Chapter 969: Little Northeast

“Little Northeast, what do you think of this room? Faces south, completely dry, and plenty spacious. You cook outside in the common area—everyone does. Fifty yuan a month. I can tell you’re a decent fellow, so monthly payment’s fine, no deposit needed. Oh my, at thirty, you’ve lost your parents, no wife or kids, came all this way from home… it’s really…”

The old wooden floor creaked underfoot. Master Ge, slightly hunched, wearing glasses, speaking Mandarin as best he could, opened the door to the south-facing room.

Near noon, sunlight, filtered through dust, took visible form, spilling onto the dark red, rotting floor. The light also reached the doorway, illuminating Master Ge standing in the corridor. Of course, it lit up the man beside him—the one he’d just called Little Northeast.

He wore the trendy middle-parted long hair of the era, though it looked unkempt, unstyled. He had on a loose white short-sleeve shirt, over which hung a gray jacket. His pants were faded green military trousers, washed stiff and white at the seams. His feet were clad in slightly dirty handmade cloth shoes. In his hand, he carried a medium-sized bag—obviously heavy, containing all his worldly possessions.

His hair fell over his eyes, making him uncomfortable. Wang Yan reached back, swept it aside, stepped inside, and smiled: “Master Ge, you know I’m thirty. Why keep calling me Little Northeast?”

“What’s wrong with that? I’m fifty-five this year—I could be your father. You upset I call you Little Northeast?” Master Ge followed him in, muttering, “Only because you strike me as likable, and you’re just as alone as I am. Otherwise, I wouldn’t rent to you. You understand, right?”

“Understood. Thank you, Master Ge.” Wang Yan nodded with a smile, pulled out a wallet from his bag, and began counting out bills. “I’ll take this room. Here’s a hundred yuan—two months’ rent in advance.”

“You just arrived, and you don’t look like you have much cash…”

“I’ve got some left. I’ll find work soon. It’s enough.”

Seeing Wang Yan’s cheerful demeanor, not at all strained, Master Ge took the money: “I’ll hold onto it. If you leave, I’ll return it.”

“You don’t have much faith in me, do you?”

“I heard a saying once—very wise. Let me share it with you. Capable people never do poorly, no matter where they are. You’re tall and strong—I have to look up to talk to you—and you look like you’ve got muscle…”

Wang Yan laughed, waving him off: “I get it, Master Ge. You think I’m lazy. Can’t even make it in the Northeast, so you came to Shanghai—stranger in a strange land, worse off.”

“Hey!” Master Ge waved his hands. “That’s what you said, not me.”

“Fine, say it if you want. What’s the big deal? Words mean nothing—it’s action that counts. When I’ve got a mobile phone and drive a Santana, that’s when you’ll know I’ve got ability.”

“That’s the truth. You’re a smart one, Little Northeast.”

Master Ge said, “I recently met someone named Ah Bao—everyone calls him Boss Bao. His friend rented my shop to open a restaurant. He came over to renovate it. Then, a few days ago, a woman named Lingzi returned from Japan—she’s the real boss. Let me tell you, Boss Bao spent a fortune just to win her favor.”

“My business isn’t on Huanghe Road, but it’s decent. Boss Bao spent big on rent and renovation, then gave Lingzi fifty percent of the shop. She keeps all the profits; he takes all the losses. Later I learned—he used to fix watches in a shop, then got rich trading stocks, then ran import-export on the side, while still trading stocks. Made a fortune.”

“Oh, by the way, Lingzi lives upstairs. Boss Bao comes by sometimes. If you meet him, I’ll introduce you—you could eat at his place and make money. And with Lingzi, I already negotiated lower rent—in exchange, she feeds me three meals a day. If you’re hungry, come with me—I’ll introduce you.”

“Master Ge, do you think I’ve got the potential to be a Boss Wang?”

Master Ge studied Wang Yan for a moment. “The room’s been empty, so I didn’t clean it. Wait—I’ll get you a basin, a mop, and a cloth. Clean it up quickly—you can move in today. No bedding yet? Outside prices are high. I’ve got extras—I’ll bring them over.”

Watching the old man’s retreating back, Wang Yan shook his head and smiled, tossing his bag onto the floor—sending up a fresh cloud of dust, swirling in the light.

He stepped to the window, threw open the shutters, and gave the curtain a vigorous shake. From his bag, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one with a lighter, leaned back against the window, away from the light, and exhaled thick smoke.

It was a slightly larger room—about thirty square meters. On the east side stood a bed frame, a broken wardrobe, a ruined sofa. On the west side: an old, worn wooden table and a row of bookshelves. After tidying, it looked clean and simple—quite decent.

