Since the start of this semester, Jiang Yan and Guan Che had both been preparing for the following year’s national-level academic competitions.

Jiang Yan leaned toward physics, while Guan Che leaned toward mathematics. Though their subjects differed, their goal was the same — to win first place at the national competition and secure a guaranteed admission slot to Qinghua University.

Beyond preparing for the competitions, there were other things going on at school as well, and neither of them had much energy left over to manage the internet café. But the café was both their hard work and investment, and no matter what, neither of them had any intention of selling it off.

So while they had less time to spare, Guan Che posted a recruitment notice online and at the café entrance.

The café was well-located and had good foot traffic. Not long after the notice went up, over ten people came in to interview — men and women, young and old, all sorts.

Among them was one who stood out the most: a small boy, not yet twelve years old by the calendar. He arrived with an injury on his forehead, wearing clothes that were not particularly well put-together. He nearly got chased out by the café’s attendant Little Liu, who almost mistook him for a beggar.

That day, Jiang Yan happened to be at the café. He stepped in to stop it. Leaning against the counter, he looked at the small boy standing before him and asked in a neutral tone: “How old are you?”

“Twelve.” The boy said it and then lowered his gaze. “Three months short of twelve.”

Jiang Yan’s arm rested on the marble countertop. He tapped his fingers three times, and softened his tone slightly. “Little friend, this is a legitimate internet café. We don’t hire minors.”

He did a quick calculation in his head. “Twelve years old… you’re in Year Seven then?”

The small boy looked at Jiang Yan, eyes bright with pride. “Year Nine. I skipped grades.”

Jiang Yan was actually a little surprised to hear that. “Pretty impressive.”

“I was originally planning to skip straight to Year Ten, but……” The boy broke off mid-sentence, suddenly remembering why he’d actually come here, and abruptly changed course: “I’m here today to interview for a part-time position. I know I’m not old enough, but I can guarantee I won’t get caught. If a police officer comes by and asks, I’ll just say I’m a relative of the owner’s, stopping by to hang out.”

Little Liu, standing to the side, couldn’t help letting out a small laugh. “But you’re so young — what exactly could you do?”

“I can do anything.” The boy tightened his fists. “Errands, supervision, cashier work — whatever you need. Just pay me, even if you dock half or hold some back, that’s fine.”

Jiang Yan withdrew his arm. His gaze passed briefly over the wound on the boy’s forehead and over his clothes, and he pressed his lips together slightly. “What’s your name?”

“Zhou Ming.” He added after a beat: “As in Zhou of ‘Zhou Gong,’ and Ming of ‘to remember and engrave in one’s heart.'”

Jiang Yan didn’t dwell on it. He asked further, “Where do you live?”

“…Next door. Xinghua Alley.”

“Anyone at home?”

“Yes, my little sister.” He paused. “And my mother.”

Jiang Yan looked at him for a moment, then didn’t ask further. He pulled over a piece of paper and a pen. “Do you have any contact information?”

Zhou Ming froze.

The pen was a click-top type. Jiang Yan clicked it twice — two clean, crisp sounds. “All our interviews give results the following day. I’ll need a way to reach you.”

Zhou Ming’s face flushed slightly. He quickly rattled off a string of numbers, and once Jiang Yan had written them down, he hesitated and asked: “Did I pass?”

Jiang Yan smiled at him. “Head home and wait for the results.”

Hearing that, Zhou Ming could not conceal his disappointment. He had heard this kind of official-sounding response far too many times — “go home and wait for results,” and then results that never came.

Jiang Yan knew what he was thinking but said nothing more. He reached into the small box on the counter, rummaged around, and pulled out a couple of bandages, holding them out to him. “There’s a sink in the back. Go wash up.”

The boy didn’t take them. His tone was very solemn. “No thank you.”

Then he bowed to Jiang Yan before turning and leaving.

Once the boy was gone, Little Liu looked at Jiang Yan curiously. “Boss, are you really going to let this little runt come work here?”

