Ma Dongchen cautiously knocked on the dark gray iron door, switching his handbag to his left hand. Quickly, there was movement inside, and a woman with a nasal voice asked, “Who is it?”
Almost simultaneously, the iron door opened, revealing half of a puffy face in the gap. Ma Dongchen leaned in with a forced smile, “Sister, I…”
The woman’s features rapidly contorted, anger and sorrow flooding her face. “Get lost! I don’t want to see you!” she shouted, moving to close the door.
Ma Dongchen quickly wedged his shoulder against the iron door, pleading, “Sister, don’t be like this. Let’s talk…”
“What is there to talk about?” The woman’s voice was now choked with tears. “Bring my daughter back first!”
“Sister, please calm down. We can discuss this…” Ma Dongchen pushed his foot between the door and the frame. “It’s all for the children…”
“I don’t care!” The woman continued shouting but was pulled back by a hand on her shoulder. A grim-faced man appeared behind her, eyeing Ma Dongchen up and down.
“What are you yelling about? Let him in first,” the man said.
Though reluctant, the woman stepped aside. Ma Dongchen sighed in relief, nodded to the woman, and squeezed inside.
The man continued to stare at Ma Dongchen, his gaze lingering on the bag in his hand before turning and walking into the apartment.
It was a two-bedroom unit with south-facing windows. The interior was dimly lit and cluttered, making the already small space feel even more cramped. The man sat down on a crudely made homemade sofa and lit a cigarette from the small wooden table in front of him. The woman leaned against a washing machine in the corner, arms crossed, silent.
No one invited Ma Dongchen to sit. He stood awkwardly, holding his bag. After a moment’s hesitation, he placed the bag at the man’s feet, pulled over a plastic chair, and sat down, wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.
The man smoked half his cigarette before glancing at Ma Dongchen. “Any news about my daughter?”
“Old Su, it’s like this,” Ma Dongchen leaned forward, pulling his chair closer to the sofa. “These past couple of days, I’ve used every connection I could find, contacted everyone I could…”
The man interrupted him, “Did you find her or not?”
Ma Dongchen fell silent, lowering his head and repeatedly wiping his neck.
“Then there’s nothing to talk about.” The man extinguished his cigarette and stood up, addressing the woman, “Let’s go to the police station.”
“Wait, Old Su, hear me out…” Ma Dongchen grabbed the man’s arm urgently. “I came here to discuss this with you.”
“What the hell is there to discuss?” The man shook off Ma Dongchen’s hand. “Old Song’s family came to persuade me to wait another day. Fine, I waited. Then Old Zhao’s family came, asking me to wait another day. Fine, I waited again. Now what do you want to discuss? Ask me to wait more. How long can I keep waiting?”
“I’m not asking you to wait. I want to work out a solution with you.”
“What solution?” The man’s eyes bulged. “It’s been almost three days. My daughter is nowhere to be found, dead or alive. You bring Su Lin back to me, then we can talk. If you can’t find her, I have no choice but to report to the police.”
“Brother Su, let’s not assume the worst.” Ma Dongchen swallowed hard. “I admit my daughter hit Su Lin. But that doesn’t mean something terrible happened. Maybe the kid just went out to clear her head…”
“Bullshit!” The previously silent woman exploded. “My daughter is the most obedient child. She always comes straight home after school. How could she just go out to clear her head?”
“Maybe she’s afraid to come home,” Ma Dongchen hastily explained. “Her clothes torn, her backpack lost—it’s possible, isn’t it?”
“Enough of your nonsense,” the man waved his hand impatiently. “All I know is that your daughter hit Su Lin, and then she disappeared. A living person just vanished into thin air. If you don’t give me an explanation, I’ll have to find one myself.”
He then called to the woman, “Come on, get dressed. We’re going to the police station.”
“Brother Su, Brother Su, please calm down,” Ma Dongchen held him back. “We’re both parents, both concerned for our children. Can you just hear me out?”
“You dare talk about being parents?” the man shouted. “We raised her for seventeen years, and now she’s gone because of you. How the hell am I supposed to stay calm?”
“No one can be certain that our child made your daughter disappear!”
