The foot traffic at the stall’s location was not actually very good; most of their business depended on the patronage of neighboring vendors on either side. Once the holiday ended, if they failed to attract new customers, business would likely grow quiet again.

Yan Lie used a marker pen to write out a notice, taped it to the front of the cart, and sealed it with two layers of tape to prevent it from peeling off and getting damaged.

— One rice ball per order. Maximum of three add-on ingredients. Thank you.

Because they had prepared in a rush, the available toppings at the stall were actually rather limited. Besides the usual options like cucumber, pickled mustard greens, and lettuce, the rest were things like shredded chicken and crab sticks.

The pork floss had been stir-fried by Ye Yuncheng himself beforehand. Since the good store-bought kind was too expensive and the cheap kind he deemed unsanitary, he had simply made it himself. Whatever they could not sell could be brought by Fang Zhuo to school as a topping for mixed rice. To keep costs down, he had used chicken instead of pork.

The remaining toppings were things like shredded chicken and shredded ham.

Worried that unsold ingredients would go stale, he had only put a little of each into every container.

Fang Zhuo told Xiao Mu to go easy on the toppings when adding them — more did not necessarily mean tastier. Xiao Mu tried a few times, pulling a long, troubled face as he experimented to find the right amount.

Neither of them stepped forward to help him with his work. They simply sat behind the stall with their homework, watching and offering guidance at appropriate moments, so that he could adapt to stall life as quickly as possible, while also observing what difficulties might arise during actual operation.

Over the course of more than an hour, a few incidents did occur. As a result, more and more notices kept being taped onto the small cart.

“He is not good at talking, but he can hear and understands you.”

“Small portions are available. Please say so before we make it.”

“If a topping is not in the box, it means we have run out.”

“No bargaining. Cannot add extra for free!”

“He can communicate. He is not a stutterer — he is just shy around strangers. Please do not be harsh with him.”

Most of the problems, in truth, revolved around Xiao Mu’s social anxiety.

This had little to do with intelligence. He had no difficulty conversing with Fang Zhuo; it was simply that he did not want to open his mouth. His manner of expression was admittedly less clear than that of most people, and his logic was not very fluid — possibly because he had been mocked for it in the past, leaving a psychological scar. Now, when facing strangers, he was resistant, and his speech would stutter.

So Xiao Mu’s exchange of information with customers relied essentially on eye contact. His eyes were extraordinarily expressive, but most people simply could not pick up on that. To demonstrate his professionalism, he would occasionally extend a tasting invitation to passersby.

Two parties whose mental wavelengths were completely out of alignment would ultimately pass each other by in mutual bewilderment.

Fang Zhuo found it hilarious but did not dare show it, and could only suffer through it in silence alongside Yan Lie.

Of course, there were also very pleasant customers — people who spoke to Xiao Mu gently and quietly, listening patiently to his answers. Some would even say a word of praise as they left.

When he met such a kind person, Xiao Mu would be extremely happy. His movements while clearing the table would become light and brisk, and he would turn back several times to emphasize to Fang Zhuo and Yan Lie: “That person was really nice.” Worried they might feel jealous, he even knew to keep things balanced, adding: “Of course, you two are also very nice.”

Yan Lie smiled and replied, “Thank you for the compliment, Xiao Mu!”

When he encountered a more hot-tempered customer, Xiao Mu would scratch his head and grow flustered. Once the customer had gone, he would summarize with a wounded expression: “Didn’t do well.”

His emotions were like a child’s — direct and simple, arriving quickly and departing even faster. But what he remembered more, in the end, was always the kindness of others.

Around four in the afternoon, as the after-work rush drew near, business at their stall gradually picked up.

The rice was nearly sold out. Yan Lie contacted Ye Yuncheng to go and bring more supplies.

Not long after, a man in a grey suit came by and ordered a small portion rice ball, handing Xiao Mu a one-hundred-yuan note.

Xiao Mu bent his head to make change. Fang Zhuo stood up and reached out to take the note.

She was sitting in a fairly concealed position, directly behind the stall, and people standing at a distance might not have been able to see her clearly.

“The bill is too large — I’ll go to the convenience store next door to verify it. Please wait a moment.”

She was about to turn and head over when the man called her back. He said coldly: “Forget it. I don’t want it anymore.”

Fang Zhuo returned the money to him, and he snatched it and walked away.

But a customer standing nearby caught on and hurled abuse at his retreating back: “Have you no shame?! Have you no shame at all?! I bit my tongue when you pulled this at the big supermarket, but here?! What happened to your conscience?! Disgusting!”

Xiao Mu, at a loss, asked quietly: “What happened?”

Fang Zhuo patted him reassuringly. “Nothing. The lady was worried you worked for nothing.”

Xiao Mu let out a breath of relief and said: “It’s okay, I’m not tired!”

He lifted his head and summoned the courage to say to the woman across from him: “Ma’am, please d-don’t be angry. If someone doesn’t want it, it’s fine for them not to.”

The customer’s expression softened, and she smiled at him. “Hey, good boy — never mind. Give me two first.”

When Ye Yuncheng returned, Fang Zhuo told him what had happened.

Ever since counterfeit-bill detectors became widespread, unscrupulous people had set their sights on small vendors. If Xiao Mu had been here alone, it really would have been hard to guard against something like that. It was just that nobody had expected it to happen on the very first day.

Yan Lie frowned and said: “I should still set up mobile payment for you.”

Fang Zhuo said: “People who want to pay by bank card won’t switch to mobile payment.”

“It’s not only about preventing counterfeit bills,” Yan Lie said. “People these days don’t like carrying cash when they go out. Mobile payment is much more convenient, and it can bring in additional customers.”

For Fang Zhuo, who did not even own a phone, all of this was somewhat unfamiliar.