Jiang Yan didn’t look at him. His gaze stayed fixed on the string of numbers on the paper. He was quiet for a moment, then tore off the strip and said, “I’m going out for a bit.”

With that, his figure flashed past the doorway — and he was gone.

Xinghua Alley and the café’s Lihua Alley were two streets apart, only a few hundred meters. Following the navigation app, Jiang Yan found the place fairly quickly.

Zhou Ming had only said the alley’s name, not the specific house.

Jiang Yan walked through the alleyway for a while. In between, he passed a tobacco and liquor convenience store several times. On the last pass, he stopped and bought a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. After paying, he stood outside the shop entrance, opened the pack, pulled out a cigarette, and held it between his lips without lighting it.

The shopkeeper’s wife had noticed him long since. She kindly asked, “Young man, I’ve seen you walking back and forth here a few times now. Are you looking for someone?”

Jiang Yan pulled the unlit cigarette from between his lips and gave the shopkeeper’s wife a polite smile. “I am. A distant relative of mine from out of town — we haven’t been in contact for years. I don’t know if they’ve moved.”

“Tell me who you’re looking for — I’ve had this shop here for over ten years. I know every family in this alley, who’s come and gone.”

Jiang Yan pressed his lips together, then said a name: “Zhou Ming.”

The shopkeeper’s wife’s expression shifted subtly. “Which character for zhou and which for ming? There are two people in this alley with that name.”

Jiang Yan paused, recalled the boy’s self-introduction, and answered calmly: “As in zhou of ‘Zhou Gong,’ and ming of ‘to remember and engrave in one’s heart.'”

“And you’re what relation to him?”

“Older cousin.” Jiang Yan said it without blinking. “Our grandparents’ generation were all one family.”

The shopkeeper’s wife looked Jiang Yan over and decided he didn’t seem like a bad sort. She gave him the specific address, then let out a sigh so quiet it was barely audible. “That cousin of yours has had quite a hard few years. His mother doesn’t take care of things — he’s been raising his little sister on his own.”

Jiang Yan continued drawing out information about Zhou Ming with careful ease.

The shopkeeper’s wife did not disappoint him — she told him everything she knew, holding nothing back.

Zhou Ming’s father had been a firefighter. Six years ago he died in the line of duty, leaving behind a wife, a son, and a daughter who had barely been born.

With the main provider gone, the family’s income dried up. In the early years they scraped by on the compensation from Zhou Ming’s father’s death, but Zhou Ming’s mother was the complacent sort. Not long after her husband died, she fell into drinking and gambling. When the money ran out and there was nowhere to get more, she went to work at a massage parlor — and often brought men back home. Whenever something displeased her, she’d hit the two children. The neighbors could often hear shouting and beating coming from the Zhou household.

Out of goodwill and the long-standing friendship left behind by Zhou Ming’s father, the neighbors had helped the two children on many occasions. But every family had its own difficulties to deal with — help could only come in the moment, not for a lifetime.

Zhou Ming understood this well. Young as he was, he had no choice but to take on the responsibility of keeping himself and his sister fed.

“Ming is a good and spirited kid — good grades, well-behaved. I heard he even skipped a grade this semester, and the school has given him quite a bit in subsidies.” The shopkeeper’s wife couldn’t help but feel a pang of heartache and regret as she said it. “Such a pity though. Saddled with a mother like that.”

Zhou Ming’s situation was more or less what Jiang Yan had guessed. He thanked the shopkeeper’s wife, bought a few more things from the shop, and then returned to the café.

That same evening, Jiang Yan called Zhou Ming and informed him to come in the following Monday. Taking into account that he was still a student and his home situation was unusual, Jiang Yan and Guan Che worked out a separate schedule just for him.

Monday through Friday, three hours per shift — however he wanted to arrange them. Weekends, daytime shifts, eight hours, with three meals provided and a two-hour break in the middle.

His pay wasn’t calculated by the hour like the other part-timers — Jiang Yan and Guan Che paid it out of their own pockets. Two thousand five hundred yuan per month, plus additional monthly meal and transportation allowances, totaling five hundred yuan — paid out in two installments every half month.

