“You damned blind idiot! You brought the wrong dish!”
A petite figure stood on the counter, scolding a waiter who had served the wrong dish. The restaurant was bustling with people, and the scent of sweat and stir-frying permeated the air from the kitchen. Flames rose as dishes were scooped from iron woks onto porcelain plates, then carried to the diners' tables. Servers weaved through the narrow aisles, towels draped over their shoulders, carrying stacks of plates piled high, shouting “Excuse me, excuse me!” as they squeezed through gaps in the crowd. In a corner, several men were already half-drunk, their faces red and necks thick as they played finger-guessing games, their voices loud enough to lift the roof.
“I just added a few more mouths to feed at home, and you bring me the wrong dish again. The customer demands a full refund! A full refund! You congenital imbecile with an undeveloped brain! One more time, and I'll fire your ass, you bastard!”
The petite figure on the counter gritted her teeth in anger. Although she didn't seem very intimidating, the burly waiter was berated so mercilessly he couldn't even lift his head. He hung his head, his eyes fixed on his shoetips, his hands fumbling, rubbing them against his apron.
“What are you just standing there for? Get back to work! Are you spacing out?”
As if waking from a dream, the waiter rushed to serve the dishes, quickly slipping away into the crowd, eager to escape the scene of the scolding. The petite figure jumped down from the counter, her movements swift and agile. She dodged through the bustling crowd, light-footed, like a fish swimming in water, and familiar with the way, she headed upstairs.
Nannan was playing upstairs, her short legs pattering on the wooden floor, making thumping sounds as she ran from one end of the corridor to the other and back again. In her hand, she held a paper pinwheel that Hua Er had made for her two days ago; the wind made it spin with a whooshing sound. Hua Er turned the corner from the staircase and scooped her up, cradling her with one hand and gently pinching her chubby little cheeks with the other.
“Mmm, Nannan, you're so cute. Do you like Auntie Er?”
Nannan’s springy face changed shape in her hands, first squeezed into a bun, then into a siomai. Hua Er squinted, her lips curled into a wide smile, enjoying the springy and tender feel in her hands, like kneading a freshly steamed leavened bun.
“I wike you, Auntie Er, let go—,” Nannan mumbled these few words, her chubby little hands patting Hua Er’s face without much force, like a cat pawing someone. Hua Er chuckled happily, pinching her cheeks one last time before letting go. Nannan shot out of her arms like a loach, darting into the room in a few steps and hiding behind the bed, only half her face peeking out, warily watching the doorway.
“Second Aunt, you're bullying the child again,” Hong Jiu said with a helpless expression, sitting up in bed, wrapped in bandages. Her shoulder blade still ached, a piercing pain whenever she exerted herself, but she could already sit up on her own. She was much stronger than a few days ago. Hua Er followed her into the room, plunked down onto a chair, crossed her legs, and picked up a teacup, gulping down a large mouthful like she was drinking wine.
“Hmph, how am I bullying her? I like her,” Hua Er retorted, setting the teacup down on the table with a thud, a few drops of tea splashed out. “But you guys, to think you'd get ambushed by Ice Spirits from Black Mountain Fort and have to come to me for refuge.”
A hint of worry appeared on Hong Jiu’s face, her fingers unconsciously drawing circles on the quilt. “I wonder how they're doing.”
“Two more refugees arrived at the city gates today, claiming they were looking for me. They just paid two hundred spirit crystals for a waiter to bring them back. Don't worry,” Hua Er said, her tone nonchalant.
Hong Jiu sighed in relief, her shoulders slumping half an inch. Nannan darted out from behind the bed, her eyes sparkling like two black grapes, looking at Hua Er excitedly. “Is Daddy coming back?!” Her little hands clutched the bedsheet, her knuckles white, her entire body trembling slightly. Hua Er’s heart melted at the sight of this little bundle of excitement, and she pulled Nannan onto her lap.
Just as she was about to speak, a deep voice came from behind them. The sound was low and muffled, filled with the dust of travel and exhaustion.
“Second Aunt, sorry to trouble you.”
Chen San stood at the doorway, carrying Yao Wu on his shoulder.
The doorframe wasn't narrow, but when Chen San stood there, he completely blocked it. He hung his head, his robe covered in mud that had dried into hard, crusty clumps, flaking off as he walked. His face was also smudged with dirt, and a scrape on his cheekbone, not yet scabbed over, indicated a fall on the road. He carried Yao Wu like a sack of grain; Yao Wu was draped over his shoulder, his head, arms, and legs all dangling limply, his entire body soft like a pile of mud.
Yao Wu’s eyes were closed, his face as white as paper. Bandages were wrapped around his severed arm, soaked with dark red blood that was still seeping, dripping onto Chen San’s robe and the floor, blooming into small, dark stains. He leaned against Chen San’s shoulder, unconscious, his breathing faint, but still present. The knife wound on his chest was hidden by his clothes, unseen, but his furrowed brow and occasional twitching fingers showed he was in pain, though unable to cry out.
Chen San gently lowered Yao Wu from his shoulder, slowly, careful not to jostle his wounds. He first set Yao Wu’s legs down, allowing him to stand, then squatted, supporting Yao Wu’s waist with one hand and easing him off his shoulder, leaning him against himself, before slowly setting him against the wall. Yao Wu leaned against the wall, his head lolled to one side, his lips dry and cracked, covered in a layer of white skin, his eyes closed, his eyelashes unmoving.
Chen San straightened his back and finally let out a long breath. His back was drenched in sweat; his Daoist robe was soaked, clinging stickily to his skin. His shoulder blades and collarbones ached from the chafing; after carrying him for several days, his skin was rubbed raw. His eyes were bloodshot, his eye sockets bruised, and his lips chapped; it was unclear how many days he hadn't slept.
“Daddy!” Nannan struggled free from Hua Er’s embrace and, like a cannonball, shot towards Yao Wu. She squatted down and reached out her little hand, gently touching Yao Wu’s face. Yao Wu didn't wake up. Nannan touched him again, but he still didn't wake. Her little finger brushed against Yao Wu’s face and picked up a dried bloodstain. She pulled her hand back, looking at the dark red mark on her fingertip, then looked up at Chen San. Her eyes reddened, her lips trembled, and tears welled up, but she didn't cry out.
“What's wrong with Daddy?”
Chen San opened his mouth, unsure how to explain. He looked down at Nannan’s upturned little face, at her reddened eyes, at the tears she was desperately holding back. He squatted down and gently stroked Nannan’s head with his large, rough hand. His hands were large, with thick knuckles, bulging veins on the back, and calluses covering his fingers.
“Daddy’s tired,” his voice hoarse, like sandpaper grating against metal. “Let him sleep for a while.”
Nannan nodded, didn't ask any more questions. She squatted beside Yao Wu, placed her hand in his palm, gently holding it. Yao Wu’s fingers stirred, grasping Nannan’s hand. Nannan looked down at the large hand tightly clutching hers and suddenly felt a long-lost sense of security.
Hua Er watched the scene before her, then went out to hurry up the dishes again.
Rate on N.U.
