Fang Zhuo had barely started her holiday when Ye Yuncheng got a head start on planning for the New Year supplies.

The small stall of his looked low in cost, but the upfront investment had been considerable — at least far beyond what he had anticipated.

Rent, the freight truck for moving goods, utilities, tableware, Xiao Mu’s wages… all manner of scattered expenses added up, nearly wiping out his savings.

For a period of time, he had even had to calculate his grocery money down to the last unit. When buying ingredients, he compulsively checked the weather forecast over and over to make sure it would not rain the next day, lest the food accumulate, and then have to be discarded by the following morning.

It was not until the approach of the Spring Festival — when more people appeared on the streets and he no longer needed to purchase any new equipment — that he finally managed to save a little money.

When Fang Zhuo came back with her bag on her shoulders, Ye Yuncheng was sitting in the living room going over his accounts.

He was a methodical person by habit. The coins were stacked in neat, orderly piles by size; the figures on his ledger were written in tidy, upright characters — considerably neater than Fang Zhuo’s exam papers.

Once he had recorded the scattered income and expenses from his mobile payment app, he set down his pen. Only then did Fang Zhuo ask: “How are things looking?”

Ye Yuncheng stared at the figures at the end of the two columns, held it in for a moment, and said: “Almost back in the black.”

Fang Zhuo put down her bag and smiled. “That’s good news.”

“Yes, it’s good news.” Ye Yuncheng said. “Upgrading the cart cost too much. But from an accounting standpoint, that expense should be treated as depreciation — spread out over the months ahead. So we are, technically, in profit.”

His original cart had been bought second-hand and modified; it had no heating function, and after using it for a while he found the limitations too great and decided to upgrade to a full-featured version. That way, starting next year, he could sell hot food and would no longer have to worry about keeping food warm.

Because he cared about quality, the rice balls had built up a good reputation. By adding more menu options, he was confident the revenue could stabilize.

“If we could rent a small shopfront, that would be ideal,” Ye Yuncheng said, looking ahead. “Then we could go on food delivery platforms, expand the customer base, and not have to worry about rain.”

A small blade of grass growing vigorously, hoping for a place to shelter from wind and rain — this seemed to be a pursuit inscribed in every Chinese person’s bones.

Ye Yuncheng raised his head and made a self-deprecating remark: “Am I becoming too ambitious?”

Fang Zhuo laughed out loud and held up her fingers to indicate: “Only a little.”

“Then let me want a little more,” Ye Yuncheng said, eyes smiling as he teased her. “Next year, let’s make sure we’re living comfortably first and save up the tuition. Once you’re in university, we’ll make progress together and see if we can rent a shop within two kilometers of your campus.”

Fang Zhuo said with certainty: “We will.”

Ye Yuncheng picked up his pen again, flipped to the next page, and wrote the idea down as a reminder to himself.

He asked: “So does Zhuozhuo have any small ambitions before the New Year?”

Fang Zhuo thought for a moment and said: “There’s one goal. It’s not too big.”

“What is it?” Ye Yuncheng smiled. “Getting into University A?”

“I want to save up money and buy a prosthetic limb,” Fang Zhuo said, her lashes lowering with quiet longing. “I saw one on the street the other day — it was extraordinary. Bionic — it could walk freely just like a normal person’s leg, and even run.”

Ye Yuncheng was momentarily stunned. He looked back at her. His lips parted as though he was about to say something, but in the end nothing came out. His gaze only grew softer and softer, until along with the slight quiver of his nostrils it took on a faint shimmer, and he stepped forward and held Fang Zhuo tightly.

“Technology really is amazing these days,” Fang Zhuo murmured against his shoulder. “It can change anything.”

Ye Yuncheng said quietly: “One day, you’ll become just as remarkable a person.”

Fang Zhuo nodded: “Mm.”

The two of them held still and quiet for a while. Ye Yuncheng let her go, lifted a hand, and wiped the corner of his eye.

Fang Zhuo moved to gather the loose coins on the table, but he pressed her hand down.

“I haven’t finished sorting them.”

Fang Zhuo said in puzzlement: “Sorting for what? Aren’t you going to save them?”

Ye Yuncheng smiled and shook his head, and passed her the account book opened to the planning section. He gestured for her to read what was written on the later pages.

“Money’s been earned — some of it still needs to be spent,” Ye Yuncheng said. “The allowance came through a couple days ago, and then your Uncle Liu helped us apply for some Spring Festival relief packages — rice, oil, and a quilt. Remember to go pick those up when you next go by.”

Fang Zhuo said: “Alright.”

Ye Yuncheng asked: “The weather’s gotten cold, and we don’t have enough quilts in this place. I need to buy a new one for you and Yan Lie. What color cover do you like? What about Lielie?”

