Chapter 83: Women Hold Up Half the Sky

Ten thousand miles of rivers and mountains, ten thousand miles of dust—each new emperor brings new ministers. Shen Cuiyue faced Rang Weidong with these words: “I’m not dead, so I must keep my two younger brothers alive. Now everyone else is gone, this life of mine is yours, so we can only follow you.”

Actually, Rang Weidong stretched out his hand, and the work permit and introduction letter were hastily pushed back to him.

He frowned deeply. “Didn’t I help you so you could have a meal?”

Shen Cuiyue shook her head. “We don’t dare leave here. I don’t even dare show myself on the street; everywhere outside is cracking down on us. We always walk the shadowy path, and showing our faces means death. After escaping the hospital, we could only hide in this area; we’ve never been anywhere else. I hear the countryside is even harsher.”

She made a slicing gesture with her hand.

Rang Weidong understood—it was a matter of habit, of the circles they moved in. But how could he take a few petty thieves with him, roaming the world? Especially if these folks corrupted Goudan and the others, it would be real trouble.

He shook his head. “What could you do if you followed me?”

Shen Cuiyue’s face was hard to see in the dimness, her loose hair making her features faint and elusive. “As long as I can raise my brothers, I’ll do anything.”

Rang Weidong remembered a joke. “Let me ask you: what’s thirty thousand times eighty thousand?”

As expected, the streetwise girl had never encountered such big business; she hesitated briefly, “Twenty-four thousand!”

Rang Weidong stifled a laugh and turned away with a flourish. “See, if you can’t even get that right, how could I let you work for me?”

The two brothers were about to launch their signature leg-hugging move, but their sister shook her head at them, then raised her brow and signaled the younger one.

When Rang Weidong squeezed his way out, a small figure followed behind him. A clumsy hand tried to fish something from his pocket, only to be struck on the head by a pebble thrown by the small figure.

Of course, by then Rang Weidong had already stuffed all his documents and loose change in the inside pocket of his tracksuit shirt, and had even bought a keychain to hang his car keys.

He hesitated at the roadside, tempted to turn back, but then laughed at himself and tossed his things into the backseat.

The double-row seats were truly a blessing; the second row could even serve as a bed on the road. It made Rang Weidong reconsider his vow never to drive back to Shangzhou—he decided to make one more trip.

But as he started the car, he didn’t notice the little figure deftly clinging to the rear bumper, slipping quietly into the cabin once on the road, settling back against the driver’s compartment with legs crossed.

He was startled to find, after leaving the dock and stopping near the city center, the small figure pressed against the empty side wall.

Rang Weidong called the shop staff to carry things away, then parked back at the barracks.

He hummed a tune as he strolled out; only when he was far away did the little fellow jump out and silently follow, confirming he had gone into the restaurant across the street before doubling back along the wall to the dock.

The gate guards at the barracks were puzzled, never having seen such a child go in, let alone come out.

But the real curiosity was among the other shopkeepers on this food street.

Where did such a group of greenhorns come from?

Mid-April was warming up, and the people of Jiangzhou, with their dockside swagger, loved eating and drinking outdoors. At lunch, they were still somewhat reserved, but by dinnertime, nearly every eatery on the street had their tables and chairs spilling onto the sidewalk—drawing customers and adding seats.

Baifengshan Spicy Soup made no such fuss.

No fireworks, no flower baskets, no grand opening deals like in later times.

Two food carts blocked the doorway in an L shape, one pressed against the entrance forming a passage, its stainless steel counter laden with two or three dozen meats and vegetables—five cents for veggies, ten for meat skewers.

Facing the street, one cart held a fragrant spicy soup pot; the other, a sour soup pot in the mountain style of Baifengshan. Two flavors waging a crossfire assault on passersby’s senses.

A few idle youths and girls sat inside threading skewers. Old Rang, annoyed at his son reading the newspaper, barked, “If you want to act scholarly, go upstairs. Don’t get in the way here.”

His heart was full of joy at his son’s learning, reluctant to see him sullied by worldly affairs, yet unable to express it.

The youths and girls snickered quietly.

Rang Weidong was baffled. “You cook your food, what’s it got to do with me? I just want to eat somewhere else—the smell gives me a headache.”

Perhaps from too much takeout in his past life, he had no appetite for hotpot. He much preferred simple home cooking from his mother or Dong Xueying.

He folded the newspaper and slipped out the back door. This area, with its shabby alleys like those in Pingjing, had a rare city laziness, with stalls for haircuts, face shaving, ear cleaning, bone relaxing—all of which delighted Rang Weidong.

It was as if, with him gone, the plague had lifted. No sooner had he left than curious passersby, lured by the aroma, wandered in.

For two or three dimes, you could eat a steaming bowl of spicy soup or sour meat and vegetables, with unlimited white rice.

Two people could fill their bellies for eighty cents.

