It was Huo Zihong, with her perpetual look of weariness on her face and two deep lines running from the sides of her nose—though aging her, her features suggested she must have been quite beautiful in her youth.
Her health was poor, falling ill every few days. She had caught a cold these past two days, with an unrelenting cough. She peered down from the top of the stairs, and even with some displeasure, her voice remained gentle: “Mu Dai, come to my room for a moment. And stop bullying… Yi Wansan.”
She had intended to call him by name, but suddenly couldn’t remember it: “It’s all your fault, giving him such a nickname that I can’t even remember what he’s called.”
Mu Dai walked past Yi Wansan up the stairs. The wooden steps creaked, and her voice carried back from the distance: “But it’s not wrong. He owes you thirteen thousand yuan and is working it off for a year. Don’t say I’m bullying him—even if I were bullying a slave, it wouldn’t be against the law.”
Yi Wansan got up from the stairs resentfully, cursing in his heart: You’re the slave, your whole family is slaves.
Back at the bar counter, most customers had already left. Zhang Shu was stooping as he swept the floor table by table. Yi Wansan finished recording the recent beverage inventory on the computer, looked around to make sure no one was watching, then quickly opened the Tianya forum webpage.
A few weeks ago, he had posted a thread titled “Exposing My Extremely Overbearing Boss Lady.” In this post, his boss lady was code-named “Forest,” described as just over 5 feet tall, weighing about 150 pounds, with employee-exploiting behavior that would make even the most notorious skinflints look generous in comparison.
Though not a hot thread, it had garnered considerable clicks and replies.
Yi Wansan updated the thread, “truthfully” recording today’s events. The gist was that while washing glasses at the bar, he accidentally broke one, and Forest immediately kicked him. Filled with righteous indignation, he shouted: “Don’t working people deserve dignity?”
But Forest had just sneered, her face contorting: “You eat my food, live under my roof—you’re nothing but our family’s slave!”
Replies came quickly.
—Is the original poster’s boss sick in the head?
—Well done for shouting back! You should have slapped her, too.
—You should leave, original poster. From your previous descriptions, you’re very capable and could find work anywhere.
…
Reading these sympathetic replies and suggestions, Yi Wansan’s mood gradually improved. He hummed a tune while organizing the bar counter, paused, then refreshed the page for new replies. Seeing one particular comment, his heart suddenly skipped a beat.
—The original poster has quite an imagination. It’s a shame you’re not writing novels. Woken up yet? Haven’t finished washing those glasses, have you?
The username was “Paying Debts is the Natural Order,” and checking further, the account had been registered not long after he had posted his thread.
A chill ran down Yi Wansan’s back. After a while, he looked up at the ceiling. The second floor of the bar was residential, and directly above was Huo Zihong’s room, where Mu Dai should be now.
The person who replied couldn’t be… her, could it?
In the room, Huo Zihong was coughing heavily. Mu Dai helped her pour half a glass of cough syrup: “If you’re not feeling well, you shouldn’t be wandering around. Instead of resting properly, you have the energy to protect that worthless person.”
Huo Zihong took a sip and rubbed her chest to ease her breathing: “Mu Dai, stop targeting Yi Wansan all the time.”
Mu Dai dragged a chair over, sitting on it backward, and corrected Huo Zihong: “I’m not targeting him. He’s inherently a con artist. You should have let that Zhejiang boss take him to the police station back then.”
Back then?
That incident began with the Zhejiang boss.
About two years ago, the Zhejiang boss and several friends were driving the Sichuan-Tibet route. Near Kangding, they stopped at Zheduo Mountain to rest. The boss, over fifty and horizontally challenged, struggled to breathe after walking a few steps in the high altitude. Sitting on the ground to rest, he happened to look back down the road and caught sight of Yi Wansan’s “stunning” figure.
Reportedly, Yi Wansan was wearing a cycling helmet, tight-fitting outfit, pedaling a bicycle with several dozen pounds of luggage strapped behind, his expression solemn, his gaze determined.
The boss was amazed. In a place where he could barely walk two steps without gasping, Yi Wansan was cycling uphill with a heavy load—what kind of spirit was this?
He quickly called out to Yi Wansan: “Young man, come down and take a break!”
After chatting, the boss was deeply moved!
Yi Wansan said his dream was to cycle around the world. So far, he had already cycled through more than twenty provinces in China. He pulled out a flag to show the boss, covered with dense signatures, many from international friends visiting China, all in foreign script. Yi Wansan proudly pointed to one scrawl-like signature, telling him it was from the Belgian Ambassador to China.
Then he explained his upcoming plans: to cycle into Tibet, pay homage to Mount Everest, then exit Tibet and ride to Nepal, Pakistan, India, and if possible, all the way to the European continent.
As he spoke, he took out a rock-hard steamed bun, broke off a small piece, added a couple of pickled vegetables, chewed it slowly, then carefully wrapped the remaining bun in a plastic bag and returned it to his pack.
The boss urged him to eat more. Only then did he learn that the remaining portion of the bun was meant to last for two more meals.
The Zhejiang boss’s youth had been spent in an era of spiritual and cultural deprivation. By the time he could afford to realize some willful ideals, he was already physically unable. He easily saw a reflection of himself in the younger generation, so he immediately thought of supporting Yi Wansan. He didn’t have much cash on him, so he borrowed some from his friends in the car, totaling thirteen thousand yuan.
