When the phone in his pocket rang, Zhou Ya had just fished the last raw-marinated three-spot crab of the night out of the bucket.

His left eyelid suddenly twitched twice, and Zhou Ya bit down on his back molar in irritation.

He ignored the phone and tossed the marinated crab onto the thick cutting board.

Hand up, knife down — in a few strokes he’d evenly chopped the crab into pieces.

The amber, fat-like roe oozed out, filling a plate that was crystal clear and glistening, topped with cilantro, white vinegar on the side.

He didn’t need to shout “order up” — he just had to set the plate at the front of the stall and gesture to the staff member coming to collect dishes, and they’d know exactly which table it was for.

Today was Saturday, and the food stall was packed with not an empty seat in sight. It wasn’t even eleven o’clock yet, and the marinated shrimp had already sold out, with the mantis shrimp nearly gone too.

The round tables were wrapped in layers of plastic tablecloth, carving out a lively scene beneath the old arcade walkway, voices loud and cups clinking.

Bright red flames leapt in the stove eyes, and the clams trembled open under the fierce fire’s assault, revealing their tenderest flesh.

The exhaust fan, caked in grease, roared away as customers shouted their orders, fingers pointing this way and that with cigarettes between them, ash falling who-knew-where.

Goose intestines with the fat trimmed off, mixed small fish stuck to little pots, pickled vegetables tumbled with daikon, plain congee served in two bowls, and finally the mixed pickles for anyone to help themselves to.

By the third ring of the phone, A’Feng, who was in charge of taking orders nearby, finally couldn’t help himself: “Boss! Your phone! Your phone!”

Zhou Ya drizzled some sauce over the goose intestines, handed it to the staff, wiped his hands carelessly on an old, greasy rag nearby, took the cigarette tucked behind his ear, waved a hand at the person beside him, and walked out of the stall.

Seeing who was calling, Zhou Ya scoffed.

He still didn’t answer. He lit the cigarette, and only when the phone rang again did he heavily exhale a mouthful of smoke and pick up.

“A’ya! Busy at the stall?” The voice on the other end was loud, as if already knowing he was busy, and got straight to the point. “Busy or not, doesn’t matter — come by the station for a bit.”

Cigarette still between his index and middle fingers, Zhou Ya bent his thumb and pressed the knuckle against his left eyelid, which had been twitching all night, his voice thick with irritation: “This time… what is it about?”

His voice was extremely hoarse, and combined with his impatience, it really wasn’t pleasant to hear.

“Ah, she got into it with someone at ’88’… don’t worry, she’s not hurt.”

“Who the hell cares if she’s hurt.” Zhou Ya cursed. “Still so young and already such a troublemaker — fighting her way into the police station, what an honor to bring to the family.”

“She’s not that young anymore, she’s nineteen…” the other party said, somewhat helpless. “Anyway, just come quick — the other family’s parents are already on their way.”

Zhou Ya’s mouth curled into a cold smile: “I’m not going. Have her find her own mother to come get her.”

The other party sighed: “Then I’d have to go request Yong’an.”

The cigarette was bitten nearly in half between his teeth. Zhou Ya smoked one drag after another, saying nothing.

The other party continued: “If you don’t come, I’ll have to find Auntie Min…”

“You bastard! You know what my mother’s health is like! What time is it now? She should be asleep already!” Zhou Ya cursed through gritted teeth.

“Aiya, then just come already, she’s still your little sister after all…”

Zhou Ya hung up directly.

He finished the cigarette in two or three more drags, flicked the butt into the roadside gutter, the unextinguished spark falling like into an abyss.

Walking back to the stall, A’Feng looked at him with a mischievous grin: “The young lady’s caused trouble again?”

Zhou Ya was cold by nature, and because of his damaged voice, he never liked to talk much. The only one who could push him to the point of fury, cursing nonstop, was that good-for-nothing little troublemaker of the Zhou family.

Zhou Ya shot him a cold glance and pointed at the spot by the cutting board, signaling him to take over.

A’Feng set down the order notebook, shaking his head with a sigh: “Tonight’s customers are lucky to taste the marinated dishes cut by my ‘Knife God’ hands.”

Zhang Xiuqin, also in charge of taking orders and serving, tore off a newly written ticket, pressed it onto the counter, and scolded with a laugh: “Enough nonsense, hurry up and cut a plate of goose wings, table fifteen!”

From years of shouting, the woman’s voice had long gone hoarse, but it was still plenty loud, and her head of purple-red curly hair looked especially fashionable.

“Yes ma’am!” Seeing Zhou Ya walk off, A’Feng lowered his voice and winked at Zhang Xiuqin. “I’ll definitely listen to what the future boss lady says.”

Zhang Xiuqin made as if to swat the young punk: “What nonsense are you spouting — aren’t you afraid A’ya will hear and hit you?!”

Even as she said it, the eyes of the usually brisk, no-nonsense woman softened noticeably.

Zhou Ya went to the restroom, washed the grease off his hands, then went to the storeroom to grab his leather jacket.

A regular customer, flushed from drink, waved him over for a drink, but Zhou Ya shook his head at him, put on the jacket, pulled the motorcycle key from an inner pocket, and walked out of the shop.

Without waiting for him to say anything, Zhang Xiuqin spoke first: “Go on and take care of it, we’ve got the shop covered.”

Zhou Ya nodded in thanks.

But the politeness and distance in his eyes made Zhang Xiuqin’s heart sink suddenly.

The spots along the street were all filled with customers’ cars; the staff’s motorcycles were parked in the alley alongside, and Zhou Ya’s was too.

The night wind cut through the alley, the flickering wall lamps like damp, cold matchsticks. Zhou Ya got on his motorcycle, long legs braced on the ground.

He inserted the key but didn’t start it right away, instead putting another cigarette in his mouth, this time smoking it unhurriedly.

Only when he’d finished did he kick up the side stand and start the engine, riding off.

He planned to circle the town a couple of times first — let that troublesome little ancestor of his wait a while longer.