Add some cold veggie salad, meat, a bottle of beer or baijiu—it was almost a taste of heaven.

The reason this street became famous in Jiangzhou was that, at mealtimes, the road was a river of people, even cars struggled to get through.

The place quickly filled to bursting.

Crowds packed the shop, people outside gathering in curiosity, “What’s that dish, what’s spicy soup?”

“Smells like hotpot, but it’s cheap…”

Hotpot was Jiangzhou’s signature dish, but now even a portion of vegetables cost twenty cents, meat slices fifty, duck intestines and yellow eel seventy, hairtail eighty, luncheon meat a luxury at one fifty.

Even the dipping oil started at fifty cents.

Two people eating, even frugally, would spend five yuan or more; if they splurged, seven or eight per person was possible.

Here, for a fraction of that price, you’d get similar flavors.

Isn’t that deadly effective?

Especially the sour soup pot—a flavor previously unknown in Jiangzhou.

It was wildly popular.

The shop was soon crowded with people standing to eat, bowls and plates in hand, exclaiming, “This is great, tastes amazing!”

“Really hits the spot!”

“Can’t you get more seats? You want folks to stand and eat?”

“I’ve never stood drinking before!”

“But you know, drinking while standing goes down even faster!”

Old Rang, soon overwhelmed, had to rely on his cigarette for energy. This was more exhausting than bricklaying!

The boys swung their arms, collecting dishes, washing them in a big tub out back for immediate reuse. The girls were sent upstairs to thread skewers, shuttling up and down with trays of food.

Everywhere, voices called out, “Damn, meat slices are gone!”

“No more pork intestine, what now, Dog Brother?”

“I’ll pull my own intestines out for you, how should I know?”

“Where’s Dong Brother?”

“Forget it, don’t bother him—uncle will scold.”

“My backyard garden couldn’t survive a day of this eating.”

“If this were my house, we’d have to slaughter a pig for the day!”

“No more white rice!”

Everyone chatted away—when it’s gone, it’s gone.

Luckily, yesterday Rang Weidong had driven over with a double-row truck full of potatoes, cabbage, lettuce, bean sprouts, and other vegetables.

They kept bringing out fresh supplies.

The diners weren’t picky—they ate whatever was available.

Cheap and bursting with flavor.

Even the three on the dock across the street were stunned. “Big Brother’s business is on fire.”

The sister couldn’t help but swallow. “Smells amazing.”

The younger brother was even more impressed. “If we followed Big Brother, we could eat this every day. It’s better than Second Master’s old hotpot.”

Shen Cuiyue’s eyes darkened. “Come on, I’ll take you for hotpot.”

They hadn’t suffered much before, so the brother pouted, “It’s not the same taste.”

His sister immediately grew irate, ready to hit him!

The youngest was clever. “Third Sister, look, there’s someone hiring doctors over there!” (meaning outsiders hiring streetwise folks to solve problems)

Only those used to the rough-and-tumble ways of the street recognized fellow travelers at a glance.

At the entrance of a hotpot shop nearby, two burly men stood, gesturing animatedly at this side’s shop, spittle flying, their empty store behind them proof their business had been snatched away.

The younger brother laughed, “Big Brother didn’t pay respects at the docks?”—and got smacked for it.

“Don’t mention that now!” the sister snapped, eyes sharp. “This place is still eating dirty money, clueless.”

Sure enough, the two men murmured to each other, then strode to the shop’s entrance, their fierce, unmasked demeanor making the crowd instinctively step aside.

They glared at Old Rang, “Yesterday we ate here and got diarrhea. Pay up!”

Old Rang, cigarette dangling, was so busy he operated on autopilot. Now, stunned, he said, “Yesterday? We only opened today!”

The cigarette fell; he barely caught it before it dropped into the soup.

The thugs were just looking for a pretext—reason didn’t matter. “I don’t care. Your food made us sick. Pay up or we’ll smash your shop!”

The other grabbed at the food cart, trying to flip it.

But the cart, loaded with two gas tanks and two forty-pound pots of soup, was built with metal pipes and wood, wrapped in steel—very heavy.

Rang Weidong and crew had added wheels underneath to push it; moving it took seven or eight strong lads.

Now it barely budged.

Old Rang panicked, “What are you doing? Stop!”

He was surrounded by helpful boys, who quickly called out.

Goudan and five or six others squeezed out, but the seasoned troublemakers scoffed, “Big Brother, these country bumpkins are all cowards.”

It’s true—country folks naturally defer to city types.

Especially to the sort of villains city dwellers themselves avoid.

The boys were strong, but dared not talk back, only pressing together to hold the cart and shield Old Rang.

They’d fight thieves and bandits, but against city thugs, resistance never crossed their minds.

The two thugs grew even bolder, “Shut the door and pay up now!”

Shen Cuiyue stood, tiptoed to scan the street, but didn’t see Rang Weidong.

She gritted her teeth and crossed the road herself.