This wasn’t an especially large sum, but for Zhou Ming as he was now, it was more precious than coal in a snowstorm. He understood clearly that his actual working hours couldn’t justify this much pay. As for why they were paying him so well — he might have been able to guess — but Jiang Yan and Guan Che never said so explicitly. They only told him not to disclose his wage to others, and if anyone asked, to say it was hourly.

Jiang Yan did this partly to protect the small boy’s dignity, and partly to avoid making the café’s other part-timers feel it was unfair.

Zhou Ming seemed to understand the logic as well, and was exceptionally diligent in his work. Sometimes he arrived early and voluntarily took on the general errand work as well.

Jiang Yan had run into this a couple of times, and hadn’t said a word about it.

But good things didn’t last. Zhou Ming’s mother found out he was working at the café, and one evening after drinking, demanded he hand over his wages.

Zhou Ming had pushed back, but it was useless. Thankfully, Jiang Yan paid well — Zhou Ming took only a small portion and gave it to his mother, hiding the rest around the house.

He wasn’t yet of age, so he couldn’t open a bank account. With cash on hand, all he could do was hide it in corners around the house.

His mother didn’t believe that was all there was, but Zhou Ming had hidden it too well for her to find. So she borrowed a small camera from one of her clients, and while Zhou Ming was out, hid it somewhere in the house. She quickly found where Zhou Ming had stashed the money.

On Saturday, Zhou Ming woke early as usual and went to check the money hidden in the ceiling cavity. Every other time, he could feel it the moment he reached in. This time he shoved his entire head inside — and found not a single bill.

He had worked at the café for a month and a half, received three paychecks. After the thousand yuan he’d given his mother and the little under a thousand he and his sister had spent on living expenses, there should have been well over two thousand left — and now there was nothing.

Zhou Ming’s back broke out in a cold sweat. A thief would never have found that hiding spot. The only possibility was that his mother had discovered it.

His whole body went limp. He sank to the floor, dizzy, legs turned to water, and a kind of pain he had never felt before flooded through him.

For a brief moment, he truly wanted to die.

Zhou Ming’s little sister Zhou Yue noticed the movement from her brother, got up, and walked over. Her voice was soft and round. “Brother, what’s wrong?”

Zhou Ming quickly pulled himself out of those dark thoughts. He reached out and touched his sister’s soft little face. “Nothing’s wrong. Are you hungry?”

“Hungry.”

“Then brother will boil you some dumplings.”

“Okay.”

Zhou Ming stood up from the floor and wiped his face.

He couldn’t die.

He still had his sister to take care of.

……

After finishing breakfast, Zhou Ming walked his sister over to the elderly woman’s home next door, gave her a few reminders, then headed to the café for work.

Jiang Yan had worked a night shift the previous evening and slept until noon.

At midday, the café crew sat together to eat. After the meal, Zhou Ming called out to Jiang Yan: “Yan bro, when the next paycheck comes — can I ask you to hold the money for me?”

Jiang Yan looked at him with his arms folded. “What’s going on?”

Zhou Ming licked the corner of his mouth. “I can’t open a bank account yet. I’m not comfortable leaving cash at home.”

Zhou Ming hadn’t planned to tell him about the lost money. But Jiang Yan was not the sort to miss things. “You lost your money?”

“……No.” Zhou Ming lowered his head, fighting the sting in his eyes. “No, I didn’t.”

Jiang Yan let his arms down. His tone was even. “All right — going forward, you can leave your wages with me. What about the money from the previous paychecks — do you want to bring those over too?”

“Those don’t need……” Zhou Ming didn’t dare look at him, and said with little confidence: “Still need to keep a bit on hand.”

“Fine.” Jiang Yan looked at him and was quiet for a moment, then spoke without warning: “Did your mother take your money?”

Zhou Ming’s head snapped up. He was frozen for a few seconds before remembering to speak. “No — no, she didn’t……”

By the end, even he couldn’t finish the sentence.

