The street committee announced that everyone should stay outdoors to avoid aftershocks.

“Your tank top is soaked.” Fei Ni dug through their bundle of belongings and found one of her father’s old shirts to give to Fang Muyang. “Wear this for now.”

Fang Muyang didn’t hesitate—before Fei Ni could lower her eyes, he had already pulled off his tank top right in front of her, thrust it into her hands, and quickly changed into his father-in-law’s old shirt.

The rain continued to drizzle, and not only did Fang Muyang need to go to training class, but Fei Ni also had to go to work.

“Your foot is injured. Why not wait until tomorrow?”

Fei Ni insisted her foot was fine. Having been allocated factory housing, she felt obligated to be on the front line when problems arose. Since her wound couldn’t get wet, and sitting on the bicycle’s back seat would inevitably lead to water splashing, she opted to take the bus to work.

Fang Muyang saw her onto the bus. Before she boarded, she told him, “Don’t go back to the guesthouse today. Even if you do return there, stay outside. We have a proper shelter here—stay here tonight.” She thought it would be better to look after each other.

Fang Muyang pinched her left cheek and readily agreed.

“Your hand.”

Fang Muyang smiled at her. “My hands just got washed by the rain. These are extraordinary times—you’ll have to make do. Once this is over, I promise to wash them three times with soap.”

“That’s not what I meant.” As if her objection to his behavior was about his hands not being clean enough—as if well-washed hands would make it proper.

“No need to explain. Now I know you don’t find me disgusting.” Fang Muyang pinched her right cheek too, even rubbing it with his thumb.

Just as Fei Ni was about to scold him, his hands were already back in his pockets. “Get on, the bus is here.”

She glared at him, closed her umbrella, and boarded the bus. Fang Muyang waved goodbye with a smile. The bus wasn’t crowded today, and Fei Ni found a seat. Through the window, she watched Fang Muyang grow smaller in her vision. The streets were full of people, with small shelters packed close together, though none as well-built as Fang Muyang’s—some were just plastic sheets supported by wooden sticks.

In just a moment, she spotted Fang Muyang again through the bus window. He saw her too. Wearing a raincoat, he rode his bicycle with one hand and waved with the other. Perhaps noticing her disapproval through the window, he quickly returned both hands to the handlebars.

After the earthquake came aftershocks. When another strong tremor hit the factory workshop, management decided to end the workday early for everyone’s safety. The cafeteria remained open, providing mantou for workers to purchase. By the time it was Fei Ni’s turn, the limit had been reduced from ten to five mantou per person.

Leaving the factory, Fei Ni took a bus to the pastry shop, firstly to check on her future sister-in-law, Sister Mei. Living on the first floor, Sister Mei should have been safe, but Fei Ni wouldn’t be at ease without confirming. Secondly, she wanted to buy some biscuits—they stored well for emergencies.

The pastry shop had relocated to a tent, with a sign outside marking sold-out items with X’s: biscuits sold out, fruit bread sold out, groove cake sold out, oil cake sold out…

The remaining items grew increasingly expensive and weren’t good for storage, but no one seemed ready to leave. After queuing for so long, people felt they had to buy something, so they kept waiting.

When it was Fei Ni’s turn, only a few items remained. Before she could speak, Sister Mei whispered to her, “I’ve already set aside some biscuits for you. Come back after others leave.” She held up five fingers—meaning five jin.

By then, the rain had stopped. When the queue outside the tent dispersed, Sister Mei came out and gave Fei Ni an oiled paper package. “This is the limit for staff purchases. I couldn’t buy more for you.”

“This is already very good.”

“Looking at this earthquake situation, it won’t be over quickly. Maybe you should make a long-distance call to your brother and tell him to wait until after the earthquake to return.”

“You know my brother—with you and our parents here, he’ll rush back as soon as he finishes his paperwork. Besides, the post office is overwhelmed with people making long-distance calls and sending telegrams.”

