Chapter 3 Second Encounter

Chapter 3: Reunion

It's hard to imagine that there's an alley like this hidden behind the high-rises on the North Third Ring Road.

Just pass through an iron gate, and you step into a world of everyday life. Food carts line up one after another—grilled cold noodles, liangpi (cold skin noodles), stir-fried pancakes, jianbing (Chinese crepes)... There are also small stalls offering malatang (spicy skewer soup), lamb skewers, daily necessities...

Mou Wen loved this place. Here, when she wanted to try a bit of everything, she could buy small portions without worrying about not being able to afford it.

She'd had a big appetite since childhood. Her father, Mou Dechang, had driven long-haul trucks in her early years to provide for her; her mother, Ge Yunqing, ran a small bun shop, waking before dawn to knead dough and steam buns. She often sat on the flour-dusted counter, stuffing buns into her mouth with one hand while scribbling homework with the other. When she finished, she'd toss the pen aside and go help her mother. Winters were long, with only yams, cabbage, and heavy snow, but she never went hungry—her father always found ways to bring her delicacies from all over the country back to that lonely little town in Inner Mongolia, where her mother would improvise and cook them up for her.

Later, Mou Wen left home to study in Tianjin. On her first day, standing in the school's No. 1 dining hall, she was stunned—oh my god, the world tastes this good?!

That's exactly how this little street made Mou Wen feel: the world tastes so good!

Chu Ling loved food too.

She'd already bought a big lamb skewer and stood there waiting for Mou Wen. Mou Wen, holding a bag of sliced savory pancakes, ran over to her, and the two of them went into the skewer hotpot shop. The owner was from Sichuan and called out to them, "Hey, little sisters, you're here!"

The hotpot was surrounded by people, and she and Chu Ling squeezed in together.

They shared the lamb skewer first, one bite each, wolfing it down together. Mou Wen said, "Come home with me for the New Year, I'll treat you to our Inner Mongolian lamb skewers."

Chu Ling talked about how her team leader had criticized her today—she'd been sloppy with proofreading and almost let a typo get onto the homepage! Mou Wen giggled at that and said she hadn't been scolded today, but she'd gone to see a client.

She made a figure-eight with her thumb and index finger and whispered, "Eight hundred thousand yuan."

"What?" Chu Ling asked.

"My client today—just the hard decoration budget alone is eight hundred thousand." Mou Wen thought of how Xie Chong had casually said "eight hundred thousand": "Eight hundred thousand! That's enough for my mom to sell buns for twenty years straight!"

"Eight hundred thousand!" Chu Ling exclaimed too. "That's so much money!"

Mou Wen nodded eagerly, picked up a piece of pancake, and put it in her mouth: "Boss, I'll have two orders of greens and one of vermicelli." Then she added, "The key thing is, this client is so young."

So young, so wealthy, so put-together, so handsome.

"That's wonderful," Chu Ling said. "The thing I'm most afraid of is arrogant rich people. Sometimes our program team does interviews, and I'm just helping out, always worried I'll make a fool of myself."

"Me too. I didn't dare speak." Mou Wen said. "I didn't say a word the whole time—I was scared I'd blurt out something weird. My mentor told me to keep my mouth shut and learn."

The Sichuan boss lady glanced at them with a smile and placed the cooked vermicelli and greens on the round tray in front of them, which made them forget that sudden feeling of "inferiority."

Mou Wen couldn't quite put her finger on whether that feeling was inferiority or something else—like when she was walking down the street and a luxury car came toward her, she'd straighten up without thinking. As if the person in the car might see her, or as if she was trying to claim some kind of "equality" with that posture.

"Chu Ling, I'm convinced now—there really are invisible class lines between people. If that's what you'd call it."

After finishing their hotpot skewers, they held hands and walked to the Chenggong Xiangchu supermarket across the street. At this hour, a lot of stuff in the store was on sale, and they'd mix in with the elderly crowd to buy yogurt, bread, and fruit.

To get to the supermarket, they had to cross a pedestrian bridge.

They'd always stop there for a bit, watching the night traffic jam—the lights stretching out like a galaxy, all the way to the Fourth Ring, the Fifth Ring, and off into the distance where you couldn't see anymore. Beijing's nights were so beautiful.

Whenever this happened, Mou Wen would sigh: "Traffic jams are so pretty! Driving is such a pain! I wonder if my eight-hundred-thousand-yuan client is stuck in this traffic too?"

Since Xie Chong was the first client she'd ever met in her life, she casually used him as material for her jokes, not knowing that Xie Chong's car was actually one of those stuck in the jam. He was on the phone: "Yeah, less than a kilometer away. You guys start eating, I'm not drinking."

"I don't like their Peking duck."

"I don't want to watch that cringey performance either."

"Eating is eating—can we skip all the theatrics?"

"This place sucks, and there's no parking either."

