed against his legs, the egg crate beside his knees. The plastic bag with the meat sat on top, its smell faintly rising.
She kicked off.
The tricycle rattled forward, wind rushing into the open cart. Her shirt fluttered against her back as she pedaled harder than before, breath uneven.
Inside the cart, Huo Yan sat still, one hand on the sack, palm resting over the meat.
The meat was still cold from the chopping board.
Five yuan. Her last five yuan, spent on meat.
Not for herself. To sell fried noodles, to earn money, to treat his eyes.
She was gambling everything she had on a possibility he didn’t even dare imagine.
His fingers tightened around the plastic bag.
They turned into the alley of the urban village, the wheels bouncing over broken bricks. At the rental building, she locked the tricycle, then carried the sack upstairs while he took the egg crate.
Inside the room, heat hit them like a wall.
She dumped everything on the floor and began sorting.
Noodles, eggs, bean sprouts, scallions, ginger, garlic, chilies, pork.
She lifted the meat, sniffed it, and grinned.
“Alright. Everything’s ready.”
She rolled up her sleeves and lit the stove. Blue flames licked the bottom of the pan.
The pork hit the hot wok with a loud sizzle. Oil burst upward. She flinched as a drop hit her hand but kept going.
The smell of rendered fat spread through the room.
Huo Yan stood by the door, nostrils flaring slightly.
On the counter, her cracked phone screen lit up, glowing red.
“Food and Medicine Share the Same Origin” flickered.
The S-rank recipe activated.
【Core ingredients detected.】
【S-rank Street Fried Noodles recipe activating…】
【Buff applied: Taste +300%, Rage suppression +10%.】
【Cook within 15 minutes or ingredient vitality will dissipate.】
Shen Qingqing’s pupils tightened.
Fifteen minutes.
She looked at the clock. The second hand passed twelve.
The crackling pork fat turned golden in the pan.
She grabbed the spatula.