Jiang Yan’s eyelid flickered. He looked at the slight figure before him, rubbed his brow with a lack of patience, and asked, “Where is your mother right now?”

Zhou Ming’s face suddenly went red. He stumbled and stammered for a while before finally naming a location. “…She’s probably there on weekends. Though I’m not totally sure.”

Jiang Yan said “mm,” added a curt “wait for me downstairs,” and headed back to his room on his own.

The place Zhou Ming named was somewhere Jiang Yan had heard others mention before — a red-light district in the city center. On the surface it was a massage parlor; in reality the goings-on there were all things that couldn’t bear exposure. It had been raided a few times, but never stayed closed long before reopening. The water there ran deep.

When they arrived, Jiang Yan didn’t let Zhou Ming come in with him — this was his own mother, after all, and some scenes were better avoided.

Jiang Yan followed the alley in and found the massage parlor where Zhou Ming’s mother worked without much difficulty. The décor was understated, but the lighting gave it an unmistakably suggestive air.

It was his first time in a place like this. Jiang Yan stood outside the door for a few seconds before climbing the steps, lifting the curtain, and walking in.

Only three people inside. The moment they saw Jiang Yan, one of them came over — a woman with large, styled waves. “Handsome, here for a massage?”

Jiang Yan without fanfare took a step back. His expression was cool. “I’m looking for Cheng Hualing.”

The woman with the wavy hair gave a flirtatious smile and called toward the curtain in the back: “Lingling! Someone’s here for you!”

The woman called Lingling came out from behind the curtain.

Jiang Yan took one look at her. Zhou Ming’s brows and eyes were seven or eight parts her spitting image — but resemblance aside, it didn’t help any. He went straight to the point. “Your son — is his name Zhou Ming?”

Cheng Hualing blinked, puzzled, studying the young man before her. “Yes, why?”

“Are you aware that he’s been working part-time at my internet café?” Jiang Yan gave her no time to answer. His tone was flat. “Your son was caught stealing from our café while working here. We took his age into consideration and didn’t call the police. But the money and items he stole need to be returned.”

The moment Cheng Hualing heard the word “money,” her face shifted drastically. “That little wretch — no end to his trouble. Learns nothing decent, just petty thieving every day.”

After venting, she came back to herself and narrowed her eyes at Jiang Yan warily. “Who are you anyway? Why should I just take your word for it that he stole?”

Jiang Yan reached into his pocket and handed her two sheets of paper along with his ID card. “I’m the café owner. These are copies of the business contract and property certificate.”

“If you don’t believe me, you can come to the café now and verify it yourself, or call Zhou Ming and confirm. Though I don’t think that’s necessary — we have no reason to lie to you.” He spoke without haste. “We’ve totaled it up. Zhou Ming took four thousand yuan worth of items from the café. He’s admitted to it himself. He spent one thousand six hundred and eighty-two. The remaining round figure comes to two thousand three hundred and eighteen. We’re not asking for more than what’s owed — just return the two thousand three hundred and we’ll call it done.”

Cheng Hualing said nothing.

This morning she had just taken the money. She hadn’t had time to spend any of it yet. It was sitting in her purse — she planned to use it tonight to go out for drinks with a few friends.

She had counted it before putting it away. Exactly twenty-three hundred yuan bills.

“Stealing over two thousand yuan is enough grounds for detention. But that’s not what we’re after. Zhou Ming knew the rules of our café before he came to work here. If he can’t pay it back, his family covers it. And if that’s also impossible — then we’d have to take it out of him—” Jiang Yan gave her a cool, level look “—or, say, one of your fingers. As a lesson.”

In the few years Jiang Yan had spent running with some of the local figures in middle school, he’d seen how the older guys handled people who owed rent and refused to pay — the bluffs they called. He mimicked that manner down to the last detail. Combined with his cold expression, the pressure he gave off was formidable.

Cheng Hualing didn’t stop to think or doubt. She shifted into a fawning tone. “I have it, I have it — two thousand three hundred, you said? I have it, I do.”