Hearing Ye Yuncheng mention Yan Lie, Fang Zhuo found herself thinking back to the moment she was about to leave school — the hesitant look on Yan Lie’s face, as though he had more to say but could not get it out.

Everyone was cheering and celebrating, rushing eagerly out of the school gates. Only he had reached out and caught hold of the dangling black strap at the back of Fang Zhuo’s bag, and said half a sentence: “If you ever have money…”

If she had money — then what?

In truth the sentence should not have used “if” — it should have been “when.” But Yan Lie had not finished his thought; perhaps he had not quite figured out how to phrase it himself.

The look in his eyes at the time had carried a faint flavor of desolation and loneliness, not at all like his usual self.

“Zhuozhuo?” Ye Yuncheng called her name twice when he saw her go blank. “What are you thinking about?”

Fang Zhuo came back to herself. “Yan Lie probably won’t be spending the New Year with us — his parents are back.” Ye Yuncheng nodded, but did not cross the entry off the list. He only asked: “How long are his parents staying in City A?”

“I don’t know,” Fang Zhuo said. “I’ll ask.”

She picked up the phone and wrote out a message.

The reply came back quickly.

Yan Lie: Until after the New Year.

Yan Lie: Uncle is too kind, but I can bring my own quilt — no need to go to the expense.

Fang Zhuo: Where are you right now?

Yan Lie: I’m playing ball with Cake and the class president. We’re going out for barbecue later, and then to a film after that. Do you want to join us?

Well then. Life was very full, it seemed.

Fang Zhuo thought: so it really was just my imagination.

Shortly after, another message came through from Yan Lie.

Yan Lie: Did you get home safely?

Fang Zhuo: I’m spending New Year in City A. I’ve been home for a while.

Xiao Mu had gone to his great-uncle’s house for the holiday, and his room was free — Fang Zhuo could stay there.

On New Year’s Eve, there would be far more people out on the streets, and Ye Yuncheng wanted to work one more day.

He knew rice balls would not be in demand that day, but snacks and milk tea would be very popular. After much deliberation, he decided to make braised meat instead.

Ye Yuncheng spent a considerable sum and bought more than ten jin of trotters, chicken legs, and chicken carcasses, along with a selection of vegetables, and began preparing them from noon the day before. That evening he set the pot to braise, and the next morning, early, he and Fang Zhuo pushed the cart out to sell.

Braised meat was laborious to prepare but simple to sell. And on New Year’s Eve, lifted by the festive atmosphere, passersby were generally in a cheerful mood.

When people saw the two of them — one tall, one small — standing beneath the colored lanterns waiting, many were moved to walk over and buy a few extra pieces, wanting them to be able to get home early and celebrate the New Year.

On top of that, the pot of braised meat truly had an irresistible fragrance, and Ye Yuncheng had by now become a familiar face in the area. They set out just past six in the evening, and by ten o’clock everything had sold out.

The earnings from that day were far higher than any ordinary day; in addition, Fang Zhuo had received a hydrogen balloon from a small child.

She tied the balloon to the front of the cart, and pushed it home in high spirits, then she and Ye Yuncheng set about preparing the New Year’s Eve meal together.

One of them cooked; the other assisted — their teamwork was smooth and practiced. But because the kitchen had very few utensils, they were busy all the way until six in the evening before they finally sat down to eat.

Neither of them had a large appetite. A few dumplings were enough to bring them nearly to half-full, and the fish and trotters on the table were barely touched.

And because neither of them was particularly good at finding conversation topics, the meal was warm but a little quiet.

Fang Zhuo felt the main reason was the absence of the Spring Festival Gala as background noise. Without a host’s greeting to fill the air, a certain sense of soul was missing. Even just having something to comment on together would have made it livelier.

Ye Yuncheng let out a sudden, heartfelt remark: “It would be nice if Lielie were here. Several of his favorite dishes are on the table.”

“I like them too,” Fang Zhuo said. “I just can’t eat any more.”

Ye Yuncheng set down his chopsticks and bowl with a smile. “No matter — we won’t cook tomorrow, so we’ll definitely be able to finish it all. Eat when you’re hungry later; don’t force yourself.”

Because Ye Yuncheng had had no time to sleep the previous night, after eating he kept nodding off. He went to his room to rest first.

Fang Zhuo sat in the living room, reading by the lamp, but before long her attention kept being interrupted by singing drifting down from upstairs. She gave up on studying and took out her phone to pass the time.

After some thought, she sent Yan Lie a message.

Fang Zhuo: Did you eat your New Year’s Eve dinner? What did you have?

Yan Lie did not reply.

She waited for more than ten minutes. Still nothing.

Fang Zhuo, following a tutorial, downloaded a match-three puzzle game to pass the time.

After half an hour of playing, she switched back to the messaging screen — and found that Yan Lie’s side was still silent.

Fang Zhuo frowned, adjusted her position, and went to the app store to download a social media application.