“You still won’t admit it? Fine.” The man pushed Ma Dongchen away. “Old Song’s family has already admitted it—let that girl come with me to the police station.”
“That’s not what I meant…”
Suddenly, a noise came from behind the other closed door—the sound of a bed creaking and shoes being put on. Ma Dongchen froze, staring at the door for a few seconds, his expression suddenly tense.
“Old Su, who’s in that room?” Ma Dongchen turned around. “Is Su Lin back?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Ma Dongchen ignored him and strode towards the room. The woman tried to stop him but was too late. She could only watch helplessly as he yanked the door open.
A small room appeared before Ma Dongchen. It contained only a bed and a desk. A sleepy-eyed little boy sat on the edge of the bed, putting on soccer shoes.
Ma Dongchen stood stunned. The woman quickly closed the door.
“You have two children?” Ma Dongchen said numbly. “Su Lin’s brother?”
“No,” the woman’s expression was uncomfortable. “My sister’s child, staying for a few days.”
Silence fell over the room. The woman stood with her arms crossed in front of the door, as if afraid Ma Dongchen might barge in again. The man sat back down on the sofa and reached for his cigarette pack, only to find it empty. Frustrated, he crumpled the pack and tossed it on the floor.
Seeing this, Ma Dongchen pulled out a pack of Zhonghua cigarettes from his pocket and offered it to the man.
The man glanced at the brand on the pack, hesitated, then accepted it. As he put a cigarette to his lips, Ma Dongchen quickly lit it for him. The man took a deep drag, looked at the bag at his feet, and then tossed the cigarette pack back.
“Keep it for yourself,” Ma Dongchen pushed the pack back towards him.
“Don’t try that with me,” the man exhaled a smoke ring. “There must be an explanation for all this.”
“Brother Su, I have a child too. If I were in your shoes, I’d want to get to the bottom of this as well,” Ma Dongchen sat down, unbuttoning his shirt collar. “If you want to report it to the police, I won’t object. But it’s noon now, and the police station will be on lunch break, right? There’s no point in going now.”
The man glanced at the tin clock on the small wooden table. “I’ll go this afternoon.”
“Alright,” Ma Dongchen rolled up his sleeves. “We need to sort this out, but we also need to eat. Why don’t we have a bite together?”
As he spoke, Ma Dongchen pulled out two bottles of Wuliangye liquor from the bag at the man’s feet, along with four cartons of soft-pack Zhonghua cigarettes. The man’s eyes lit up at the sight of the alcohol, but he quickly looked away, his tone softening slightly.
“I’m not drinking. Who’s in the mood for alcohol? Besides, we don’t have any food at home.”
“That’s easy to fix,” Ma Dongchen casually opened a bottle and turned to the woman. “Sister-in-law, just make something simple. Cucumber salad or peanuts will do.”
The woman glared at him and turned away.
“No drinking!” The man suddenly became agitated. “You think I’ve never had a drink before?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Ma Dongchen maintained his relaxed demeanor. “You’re not unable to drink, are you? Looking at your build, are you Mongolian?”
The man was puzzled by the question and answered reflexively, “No, I’m Han.”
“Is your wife Han too?”
“Yes, Han. What are you getting at?”
“Nothing, just making conversation,” Ma Dongchen smiled and pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket, offering it to the woman. “Sister-in-law, why don’t you save yourself the trouble and make a quick run to buy some ready-made dishes?”
“I won’t go!” The woman didn’t even look at him. “I won’t spend your money!”
“Sister-in-law, let’s not be stubborn. We’ve all been unable to eat or sleep well these past few days,” Ma Dongchen nodded toward the room behind her. “Even if the adults don’t need to eat, we shouldn’t let the child go hungry.”
The woman hesitated, turning to look at the man.
The man, sucking on the nearly burnt-out cigarette, nodded slightly.
The woman stomped her foot in frustration but took the money.
Half an hour later, the small wooden table was laden with prepared foods like braised meat, roast chicken, and fried peanuts. The woman took a large plate into the small room. Ma Dongchen faintly heard a small cheer, then the woman came out, closed the door, and sat on a chair in front of it.