Sister Mei sighed, “I’ve been longing for his return, and now that he’s finally coming back, this happens.”

“It will pass,” Fei Ni said, both to Sister Mei and to herself.

When Fei Ni returned, some people had already started cooking. Some had brought down their gas cylinders and buried them in the ground to cook rice porridge.

Seeing others cooking, Old Fei felt inspired to make a meal. He stood up and walked outside the shelter. “I’ll go get our cooking things from upstairs and use the first-floor stove to make something.”

Fei Ni stepped outside the shelter and looked at the sky. The rain had stopped, and there were no signs of aftershocks, but she was still worried. “Let’s wait until tomorrow to cook. We can make do for today.”

When Fang Muyang returned, Fei Ni had already eaten but had thoughtfully saved two mantou for him.

He had changed back into his previous clothes, suggesting he’d returned to the guesthouse. He carried a bag across his chest, had a duffel bag on the bicycle’s back seat, and a large watermelon in the basket.

He announced to everyone in the shelter, “There’s a watermelon seller at the intersection, eighteen fen each. They’ll be gone if you wait. Tomorrow the seller will be back though, so no need to buy too many.”

Hearing this, many people rushed off to buy watermelons.

Fang Muyang split the watermelon into two uneven halves with one hand. He gave the larger half to his parents-in-law to share and the smaller half to Fei Ni. He then pulled out a lunch box from his duffel bag, took out two spoons, and stuck one into Fei Ni’s watermelon. “Eat up, you need to stay hydrated.”

Mother Fei said, “This is too much for us. Let’s borrow a knife to cut it up. Xiao Fang, have some too.”

“My stomach isn’t feeling well today, I can’t eat watermelon.”

Fei Ni couldn’t help asking, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing really, just that mantou suits me better right now.” Fang Muyang took a big bite of mantou. “Who bought this mantou? They’re excellent!”

Old Fei explained, “Fei Ni bought them from the cafeteria.”

Fei Ni cut off Fang Muyang’s praise of the mantou. “Just eat properly, careful not to choke.” Then she whispered to him, “Don’t rush, we still have biscuits if it’s not enough.”

“It’s enough. Your mantou are different—they’re filling.”

“Stop joking and eat quickly.”

Fei Ni ate from the leftmost part of her watermelon, leaving most of it for Fang Muyang. Watching him eat the mantou, she could tell he had a good appetite and couldn’t possibly be unable to eat watermelon. He probably liked it but only bought one because he knew the supply was limited and didn’t want to deprive others.

Fei Ni offered her remaining watermelon to Fang Muyang, who accepted without protest.

Just as she was about to wipe her used spoon with paper, Fang Muyang snatched it away.

He told her they needed to save paper during these extraordinary times.

In the afternoon, Fang Muyang didn’t have training classes and helped others build shelters. Some had built theirs too simply and they’d collapsed in the heavy rain.

Near dinnertime, Fang Muyang brought down the Fei family’s cooking equipment and borrowed a stove on the first floor. He deliberately chose a spot near the exit for a quick escape if needed. He told Fei Ni he would show off his skills by making her tomato noodles. He’d managed to get five jin of noodles at the grain store and had found someone selling tomatoes on his way back.

“Fei Ni, do you know how to make authentic tomato noodles?”

“How?”

“Use lots of tomatoes.”

When the noodles were ready, Fang Muyang picked out a strand and put it in a bowl for Fei Ni to taste first.

“How is it?”

“It’s quite good.” Though not quite as amazing as he’d boasted, it honestly wasn’t bad.

Fang Muyang excelled at cooking noodles and various stews. When he first started as the chef at the youth volunteer station, he’d focused more on the color combinations than taste, but surprisingly, the food had turned out quite good.

“Then eat more.”

That night, over twenty people crowded into one shelter. Finding the air stuffy, Fei Ni went outside alone, and Fang Muyang followed.

“Make do here tonight. Tomorrow I’ll build you a smaller shelter so you won’t have to crowd with others.”