Outside the window, the sky had already darkened.
She was still revising an elevation drawing when her phone buzzed.
“I’m here. Come down and help me—too much stuff to carry.” Xia Ran was taken aback for a moment, then glanced at the time. Six-thirty in the evening.
She saved the file, shut down her computer, and left for the day.
Downstairs at the apartment building, Wen Yu stood at the entrance, a large bag in her left hand, another large bag in her right, and a backpack slung over her shoulders—like a Christmas tree hung with gifts. When she saw Xia Ran come out, she set the bag in her right hand on the ground and spread her arms wide.
“Surprise!”
Xia Ran walked over. She didn’t hug her. Instead, she bent down and picked up the bag from the ground—so heavy it made her wrist dip. “How much stuff did you bring?”
“Not much. Just the ingredients for one meal.” Wen Yu followed her into the elevator, looking her up and down. “You’ve lost weight. Is the food at Fu Corporation’s cafeteria really that bad? I told you, mass-produced meals can’t have much nutrition—”
Xia Ran listened, the corner of her mouth curving up slightly.
The elevator reached the 12th floor. Xia Ran unlocked the door.
Wen Yu set down her bags and started wandering around the apartment, smiling. “This place isn’t bad at all. Fu Corporation really takes care of its employees.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll stop looking.” Wen Yu returned to the kitchen, tied on an apron, and began pulling things out of the bags.
Spare ribs, scallions, ginger, garlic, a bag of flour, a bottle of vinegar, a jar of honey, and a bag of red dates. “Last time you said Fu Sinian put red dates in the millet porridge he cooked for you. I bought better ones—Xinjiang dates, extra large.”
Xia Ran leaned against the kitchen doorframe, watching Wen Yu work. She washed the ribs, chopped the scallions and ginger, boiled water, blanched the meat—every step practiced and smooth. She wasn’t the type to cook gracefully; water splashed onto the counter, her apron went crooked, strands of hair fell loose, but she didn’t care.
“Don’t just stand there. Come help. Open that bag of flour, add some water, and knead the dough.”
“Knead the dough?”
“For dumplings. The ones you made last time were delicious. I want more.”
Xia Ran stood there, not moving. Wen Yu glanced back at her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Xia Ran opened the flour, found a bowl, and began kneading the dough.
Wen Yu glanced over. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had dumplings.”
Wen Yu scooped out the blanched ribs, changed the water in the pot, added the ribs, scallions, and ginger, put on the lid, and turned up the heat. The motions flowed one into another, like she’d done them a thousand times. Then she turned around, leaned against the counter, and looked at Xia Ran. “I’m going to ask you a question. Answer me honestly.”
Xia Ran looked up.
“Do you still love him?”
The kitchen fell quiet for a moment. The rib soup hadn’t come to a boil yet; beneath the lid, only a faint gurgling sound could be heard.
Xia Ran looked at Wen Yu for a long time. “I don’t know.”
“The last time you said ‘I don’t know’ was five years ago.” Wen Yu’s voice was soft. “Five years ago, you said you didn’t know whether to break up with him. You said you didn’t know, and then you did. Five years later, you’re saying ‘I don’t know’ again. Xia Ran, what are you really afraid of?”
Xia Ran lowered her head, looking at her hands covered in dough. The paste squeezed out between her fingers, sticky and clinging, like all the things she could never sort out.
“I’m afraid,” she said.
“Of what?”
“Of him.” Wen Yu was taken aback.
“We’re not right for each other. I don’t want him to fall out with his family because of me.”
Wen Yu looked at her, and her eyes suddenly reddened. She reached out, took the lump of dough from Xia Ran’s hands, and wiped her fingers clean one by one with a damp towel. She cleaned each finger carefully, like handling something precious, something that might break.
“Xia Ran, listen to me.” Wen Yu’s voice was a little hoarse.
“These five years, you studied design, you did what you wanted to do. You’re no longer that girl who had nothing and depended on everyone else. You’re now the lead designer that Fu Corporation hired. They revised your proposal seventeen times and still had to use yours. You deserve him—not because you have some powerful backing, but because you yourself are a mountain.”
Xia Ran’s tears fell. Silently, just like that, one by one they dropped onto the back of Wen Yu’s hand. Wen Yu didn’t wipe them away. She held Xia Ran’s fingers, just held them, like three years ago in that cramped rental room, when she held the hand of Xia Ran, burning with fever, and said, “You’re not alone.”
The rib soup came to a boil, steam lifting the lid with a soft patter.
Wen Yu released Xia Ran’s hand, turned to adjust the flame, lifted the lid, and skimmed off the foam with a ladle. The fragrance of the ribs filled the air.
Xia Ran rolled the dumpling wrappers. She was focused when she rolled them, trying to make each one round, with thin edges and a thicker center. Wen Yu filled them beside her, fast and neat, pinching even pleats. The dumplings came out plump and round, like a row of little ducks waiting in line.
“These wrappers are pretty good,” Wen Yu said.
“Yours are good too.”
“Of course, I’ve been practicing for ages—I’ve helped my mom wrap dumplings every Chinese New Year for over twenty years.” Wen Yu picked up one of Xia Ran’s wrappers, held it in her palm, scooped in a spoonful of filling, folded it in half, and pinched the pleats in one fluid motion. She set the finished dumpling on the cutting board next to Xia Ran’s. Xia Ran’s was lopsided, barely able to stand upright, like a toddler learning to walk.
The dumplings were cooked, and the pork rib soup was done too.
The two sat at the dining table, each with a bowl of soup in front of them and a plate of dumplings in the middle. Red dates and goji berries floated in the soup, and the ribs were so tender they fell off the bone at the slightest touch of chopsticks. The dumplings were dipped in vinegar mixed with a little honey—Wen Yu’s secret recipe.
Xia Ran took a sip of the soup. It was hot, sweet, warming her all the way from her throat to her stomach. She looked at Wen Yu, who was bent over her bowl gnawing on a rib, her lips shiny with grease.
“Wen Yu.”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.”
Wen Yu looked up, glancing at her, a smear of rib sauce still at the corner of her mouth. “For what? It’s not like I came all the way here just to cook for you. I came to check whether you’ve been eating properly, whether you’ve lost weight again.” She gave Xia Ran a once-over. “Conclusion—you have lost weight. So I’m coming back next week.”
The rib soup was finished, and the dumplings were gone too. Wen Yu carried the dishes into the kitchen, and when Xia Ran followed behind to help, she pushed her down onto the sofa.
“You sit. I’ve got it. Those hands of yours—they draw for a living. Don’t get dish soap on them.”
Xia Ran sat on the sofa, listening to the sound of the faucet running and the soft clink of dishes in the kitchen. She suddenly felt that this apartment had never been this lively before.
Wen Yu dried her hands and walked out, picking up her phone for a glance before smiling. “My brother happens to be nearby. I’ll have him pick me up. And while we’re at it—” She looked at Xia Ran, the corner of her mouth curving into a meaningful smile.
“While we’re at it, what?”
“While we’re at it, I’ll introduce you.”
Xia Ran froze. “Introduce me?”
“Yeah, my brother’s single.” Wen Yu gave her shoulder a hearty pat. “You’re single, he’s single. Meeting once won’t hurt. Who knows, maybe you’ll hit it off?”
Xia Ran opened her mouth as if to say something, then swallowed the words back down.