Ma Dongchen repeatedly invited her to join them for the meal, but she first refused, then ignored him completely, sitting lost in thought, occasionally covering her face to sob.
The man ate little but drank heavily. Soon, his face turned the color of a pig’s liver, and his eyes became unfocused.
Though Ma Dongchen frequently urged the man to drink, he only sipped small amounts. The nearly empty bottle of Wuliangye had mostly gone into the man’s stomach.
Seeing the man’s glass about to be empty, Ma Dongchen opened another bottle of liquor and moved to unscrew the cap. The man barely managed to open his eyes and reached out to stop him.
“Don’t open it,” he said, his head swaying as if it weighed thousands of pounds, his speech slurred. “Can’t drink anymore.”
“It’s fine, you haven’t had enough. I can tell,” Ma Dongchen filled the man’s glass and raised his own. “Come on, let’s have another!”
He raised his glass to his lips but noticed the man hadn’t moved, his bloodshot eyes staring straight at him.
“Brother Su, you…”
“Stop trying to get cozy with me. Who the hell is your Brother Su?” The man suddenly swept his glass off the table. The strong scent of alcohol instantly filled the small room.
The woman sprang from her chair, looking at the man with alarm.
Half of the wine spilled onto Ma Dongchen’s pants. He said nothing, simply setting down his glass and silently wiping it with a handkerchief.
“You think I don’t know what you’re up to?” The man looked at Ma Dongchen with a mocking smile. “You want to get me drunk so I can’t go to the police station?”
“No, that’s not my intention,” Ma Dongchen put down the handkerchief and forced a smile. “It’s just a drink, Brother Su. You’re overthinking it.”
“You can get me drunk today, but what about tomorrow?” The man tapped the table. “Can you get me drunk every day?”
“I can come to drink with you every day,” Ma Dongchen’s expression grew serious. “As long as it solves this issue.”
“F*ck! I know you’re rich,” the man sneered, his face a complex mix of disdain and resentment. “Are rich kids people while poor kids aren’t? Is a 17 or 18-year-old girl only worth the price of a drink?”
“I was just making a comparison,” Ma Dongchen leaned forward. “Brother Su, I sincerely want to resolve this.”
“What good is sincerity?” The man coughed up phlegm and spat on the ground. “None of you three families has told the truth. You just keep telling me to wait! Fine, go ahead and fool us common folk. Let’s see if you dare fool the police!”
As Ma Dongchen was about to argue, he noticed the door to the small room opening. He instinctively turned to look. A young boy poked his head out, holding an empty plate with greasy hands.
“Mom, I want more pork head meat,” the boy extended the plate towards the woman. “And chicken.”
The woman glanced uneasily at Ma Dongchen before taking the plate. “Alright, go back inside. I’ll bring it to you.”
Ma Dongchen grabbed the remaining half of the roast chicken from the table. “Here, take all of this to the child.”
The woman accepted it, looking somewhat embarrassed. She gestured at the messy table. “You should eat something too. Don’t just drink— don’t let him drink anymore.”
With that, she led the boy back into the small room.
Ma Dongchen watched the door close, then turned and pulled out a cigarette for the man before lighting one for himself.
“Brother Su, you’ve got it tough,” Ma Dongchen carefully observed the man’s expression. “Two kids must be a lot of pressure, right?”
The man had slumped back on the sofa, his eyes half-closed.
“Damn it. For this boy, I quit my good technical job to be a loader. Why? It pays more,” the man panted, scratching his chest. “The kid doesn’t even have a household registration. He can’t go to school, so his sister has to tutor him at home.”
Suddenly, the man sat up and glared at Ma Dongchen. “Now tell me, with his sister missing, what am I supposed to do? I used to have a complete family. Now what?”
Ma Dongchen tapped his cigarette ash. “Well, let’s talk about that then.”
“Talk about what?” The man pounded the sofa. “I just want to know where my daughter is!”
“At this point, there are only two possibilities,” Ma Dongchen held up one finger. “First, Su Lin is afraid to come home—for whatever reason—but she’ll return in a few days.”
“And the second?”
“Second,” Ma Dongchen raised another finger, pausing briefly, “she won’t be coming back.”