She went in to get her purse, took out the cash, and handed it over without counting it. “No need to count — I just took it out this morning. Exactly two thousand three hundred.”

Jiang Yan laughed derisively, took the money, and went through the motions of counting it anyway. Then he looked at the woman before him. “This covers what Zhou Ming owed. Beyond that — as a form of penance — Zhou Ming will continue working at the café. Without pay. And furthermore—”

He lightly tapped the cash against Cheng Hualing’s face. His tone was a warning. “I don’t want anyone else finding out about Zhou Ming stealing. It would affect our café’s reputation. You’re a sensible woman. I trust you know what to do.”

“I do, I do.” Cheng Hualing swallowed. She laughed awkwardly. “I know exactly what to do.”

Jiang Yan said nothing more. He pocketed the money and walked out.

Zhou Ming was still waiting outside. He had sent several text messages while Jiang Yan was inside. Zhou Ming had his head down writing a reply — when a figure suddenly stopped right in front of him.

He flinched, and jerked his head up. “……”

After seeing Jiang Yan walk into the shop, Lin Tao — though she didn’t believe for a moment he was that kind of person — had still been curious enough to wonder what exactly he had gone in there for.

She and Meng Xin waited right at the entrance of the alley. When they saw him come back out, Meng Xin glanced at her phone and murmured: “Barely twenty minutes. The school tyrant couldn’t have done much in there in that time.”

“……” Lin Tao said, “I never thought he would either. I’m just curious.”

Jiang Yan had walked out looking at his phone and not paying attention to his surroundings, so he didn’t notice Lin Tao until she stepped in front of him.

He looked up — visibly startled.

Lin Tao looked at him with a blank expression. “Boyfriend. I think I deserve an explanation.”

Jiang Yan genuinely had not expected to run into Lin Tao here. He almost dropped his phone when he looked up. “What are you doing here?”

Lin Tao had spent enough time with Jiang Yan that she’d picked up a few of his habits — at this moment, the way she stood with her eyebrow raised was nearly identical to his.

Cool and imperious.

“Don’t you think that question should be mine to ask?”

Jiang Yan put away his phone. He pinched her cheek. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Not a good place to talk. Come outside and I’ll explain.”

“?” Lin Tao pushed his hand away. “How do you know it’s not a good place? Have you been here before? Did you actually… do something in there?”

“……” Jiang Yan crooked his finger. His knuckle pressed firmly against her forehead. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

He half-guided, half-gathered her out of the alley.

Meng Xin quietly followed behind. She had seen nothing. She had heard nothing.

Zhou Ming was still waiting where he’d been. He spotted Jiang Yan from a distance coming out with someone and hurried over — then stopped when he saw who was being pulled along. He blinked, and forgot what he was going to say.

Jiang Yan let go of Lin Tao’s hand and pulled out a bundle of cash from his pocket. He held it out to Zhou Ming. “Here.”

Zhou Ming took it — and tears fell.

Lin Tao watched him, puzzled.

Jiang Yan looked at the slight boy who barely reached his shoulder, and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t cry. The money is from me for now. If you want to leave it with me for safekeeping, bring it back to me later.”

Zhou Ming wiped his face. “…Okay.”

Jiang Yan smiled. “Alright, head home then.”

Zhou Ming nodded and quickly left.

Lin Tao tugged at his arm. “Who is he?”

“New temp at the café.” Jiang Yan looked down at her. “A kid in a rough spot. Worked hard to earn a little money, and his own mother stole it all.”

“So you came here to get it back for him?”

“Yeah.” Jiang Yan said quietly, “…His mother works here.”

“……” Lin Tao was quiet for a moment. “He looks really young — he’s not even of age yet, is he?”

“No. Not quite twelve.”

Lin Tao stared at him in disbelief. “Are you still a decent person?! He’s that young and you hired him?”

Her expression was flat and serious. “You heartless capitalist.”

Jiang Yan: “?”

Author’s note: Didn’t expect Zhou Ming to take up so much space… there’s still a bit more content that didn’t fit — continuing tomorrow!! Love you all!!