Yi Wansan was very touched and asked him to sign the flag, telling him, “I will take photos with your signature on this flag all around the world!”
If there had been an ATM on Zheduo Mountain, the boss probably would have impulsively given him another ten or twenty thousand.
The story should have ended there, but fate brought them together again more than a year later at the Scatter-Gather-at-Will Bar.
By then, Yi Wansan had changed his appearance, wearing a colorful headscarf, white shirt, and ripped jeans, looking nothing like his former dust-covered, eggplant-tanned self. The boss hadn’t recognized him at first; it was Yi Wansan who gave himself away.
He was boasting loudly to some newly met drinking buddies: “Many rich bosses now like to drive the Sichuan-Tibet route or climb mountains to appear high-class. I sum them up in seven words: lots of money, stupid, and old. They don’t lack money, and they miss their youth, so you have to find the right selling point—sell dreams, sell sentiments, strike a chord. Let me tell you, I spent some time camping out on the Sichuan-Tibet route, approaching any mainland-licensed self-driving cars. Those people were so polite, giving me lots of food and drinks, like Mizone and Red Bull. Later, I made nearly eight hundred dollars just selling those drinks. Some were stupid—the most memorable one, damn, gave me a full thirteen thousand yuan!”
The Zhejiang boss was sitting at the next table, initially just listening out of curiosity, but becoming increasingly disturbed. Hearing the last sentence, he was so angry he roared and lunged across the table, at over fifty years old, displaying the agility of a young man.
…
Mu Dai stared at Huo Zihong: “Aunt Hong, kindness should depend on who receives it. Yi Wansan should have been sent to jail, yet you even paid money for him.”
Huo Zihong smiled: “It’s not wasted. Thirteen thousand yuan, he has to work at the bar for a year—quite a good deal when you break it down.”
Mu Dai rested her chin on the back of the chair: “Not only are you overflowing with misplaced compassion, but you’re also letting a wolf into the house.”
“Don’t be prejudiced. These days, Yi Wansan has been working quite well.”
Mu Dai scoffed: “I’d bet my head that he’s being dishonest, if not with the accounts, then with the goods.”
“People can change. You can’t write them off completely. Mu Dai, that’s what’s not good about your personality—you’re too stubborn.”
Mu Dai fell silent. After a while, her emotions suddenly withdrew: “Whatever, as long as you’re happy. I’m just an adopted child after all; I shouldn’t speak to you so harshly. I’ll change next time.”
Huo Zihong was taken aback, inwardly sighing deeply. She handed Mu Dai a note: “Mu Dai, could you go to this place for me? If convenient, leave tomorrow.”
“Mm.”
After a brief silence, Mu Dai said, “I’ll go back to my room first. Need to pack.”
This was Mu Dai’s temperament. Usually, she would ask why she needed to go, who she was meeting, and if there were any specific instructions. But when her mood was low, she would only respond with a single word: “Mm.”
Huo Zihong stood by the door, watching absently as Mu Dai’s figure disappeared down the stairs. Zhang Shu came up with a broom and a dustpan for routine cleaning. When he reached Huo Zihong’s door, she said, “Sometimes, I worry a lot about this child Mu Dai. She doesn’t get close to anyone.”
Zhang Shu swept vigorously, not looking up: “It’s normal. Mu Dai was already three or four when she was adopted, and she suffered in that place. My deepest impression was that she was allergic to peaches. Just after she came to you, you gave her a peach, and she quickly took it and bit into it with big bites.”
Huo Zihong softly added, “Yes, in the first half of the year, she never dared to take any meat during meals. If I said a dish was delicious, she wouldn’t eat it. Such a young child, already carrying so many burdens in her heart.”
Towards the end, she suddenly became a bit sad: “If not for that incident eight years ago, Mu Dai might be much better now.”
Zhang Shu straightened up, making a fist with his right hand and thumping the small of his back: “Actually, our young boss lady is doing very well now. If you look at those cases reported in the news, the young boss lady’s recovery is excellent.”
Familiar footsteps sounded on the stairs. Yi Wansan’s scalp tingled, and he closed the webpage with lightning speed.
Mu Dai came over with a stern face. She initially wanted to ignore him completely, but thought better of it and stopped at the edge of the bar counter, saying: “I’m going to Chongqing tomorrow.”
“Really?”
Even as his delight showed, Yi Wansan realized his happiness was too obvious. His voice immediately deepened, and his expression changed to disappointment: “No way, I won’t see you for several days again.”
What he wanted to say was: Go and don’t come back.
Mu Dai smiled, a smile that made Yi Wansan uncomfortable all over. He understood its meaning, warning him to behave himself.
Yi Wansan nervously glanced at the two bottles on the liquor shelf.
When returning to his room, Yi Wansan passed by Mu Dai’s bedroom door. Through the half-open door, he saw an open suitcase on the floor. One half was colorful—a cat-shaped toiletry bag, an elephant-patterned undershirt, tasseled ankle boots, a bracelet with bells and shells. The other half contained all-black clothing and accessories.
Yi Wansan thought to himself: This vicious woman has a split personality.