The man stared at Ma Dongchen blankly, his alcohol-numbed brain struggling to grasp the meaning. After a few seconds, he suddenly lunged forward, grabbing Ma Dongchen’s collar.
“F*ck!” The man shouted hysterically. “What did your daughter do to Su Lin?”
“Is arguing about this helpful now?” Ma Dongchen shook him off roughly. “Regardless of the outcome, I’ll give you an explanation!”
“Explanation my ass!” The man staggered to his feet. “I’m going to the police station now. If she’s alive, I want to see her. If she’s dead, I want to see the body!”
“Old Su!” Ma Dongchen grabbed him. “As long as you don’t report this, I’ll return a child to you!”
The man’s eyes widened. “What the F*ck did you say?”
“You heard me right!” Ma Dongchen stared into his bloodshot eyes. “One child. I’ll give you back one child.”
Gu Hao arrived at Xi Garden early in the morning. It was one of the city’s earliest commercialized cemeteries, located in the suburbs with inconvenient transportation. There was only one suburban bus line operating in the morning and evening. After getting off the bus, it took another half-hour walk to reach the cemetery.
Tai Zhiliang’s tombstone was in Section C, second row, fifth column. By the time Gu Hao reached his old friend’s final resting place, he was out of breath, and his left hand ached from the heavy bag he carried. He plopped down opposite the tombstone, looked at Tai Zhiliang’s grinning photo, and first cursed, “You old bastard, you’re still giving me trouble.”
The sun had risen, and heat shimmered between the tombstones, grass, and pine trees. Gu Hao fanned his collar, waiting for his breathing to settle, only to break into another sweat. He struggled to his feet and took out white wine, joss paper, cigarettes, fruits, and roast chicken from his bag, arranging them in front of the tombstone.
The grave was clean, obviously recently swept. A slightly wilted bouquet lay beside the tombstone. Gu Hao smiled, thinking that Tai Wei, that little monkey, was indeed obedient.
Gu Hao opened a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and placed it on the base of the tombstone, then lit one for himself. He sat down opposite the grave, head lowered, smoking silently.
There was nothing to say. Everything that needed to be said had been said over decades. It was enough to just sit with his old friend. Gu Hao suddenly thought that if he went first, Tai Zhiliang would probably chatter endlessly at his grave, and might even perform a set of military exercises on the spot if he got excited.
The two of them were so different: one quiet and reserved, the other talkative and outgoing; one slow and steady, the other bursting with energy; one mature beyond his years, the other forever full of enthusiasm and curiosity about the world.
Yet, these two became the best of friends. How close were they? They fell in love with the same girl.
In the early 1960s, Gu Hao and Tai Zhiliang were soldiers in the same Xinjiang border defense unit. Being about the same age and from the same city, they naturally spent more time together as fellow townsmen. During one leave, Gu Hao and Tai Zhiliang returned home together and were invited to give a talk at a primary school. Gu Hao didn’t want to go, but Tai Zhiliang was enthusiastic and dragged him along. At the event, Tai Zhiliang hit it off with a brigade counselor named Du Qian and they exchanged addresses. Unexpectedly, after returning to their unit, Du Qian wrote Tai Zhiliang a letter.
Tai Zhiliang was so excited he could barely contain himself and immediately set about replying. However, after a day of staring at the paper, all he managed was “Dear Teacher Du.” In desperation, he sought help from Gu Hao, a high school graduate. Gu Hao initially refused outright, but given that his comrade’s “lifelong happiness” was at stake, and after Tai Zhiliang’s persistent pleading, Gu Hao reluctantly wrote a reply on Tai Zhiliang’s behalf.
Where there’s one letter, there’s a response, and Tai Zhiliang kept coming back shamelessly for help. So Gu Hao ended up “jointly” courting Du Qian through letters. This absurd correspondence continued for nearly half a year until Gu Hao realized he was pouring his own heart out to someone else’s girlfriend. Worse still, Tai Zhiliang had noticed too. The two lived in awkward coexistence for a while, preparing to have a formal talk when the war of self-defense broke out.