Yan Lie took Ye Yuncheng’s phone to help set it up, then went to a print shop to print out a QR code, reminding them to pay attention to the system’s voice announcements of the price so that customers would not enter the wrong amount.

Six o’clock was the dinner rush. The crowd in front of the stall gradually grew, and dusk began to settle in.

Xiao Mu handled the rolling of rice balls; Ye Yuncheng handled collecting payment. The two worked together in a smooth, unhurried rhythm — far more efficiently than the afternoon had gone.

Ye Yuncheng’s manner was warm and approachable. He spoke to customers in a gentle, easy voice, drawing the entire atmosphere around the stall into something harmonious and comfortable.

He asked Fang Zhuo and Yan Lie to wait a while longer. He would close up at half past seven and go home to cook wonton soup for them. He also told them not to read in their current spot — the light was too dim.

The two of them therefore moved their small stools and sat beneath a large tree not far away, reviewing their vocabulary.

Traffic was congested in waves; pedestrians streamed past in an unbroken flow; the air hummed with the kind of noise that resembled furiously boiling water. Yet Fang Zhuo felt that she and Yan Lie were two people sitting inside the same glass jar — their world was its own, as still and unhurried as the cascade of lamplight around them.

Yan Lie took the lead in reading a few words aloud. Noticing that Fang Zhuo was not following along, he pinched her face to force her back to attention: “Can you hear my voice? Fang Zhuo, are you spacing out?”

Fang Zhuo turned her gaze — and looked past him.

Yan Lie followed her line of sight and found that it was someone he recognized.

Wei Xi was standing in front of them. She paused in thought for a moment, then asked with curiosity: “Does reviewing vocabulary in front of food give you extra power?”

Fang Zhuo: “……?”

Was this child’s brain running on watts? So clear and so bright.

Wei Xi tilted her small head and asked again: “Why is Yan Lie here too? Since when do food stalls need a model?”

Fang Zhuo could not hold back a laugh.

“Well, my brother is admittedly good-looking,” Yan Lie said, “but the main reason is for the social practicum. And to feel the glory of working people, while we’re at it!”

Wei Xi asked: “Is running a stall fun?”

Yan Lie: “Fun. Just inconvenient for studying.”

Wei Xi took a deep breath and asked with an air of mystery: “So — have you finished your homework?”

“Finished it yesterday,” Yan Lie said, nudging Fang Zhuo with his elbow. “Given that I’m with Zhuozhuo — do you really think I’d ever leave my homework unfinished?”

Wei Xi, realizing the joke was entirely on her, grabbed her head and wailed in anguish.

Fang Zhuo offered her encouragement: “You still have half a day tomorrow. You can struggle a little longer.”

The three of them chatted for a while. Wei Xi’s attention was drawn to Ye Yuncheng, who was working diligently nearby; she noticed that a few people had gathered beside him to make small talk, and she thought privately that a man who worked hard to earn money really did have an undeniable appeal. She called out loudly: “Uncle, you should set up your stall somewhere with more young people — or one of those trending spots! You’d quickly become the most handsome street vendor in City A!”

With that, she winked at Ye Yuncheng and gave him a thumbs-up.

Ye Yuncheng chuckled. “Most handsome street vendor — you kids and your talk. Have you had dinner? If not, I’ll treat you.”

“No no no, I already ate,” Wei Xi said, a little embarrassed. “But if you want to give me some as a late-night snack, I wouldn’t mind!”

Ye Yuncheng waved her over: “Come here and take a look. What flavor do you want? I’ll have Xiao Mu roll you a big one.”

Fang Zhuo suddenly recalled that in primary school, she had had a classmate whose family sold cakes from a stall.

Back then, Fang Zhuo had envied him deeply, because he always carried a faint, sweet smell of milk.

She had not been able to afford breakfast milk; she had thought milk was something wonderful to drink.

She had not been able to afford Western-style pastries; she had thought cake was something terribly luxurious.

All of that — that classmate could have with ease.

One day after school, she had walked out of the school gates with her worn cloth bag on her back and spotted that boy on the roadside. He was furiously tossing his bag onto the ground, throwing a tantrum at his parents: “Stop setting up your stall near my school! You’re so embarrassing!”

She had not known what kind of parent could be a source of pride, or what kind could be called embarrassing. To her, simply having parents who loved and cared for you was already a remarkably lucky thing.

In that moment, every shining quality about that classmate that Fang Zhuo had admired shattered.

It was only when she was older that she finally found the words to describe what she had understood in that moment:

One should never feel inferior. Inferiority makes a person mean, and meanness makes a person ugly.

She drew a perfect closing line on that memory, feeling satisfied — when Yan Lie raised his hand and waved it in front of her face, asking helplessly: “What are you thinking about again, great philosopher?”

Fang Zhuo answered honestly: “I was thinking about how a person can stop feeling inferior.”

Yan Lie sometimes struggled to keep up with her rapidly shifting trains of thought.

Fang Zhuo asked and answered her own question: “When they possess a great many things.”

Yan Lie rolled his notebook into the shape of a megaphone and, in a posture of humble inquiry, solicited her answer: “For instance, what kind of things must they possess?”

Fang Zhuo hesitated, then said: “Have a shadow?”

Fang Zhuo’s dry jokes were always out of date, yet somehow, for reasons he could not explain, they always landed directly on his funny bone.

Yan Lie froze for a moment, then burst out laughing freely.

Fang Zhuo called his name twice; he could not stop. Not knowing what was wrong with him, she simply turned away on her own and went back to memorizing vocabulary.

Yan Lie took out his phone and snapped two photos — one of the stall, one of Fang Zhuo.

The second day of the New Year holiday.

He had spent three-quarters of his time in the company of his classmate, Fang Zhuo.