The traffic was pissing him off, and the thought of eating such crappy imperial cuisine killed his mood even more. His friend could tell he was annoyed and tried to soothe him: "Okay, okay, just tough it out. After the dinner, we'll go get something else to eat."

"Mm." Xie Chong just grunted. Jiang Wu called, and he hung up. Jiang Wu called again, and he hung up again.

"Are you still mad?" Jiang Wu texted him. "Okay, I'm sorry. Next time I'll definitely come with you to go over the renovation plans, alright?"

Xie Chong's anger cooled a bit, and he finally answered Jiang Wu's call: "Jiang Wu, you know what? What you look down on is what other people can only dream of. You don't care about money, you don't care about Wanliu, but other people do."

He suddenly thought of that little assistant, the "eight hundred thousand" she'd circled, and how hard she'd tried to look calm. The gap between people was right there on the table.

"What? Did someone have their eye on you again?" Jiang Wu laughed on the other end. "Then you'd better figure out: are they after your money or you?"

Xie Chong suddenly didn't feel like talking anymore.

Jiang Wu was always like this—money meant nothing to her. She liked Xie Chong, but she couldn't care less about his wealth.

"You still there?" Jiang Wu asked.

"No." Xie Chong hung up.

His dinner was right by Suzhou Street.

Young servers dressed as palace maids and eunuchs stood at the antique gate, not saying "Welcome," but "Greetings, Your Highness." Then someone with a lantern led you down a quiet path, turning into something like an "imperial garden." Inside, there was a winding stream, with koi fish swimming hard in the pond, one or two trying to jump onto the bank, faking that whole "carp leaping over the dragon gate" thing.

As he walked in, a "maid" reached for his coat, and another led him to his seat. Xie Chong put on a different face—before he even sat down, his voice came first: "Sorry I'm late, I'll punish myself with three shots."

Everyone stood up to welcome him, but he didn't sit down. The wine pitcher was already filled with "imperial nectar." He picked up the little cup and downed three in a row. Only after everyone clapped did he sit down. Naturally, business came up at the table—he brokered art deals between domestic and international markets, occasionally throwing in futures, stocks, and bulk import-export trade.

Glasses clinked, toasts were made, and after a few rounds, the deal started to take shape. While he was still sober enough, he made a timely exit, inviting everyone to the next spot. That one would be classier—a private wine cellar with vintage reds. Spending over a hundred thousand in one night was just a normal expense.

When it came to business, Xie Chong was willing to go all out. That was thanks to his parents, who'd raised him with a solid family foundation and taught him how to survive.

By the time he got home, it was almost midnight. After washing up, he felt weirdly wide awake, so he went out for breakfast.

Xie Chong's night was totally different from Mou Wen's, just like she'd said: everyone shouts about equality, but there are gaps between people that can't be crossed!

Mou Wen stayed up half the night again, but the next day she went to the office like she'd had a shot of adrenaline. She paced around Lin Weisen's desk a few times, trying to figure out how to bring it up.

"What's up?" Lin Weisen asked with a smile. "Why are you pacing? That's not like you."

Mou Wen let out a sheepish laugh, leaned in, and whispered, "Mentor, I want to bring someone to Mr. Xie's place to re-measure."

"Measured wrong?" Lin Weisen asked. "No way."

"No, no!" Mou Wen waved her hands. "I want to go back and get a feel for the place. Didn't you say I'd do the initial plan? I just don't have a feel for it yet."

Lin Weisen looked up at her.

The young woman's face couldn't hide anything—the first "nice house" she'd ever seen in her life had gotten to her, even carrying a vague sense of "ownership." Lin Weisen knew that feeling well. When he saw a house he liked, he'd also think: what if this was mine? Besides, that Mr. Xie had a natural charm all his own, and young women were easily drawn to him.

"Go ahead. Take Xiao Gu with you, and you can also ask the client if he needs anything else."

Mou Wen jumped for joy. "Thanks, mentor!"

Last night, every time she closed her eyes, she pictured the western-exposure light in that house, the bright, open layout—she loved all of it.

When she called Xie Chong, the second the call went through, Mou Wen stammered: "Hello, hello, hi..." She didn't know why she was suddenly so nervous. She covered the mouthpiece, took a deep breath, and then spoke again: "Is this Mr. Xie?"

"Yes, who's speaking?"

"I'm Mou Wen, Engineer Lin's assistant. I measured your place yesterday and wanted to come back to re-measure today. Would that be convenient?"

Xie Chong arranged a time with her. When he hung up, so he wouldn't forget her name when they met again, he repeated it to himself: Mou Wen.

That evening, the wind finally let up.

If Beijing's autumn isn't windy, it shows another beautiful side. Mou Wen could finally wear her hair down. Afraid it would fall over her face when she looked down, she clipped a little barrette with a flower in her hair near her ear.