Their unit was thrown into the conflict. In the face of a formidable enemy, matters of the heart had to be set aside. No matter how strained their relationship, they still had to fight side by side on the battlefield. During one assault, a grenade landed near Gu Hao’s feet while he was firing at the enemy, completely unaware. Tai Zhiliang dived and knocked him down. Gu Hao escaped unharmed, but Tai Zhiliang’s body was riddled with six shrapnel pieces. Fortunately, prompt medical attention saved his life.
After the war, the conflict between them resolved itself. Tai Zhiliang had saved his life; how could Gu Hao claim feelings for a woman who was never truly his? Gu Hao stepped aside. Soon after, they were both demobilized. Back in their hometown, Tai Zhiliang and Du Qian no longer needed to exchange letters, and the secret about the letters was temporarily kept. Tai Zhiliang joined the police force, while Gu Hao went to work in the security department of a fiberglass factory. Tai Zhiliang and Du Qian’s love story culminated in marriage, and they had their son Tai Wei a few years later. Gu Hao remained single until retirement.
Single, but not alone. Gu Hao was always a welcome guest in Tai Zhiliang’s home, and Tai Wei had long ago made him his godfather. If not for Tai Zhiliang’s drunken slip revealing Gu Hao’s ghostwriting of the letters, this special relationship might have continued indefinitely. After that, Gu Hao’s visits to Tai Zhiliang’s home became less frequent. Tai Zhiliang and his wife, now aware of the likely reason for Gu Hao’s prolonged bachelorhood, began trying to set him up with potential partners. But Gu Hao was as stubborn as a rock, refusing to meet anyone regardless of their circumstances. As a result, his old friend’s marriage became a source of guilt for Tai Zhiliang, one he couldn’t shake off even on his deathbed.
At noon, Gu Hao left the cemetery. The suburban bus wouldn’t run again until evening, and he couldn’t wait that long. He hired a tricycle from a farmer heading into the city to sell vegetables, then transferred to a city bus once they reached the urban area.
Gu Hao returned home in the afternoon. As he entered the cool stairwell from the scorching sun, he felt immediate relief. He climbed the stairs, fishing out his keys. Just as he opened the outer door, he saw a middle-aged man in a white shirt leaving room 101 across the hall.
“No need to see me out,” the man said, waving back into the room. “Brother Su, we’ve agreed. I’ll go back and…”
The man suddenly noticed Gu Hao behind him and swallowed the rest of his sentence. He merely nodded at Gu Hao before hurrying away.
Gu Hao, keys in hand, glanced at the half-open door of room 101. He caught a glimpse of the female occupant’s tear-stained face before the door quickly shut.
The hallway fell silent again, now tinged with the scent of alcohol and meat. Hungry, Gu Hao sniffed the air, contemplating what to eat. As he turned his key in the lock, a thought struck him. After entering his apartment, he tossed his bag on the bed and headed to the kitchen.
On the stove in the communal kitchen, two plates remained stacked together. Gu Hao lifted the top plate to find two cold-fried eggs. After a moment’s consideration, he turned on the gas stove and reheated the eggs in a pan, eating them standing in the kitchen.
They tasted slightly better than yesterday’s. Gu Hao washed the plates and stored them in the cupboard before returning to his room. Passing room 101, he couldn’t help but glance at the door again. The dark gray iron door remained firmly shut, but he could faintly hear a woman’s tearful voice inside. Gu Hao was tempted to listen more closely but thought better of it. After hesitating briefly, he decided to return home.
Brewing a pot of tea and lighting a cigarette, Gu Hao sat on his bed, lazily fanning himself. His mind wandered. After a while, he realized he was still thinking about his neighbors—the girl hadn’t come for fried eggs in three days.
The story began a month ago.
One early morning, Gu Hao awoke with severe abdominal pain. Thinking it would pass, he was surprised when the pain in his lower abdomen intensified. He struggled to the hospital, fainting before the doctor could examine him. Upon regaining consciousness, the doctor asked for his family to come. With no other choice, Gu Hao called Tai Wei. The “little monkey” rushed to the hospital, and accompanied him through numerous tests. The final diagnosis was kidney stones. The doctor recommended surgery, but Gu Hao declined after much deliberation. Being childless, he knew a hospital stay would inevitably involve Tai Wei. Instead, he opted for conservative treatment, returning home with only a few boxes of medication. A few days later, Tai Wei somehow procured a folk remedy for kidney stones—eating two fried eggs daily.
