As the Spring Festival approached, townsfolk who’d gone out to work elsewhere gradually returned, and the town streets saw a rare bustle of traffic, shopfronts decorated with festive lanterns, the holiday atmosphere growing thicker by the day.

The food stall’s business was booming; every evening before opening even began, customers were already showing up.

There were also quite a few more tourists with out-of-town license plates.

Fang Long couldn’t understand why people would be willing to drive dozens or even over a hundred kilometers, just to come to this remote little town for a late-night meal.

Later she heard from several customers that they’d seen a post from a travel blogger on 163 Blog and had come specifically looking for the place.

Zhou Ya had just finished up the dinner rush and come out from the kitchen, seeing Fang Long and the shop staff gathered around the table where they usually drank tea, everyone discussing the matter excitedly. He wandered over to take a look.

Someone made room for Zhou Ya; he sat down, took the cigarette A’Feng handed him, and chimed in: “Blog? Isn’t that just a place for writing diaries?”

Fang Long was searching for the blogger the customers had mentioned, and looked at him with some surprise: “You actually know about blogs?”

She knew Zhou Ya didn’t even use QQ Zone, had no clue how to use Tianya or Renren—how could this “antique” possibly know about blogs?

“What do you mean ‘actually’? The way you say it makes it sound like I’m about to go into a coffin…” Zhou Ya rolled his eyes at her, took the lighter and lit his cigarette, then curled a finger at Fang Long. “Let me see.”

Fang Long pursed her lips and handed him her phone.

This blogger seemed to have some renown; every diary entry had many views and comments. They’d passed through Anzhen and casually asked a few passersby along the way, who unanimously recommended “A’Ya” to them.

Originally the blogger hadn’t expected much from a small-town food stall’s offerings, but it turned out “A’Ya” became their favorite restaurant of the whole trip.

The article was rich with photos and text, the blogger carefully writing a review for every dish, praising the food stall to the heavens, and even attaching “A’Ya”‘s specific address, telling readers that if they ever passed through Anzhen, they must go try it.

“Bro, our reviews on Dazhong Dianping are great too, all praising our good taste, generous portions, and low prices!”

A’Feng handed his own phone to Zhou Ya too, showing off. “Look, look, we’re the highest-rated restaurant in all of Anzhen. Other food stalls—Old Luo’s, Yaqiang’s—they’re on here too, but none of their reviews are as good as ours.”

Another staff member grinned: “How could those places compare to ours? Old Luo’s seafood isn’t fresh enough, Yaqiang plays favorites with customers, and Xidi’s place—don’t even mention it. Ever since they changed kitchen staff, the taste has gotten worse and worse, hardly anyone says it’s good anymore. That they’ve lasted this long is only because people give the old shop some face—”

“Alright, alright, let’s just focus on our own work, don’t worry about others’ business.” Zhou Ya cut them off, tapping two fingers on the table twice, reminding everyone. “Some of what you say among yourselves in private is fine, but once you’re out there, watch your mouths. Don’t just blurt out everything, understand?”

A’Feng, a bit carried away, crossed his legs and said: “What we’re saying is just the truth, we’re not slandering them. Not like some shops, who because our business is booming, go around badmouthing us and slinging mud at us behind our backs?”

Fang Long blinked, looking at A’Feng: “Is someone talking bad about us?”

“That’s right, ancestor, you don’t know how hard it’s been for us to get to where we are today, waaah…” A’Feng’s theatrical streak was showing, pretending to wipe away tears in mock sorrow.

A customer arrived; Zhou Ya stood up, smacking the back of A’Feng’s head: “So dramatic… get to work.”

“Ow! That hurt!”

“Hahahaha—”

That night, back home, Zhou Ya waited as usual for Fang Long to finish in the bathroom before showering himself.

The washing machine took over half an hour to finish the clothes; he toweled his hair dry and went back to his room.

Half-closing the door, he leaned against the headboard sitting on his bed, picked up his phone, and opened the browser.

He searched and found the blogger Fang Long and the others had mentioned tonight; he’d only skimmed it earlier, this time he read the whole post carefully.

“Written pretty honestly.” The corner of his mouth curved into a smile without him realizing it.

After finishing, Zhou Ya didn’t close the webpage, and in the search bar, typed in an ID with practiced familiarity.

The page jumped, into Fang Long’s blog.

—This was something he’d stumbled upon once before when he’d borrowed Fang Long’s computer to handle something.

Fang Long usually updated her diary every three or four days, writing about small everyday happenings, complaining about frustrations she’d encountered, occasionally posting photos, sometimes using lyrics from some song to represent her mood for the day.