She walked through the autumn air, stepping on the occasional fallen leaf. When a breeze lifted her hair, she'd flip it along with the breeze. Bright and cheerful.

Xiao Gu asked her why she was so happy, and she said, "I don't know, it feels like I'm going home."

Xiao Gu had just stopped breastfeeding, earning a very low salary, tagging along with designers to measure all kinds of homes. She'd long lost that kind of outlook. But that day, looking at the glow on Mou Wen's face, she actually understood her for once.

She said, "Yeah, this place has a great location, a great community, a great layout—even the owner's easy on the eyes. If I were a few years younger, I'd be just as excited as you."

Mou Wen laughed heartily, hooked her arm through Xiao Gu's, and they went upstairs together.

The door was still open, and Xie Chong was already there. As they were putting on their shoe covers, he stood at the doorway waiting.

Mou Wen bent slightly, and Xie Chong saw her flower barrette and her long, slightly wavy hair falling over her shoulders. By the time she stood up straight, he'd already looked away.

"Thanks for your hard work, Ms. Mou," he said. "You're the only company that's come back to re-measure this fast." His tone was calm, and it was hard to tell what he was feeling. He was actually speaking to Mou Wen—he'd already figured out that this re-measurement was because Ms. Mou here had her heart set on the house.

Mou Wen froze for a moment, all her prepared opening lines flew out of her head. Fortunately, she recovered fast, immediately breaking into a warm, sunny smile: "It's my first time doing the initial design, so I'm afraid of making mistakes."

She was so honest, she didn't even make up a good excuse. This pleased Xie Chong. As a businessman, he hated people who were two-faced. He liked things simple.

Xiao Gu had already started measuring, and Mou Wen pulled out her notebook again, ready to chat more with Xie Chong.

But Xie Chong thought to himself, "Here we go again." He hated repeating things, so he said directly, "I already told you everything I wanted yesterday. I have nothing to add."

Mou Wen suddenly realized that the polite, courteous act he'd put on yesterday was just a facade. He was probably hard to deal with in person. He shut down her questions, so she stopped asking and put the notebook away.

"Sorry, I just wanted to understand more to help with the design."

"Like what? What else do you want to know?" Xie Chong said. "Style? Tastes? Or something else?" Then he smiled: "That's a long story." With that, he held out his hand toward her.

"What?" Mou Wen asked.

"Your phone," Xie Chong said. "Hand it over."

Mou Wen took out her phone. It was her 5300 that she'd had for three years, red and white, with her favorite music downloaded on it and white earphone cords neatly wrapped around it. Xie Chong unwound the earphone cords, slid it open, typed a number on the keypad, and dialed it so it would ring his own phone.

"If you have any questions during the design, you can call my private number," Xie Chong said as he wrapped the earphone cords back up and handed the phone back to her.

For the first time in her life, a client had given Mou Wen their private number, and for a moment she felt a bit overwhelmed. She also felt a quiet thrill, though she didn't know why.

"Are you always this quiet?" Xie Chong suddenly asked her. She'd been so lively downstairs yesterday and just before coming up—he'd seen it all from upstairs—yet in front of him, she was so quiet.

His question perked Mou Wen right up. She grumbled, "Because from the moment I walked in, Mr. Xie never gave me a chance to speak!"

Xie Chong suddenly laughed.

That's funny, he thought. She's actually upset.

He was a "dark" person who unconsciously pressured others: put up with it or get out. He always had that attitude, which is why women were both afraid of him and drawn to him.

This was the first time he'd heard someone complain so naturally—about him not letting others speak. This naive, "poor" girl before him, though she envied everything he had and didn't hide her longing, still managed to tell him exactly what she didn't like about him.

She was Jiang Wu's opposite.

That made him feel a little sorry for her.

"Where do you live?" Xie Chong asked, just to make conversation.

"I live pretty close, on Suzhou Street."

"Where on Suzhou Street?" Xie Chong didn't feel like coming up with another topic, so he kept asking.

"Across from the big supermarket."

"Rent must be high, right?" Xie Chong asked again.

"350 RMB for a bed, I've got the top bunk." Mou Wen answered frankly, even spreading her arms and legs on the floor to show Xie Chong the size—this big. Then she looked up and smiled at Xie Chong: "It's enough. We 'drafters' often pull all-nighters, so for us, home is just a bed."

Xie Chong suddenly understood what she'd been describing to her supervisor downstairs yesterday—she was describing her own bed and his home.

"Is it clean?" he asked again.

"...It's messy, with lots of stuff. The living room and balcony are piled with suitcases and random stuff..."

Xie Chong finally stopped asking.

His eyes went to her barrette first, then met hers. She was caught off guard by his stare and quickly looked away.

"One of the flowers on your barrette fell off," Xie Chong said.

Her hand went up and touched the broken barrette. A sudden, unexplained anger flared up, but it faded just as fast.

"It's still fine!" she said.