Whether the remedy worked was uncertain, but it was convenient. Moreover, Tai Wei had brought five jin of eggs, which would go to waste otherwise. Every night, Gu Hao fried two eggs as a late-night snack. One day, while watching the Chinese national soccer team play, he got hungry. As he was frying eggs, he heard Song Shixiong’s voice from the TV in the inner room: “Goal! China has equalized…”
Gu Hao hurriedly turned off the stove and ran to watch the replay. When he returned to the communal kitchen, he found the two fried eggs in the pan had vanished.
Of course, the eggs hadn’t disappeared on their own. Gu Hao glanced at the door of room 101, already suspecting what had happened.
The Su family had moved in about two years ago. Despite being neighbors for some time, the two households initially had little interaction. Gu Hao spent most of his time living at the factory, rarely returning home. The Su family kept to themselves, only exchanging nods when they met. After Gu Hao retired and stayed at home, he gradually learned more about them.
The head of the household, Old Su, worked in the loading team at the fiberglass factory. His wife, surname Yang, was a housewife. They had two children: an older daughter nicknamed Linlin, attending high school, and a younger son around twelve or thirteen who seemed to stay at home all day instead of attending school.
As time passed, Gu Hao found some of the Su family’s behaviors questionable. In this old-style apartment building, two families shared a kitchen, splitting water and electricity bills. Each family used their gas cylinders. Logically, with four people in the Su family and Gu Hao living alone, the distribution of utilities was clear. Gu Hao wasn’t one to fuss over such matters, so he let it slide. However, Old Su and his wife seemed to take advantage whenever possible, often using Gu Hao’s gas cylinder when he was away. Twice, Gu Hao caught them, and they claimed their cylinder had run out and they were just borrowing his temporarily. If it were just these minor issues, Gu Hao could understand. After all, the Su family had a low income and financial pressures. But their treatment of their two children truly bothered him.
Undoubtedly, the young boy was born outside the one-child policy. Under current family planning policies, he had no legal identity and could potentially cost his father his job. However, to Old Su, this boy was the sole heir to continue the family line. The parents’ doting was evident; they gave him whatever he wanted. The child of a working-class family had developed spoiled habits. In contrast, the older daughter’s status in the family was much lower. The girl was tall and thin with a pale complexion, appearing malnourished. At home, she either did homework or housework, rarely speaking. While the boy always had new clothes, the girl wore old school uniforms year-round. She was polite, occasionally bowing and calling Gu Hao “Uncle Gu” when they met. A few times, he saw her crying in the kitchen, unsure whether she had been scolded by her parents or bullied by her brother.
This egg incident was undoubtedly the work of the unruly boy. Gu Hao remained outwardly calm but inwardly decided to teach the boy a lesson. The next evening, he fired two more eggs, deliberately making noise with pots and pans. After finishing, he turned off the gas and kitchen light, walked to his door, and loudly said, “Old Zhang, wait a moment, I’ll be right over.” He opened and closed his door, then quietly snuck back home, pressing his ear against the door to listen for movement from room 101.
Minutes later, the iron door across the hall creaked open. Soft footsteps. The sound of a pot lid being lifted. Quiet chewing…
Then came an “Ouch!” followed by “Ptui, ptui, ptui.”
Gu Hao chuckled. “Little brat, I added three large spoonfuls of salt. That’ll teach you.”
He opened his door and walked to the communal kitchen, reaching up to turn on the light.
Instantly, the orange light illuminated the room. The triumphant smile froze on Gu Hao’s lips.
The Su family’s older daughter stood there like a startled rabbit, one hand covering her eyes, the other still holding a half-eaten fried egg.
Gu Hao stood stunned, stammering, “Why is it you?”
The girl didn’t answer, nor did she need to. She moved to the stove, placing the egg back in the pan, her hand never leaving her eyes. After a moment, her shoulders began to shake, and bright tears started flowing between her fingers.