Zhou Ya considered himself a rather boring person, his life almost entirely filled up by family and business. Even though he wasn’t that old, he didn’t care for the pastimes young people liked; going online, besides checking social news, mostly meant lurking on Fang Long’s blog.

Here, he could learn about Fang Long’s joys and sorrows. Of course, the messy relationship diaries Fang Long used to update when dating boys before would give him a stomachache each time.

Fortunately, after breakups, Fang Long would clean out those diary entries and photos completely, which gave him some relief.

Zhou Ya looked for a while, heard the washing machine outside stop, put down his phone, and went to the balcony to hang up the laundry.

After checking that all the doors and windows were locked, he went back to his room to get ready for bed.

Before sleeping, Zhou Ya glanced at Fang Long’s blog once more, and was surprised to find she’d updated it five minutes ago.

Zhou Ya tapped the button a few times, clicking into the newest entry.

Fang Long had posted several photos, all shots of her computer screen.

It was that game Qin Baile had installed for him last time—something about plants fighting zombies.

Fang Long’s text looked pretty happy: “The last level was way too hard! The zombie king was so difficult to beat! But I finally cleared it! Long live the plants!”

Zhou Ya chuckled, thinking he should go ask Qin Baile what other computer games were popular lately.

One more day until New Year’s Eve.

The food stall wouldn’t be open from New Year’s Eve through the third day of the new year, so that evening, Zhou Ya made a big table of dishes as an early staff New Year’s Eve dinner. Everyone ate happily together, preparing to stand their final shift.

The dinner rush passed quickly, and by the late-night snack period, the place was packed—every spare folding table was in use, both under the arcade and inside the shop full of people.

Many customers were drinking; Fang Long ran back and forth constantly, with customers always trying to pull her into drinking with them, and she’d laugh it off, using Zhou Ya as a shield, saying “my brother won’t let me drink.”

One table of customers looked unfamiliar.

Four men, thick-set and burly, faces full of coarse features, speaking a dialect with a non-local accent, rolling dice loudly, hardly a clean word coming out of their mouths—clearly not the friendly sort.

A’Feng found a chance to quietly remind Fang Long: “Ancestor, I’ll handle this table, you stay away from them.”

Fang Long understood A’Feng’s meaning and nodded: “Got it, thanks.”

A’Feng got a bit embarrassed at this, scratching the back of his head: “No need to thank me!”

This table had brought their own alcohol, and quickly finished a bottle of foreign liquor and two bottles of baijiu. Seeing they were out, a bald man raised his hand, waving it side to side: “Hey! Waitress!”

Fang Long was closest to this table, having just finished delivering food, with no other tasks in hand.

She didn’t respond immediately, hesitating for a moment, thinking to find A’Feng or another staff member to help, but everyone was busy.

But within just those few seconds, the bald man had already grown impatient, staring straight at Fang Long and shouting: “Over here! Hey, are you deaf?”

A surge of anger rose in Fang Long out of nowhere.

During her time at “A’Ya,” though she’d encountered plenty of drunk customers, one this disrespectful was a first.

She suppressed her anger and walked over, forcing herself to ignore the men’s blatant ogling, patiently asking: “What do you gentlemen need?”

The bald man glanced at her sideways: “What beer do you have?”

“Pearl River beer.”

“Cheap stuff…” the bald man said disdainfully, “That’s all you’ve got?”

“Yes, that’s the only brand we carry.”

“Fine then, bring a dozen.”

Fang Long brought over a basket of beer, set it down, and was about to leave when the bald man got unhappy, hollering: “What’s this? First day on the job? Don’t know you’re supposed to open the bottles for customers?”

His words clearly had an insinuation behind them; the other three men at the table burst out laughing.

Fang Long couldn’t help herself, rolled her eyes, and just then caught sight from the corner of her eye of Zhang Xiuqin looking over from the counter.

But the other woman quickly turned back to attend to other customers.

Fang Long, thinking to get this over with quickly, kept a stony face and said nothing more, working the bottle opener with quick flicks, several caps clattering to the floor.

The bald man’s eyes darted around like a rat’s, sweeping up and down over the young woman’s graceful curves.

He gave a “tch” and said to his companions: “Girls these days sure have attitude, all of them so hot-tempered.”

The other men laughed lewdly, agreeing: “All need a lesson.”

Fang Long had already mentally beaten them all up, but she didn’t want to cause trouble for the shop, forcing down her disgust and finishing opening the last bottle cap.

She turned, and had just taken one step when she suddenly froze.

Because someone had slapped her on the backside.