Gu Hao panicked, fumbling to comfort her: “Don’t cry… I’m not blaming you.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle Gu,” the girl sobbed loudly. “I just got back from evening study… I hadn’t eaten…”
Gu Hao frowned. “Where are your parents?”
“They took my brother to sweep our grandparents’ graves,” the girl cried, gasping for air. “I was hungry… I’m sorry.”
“Was it you yesterday too?”
“Yes,” the girl hung her head low. “I thought you had left them because you didn’t want them.”
Gu Hao fell silent for a moment, then tossed the eggs from the pan into the trash.
“Go wash your hands,” Gu Hao turned on the gas stove. “And your face too. You look like a little raccoon from crying.”
The girl let out a small laugh through her tears, mumbled an “Mm-hmm,” and obediently went back to her room.
When she returned to the kitchen, a plate with two steaming fried eggs sat on the stove. Gu Hao pulled up a chair, gesturing for the girl to sit.
“Want some fried mantou slices too?”
“No, no need,” the girl eagerly picked up her chopsticks. “This is perfect—thank you, Uncle Gu.”
“No need to thank me. I shouldn’t have tried to trick you,” Gu Hao sat down and lit a cigarette. “I thought it was your brother.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” the girl smiled. “My mom would cook for him.”
Gu Hao grunted but said nothing.
The girl carefully observed Gu Hao’s expression. “My parents are good to me. My brother is still growing, you know.”
“And you’re not?” Gu Hao tapped his cigarette ash. “How old are you? Aren’t you still a child too?”
“I’m the older sister,” the girl answered seriously. “Older sisters should give way to their younger brothers, right?”
“Eat up,” Gu Hao said noncommittally, pointing at the plate. “It won’t taste good cold.”
In the small kitchen late at night, under dim light. An old man smoking silently, and a girl devouring fried eggs. This was the essence of everyday life.
Soon, the two fried eggs disappeared into the girl’s stomach. She efficiently washed the plate, chopsticks, and frying pan, then bowed deeply to Gu Hao.
“Thank you, Uncle Gu.”
“It’s just two eggs, nothing to thank me for,” Gu Hao paused, thinking. “What time do you finish evening study?”
“Nine o’clock,” the girl looked puzzled. “Why?”
“Come over after evening study from now on,” Gu Hao pointed at the stove. “I’ll fry eggs for you.”
“No, no. That would be too much trouble for you,” the girl waved her hands. “Besides, my parents would scold me if they found out.”
“Can’t you keep it from them?” Gu Hao frowned. “It’s decided. I’ll leave them on the stove. You eat and go. Don’t wash the dishes, and try not to make too much noise.”
“Well…” the girl bit her lip, her expression a mix of hesitation and anticipation. “Uncle Gu, is there anything I can do for you?”
“Not for now,” Gu Hao smiled. “I’ll let you know if I think of something.”
“Okay.” Perhaps because of her full stomach, a hint of color appeared on the girl’s pale cheeks. She waved to Gu Hao and ran back to room 101.
And so, an old man and a young girl shared a secret of two fried eggs. Silent and tacit. Every night, Gu Hao would fry four eggs on time, eating two himself and covering the other two with a plate on the stove. In the morning, he’d find the plate washed clean and put away in the cupboard. He wondered how carefully the girl must wash them to avoid making noise that might alert her parents.
Occasionally, Gu Hao would find freshly picked wildflowers on his doorknob. He knew this was the girl’s small gesture of gratitude.
This unspoken arrangement continued for a month, until that rainy night.
Gu Hao’s reverie was broken when the burning cigarette singed his fingers. He quickly discarded the butt, shaking his head with a wry smile. Why should he care? Maybe she no longer wanted fried eggs, or perhaps her parents had scolded her—any reason could have kept the girl from coming to the communal kitchen. How could an old man like him understand the thoughts of a girl that age? It was probably for the best. They were never really connected, and now he’d save two eggs.
Gu Hao leaned back comfortably on his bed, beginning to plan what to eat for dinner and how to pass the remaining long hours of the day.
His mind wandered, relaxed and lazy. However, Gu Hao didn’t realize that he had been staring at a vase on his desk. Inside it was a bunch of wilting wildflowers.