It was 1990. He had no special status—just another man swept up in the reform and opening tide, hoping to strike it rich in the south. He had no savings—only a thousand yuan in cash. Roughly what a typical coastal household saved after living expenses for a year or two. In Shanghai then, urban workers earned about two hundred yuan a month.

A thousand yuan was decent. More than enough to start something.

As he smoked, Master Ge returned with a basin, a cloth, and a mop. “Little Northeast, rinse the mop at the corner of the first-floor stairs. Be careful—don’t flood everywhere. Need help?”

“Aren’t you going to move around, Master Ge?” Wang Yan didn’t hold back. “I read Western medical books—they say people shouldn’t be idle. Moderate exercise keeps muscles active, builds strength, improves health. Why do older people always have stiff legs? Not just illness—it’s laziness. No vitality.”

“You’re fifty-five—perfect age to maintain health. Move more, sweat more. It helps. You’ll eat better, too.”

“Really? That’s what they say?”

“We’re strangers. You’ve been kind to me—why would I lie? That’d invite lightning strikes. Besides, you’re the landlord. Isn’t it better to have a clean room before renting? Come on, help out. It’s good for you. After we’re done, I’ll buy some vegetables—we’ll have a drink.”

“The book also says moderate drinking helps blood and qi flow through the meridians—prevents heart and brain diseases. Heart attacks, strokes. Can’t walk straight, mouth crooked, can’t even take care of yourself.”

“What book are you reading? I’ll borrow it from the library later—see if it’s true.”

“You don’t trust me? Master Ge, my family’s been practicing traditional Chinese medicine for generations. Later, I studied some Western medicine too. Come here—I’ll take your pulse.”

Master Ge walked over, skeptical, extending his arm: “If you’re lying, I won’t rent you this room.”

“Both arms.”

The old man obediently extended both.

Wang Yan tilted his head, cigarette dangling, avoiding smoke in his eyes. He placed four fingers on each pulse. After half a minute, he said: “Do you have a bitter taste in your mouth?”

“Yes.”

“You often dream, sleep restlessly.”

“Hey, that’s right! You really know this?”

“You feel weak, dizzy, tired, want to sleep but can’t.”

“Incredible!” Master Ge’s eyes widened. “Should I take medicine to regulate?”

Wang Yan released his grip, took the cigarette, tapped off ash. “No medicine. You’re just idle. A bit overheated. Do some work, sweat it out.”

“But I feel palpitations—is that heart disease? Do I need expensive bypass surgery?”

“Stay calm, exercise moderately, sleep early, rise early—you’ll be fine.” Wang Yan patted his shoulder, turned him around. “Come on, Master Ge—let’s get moving.”

Without hesitation, Master Ge picked up the mop and started cleaning. “Little Northeast, I know you’re fooling me. If I collapse from exhaustion, you’re responsible.”

Wang Yan clicked his tongue. “I offered my heart like the bright moon, Master Ge. Don’t you trust me at all? The symptoms I described—weren’t those real? Trust me—you’ll live to ninety-nine.”

“No need. I’ve already decided—I just want to live to seventy, healthy and free of illness. Look at me work. You live here, right?”

Wang Yan laughed, then stubbed out his cigarette and joined Master Ge. Their teamwork wasn’t as smooth as man-and-woman, but it was efficient. The small room quickly cleaned up, the air noticeably fresher.

Because Wang Yan smoked, Master Ge even brought him an ashtray—taken from Boss Bao and Lingzi’s Night Tokyo, he said, cheap for Wang Yan. He also remembered his earlier words and brought over extra bedding.

He tossed the bedding onto the bed, then sat on a chair, rubbing his back. “A few hundred meters east is the market. I need some meat.”

“Don’t worry, Master Ge. You worked hard—you deserve it. Stay here. I’ll buy the food. We’ll drink tonight.”

“Don’t buy pots or pans. I rarely cook—you can use mine. Just buy oil, salt, seasonings.”

“Alright.” Wang Yan smiled and left.

Master Ge had truly helped—put real effort into cleaning, brought bedding and pillows, let him use the kitchenware, saved him money. Maybe because he knew Wang Yan was alone.

After all, Master Ge had no wife, no children—just himself, guarding a few houses. His life was decent, but lonely. Helping Wang Yan? He hoped Wang Yan would help him back.

The house was on Jinxian Road, in the old district. Though Shanghai wasn’t yet what it would become, the area was still lively.

Early March, spring hadn’t warmed much, but it wasn’t cold. People on the street wore colorful clothes. Some chatted outside shops; others hurried past on bicycles. Cars passed occasionally. Quite bustling.

Heading east, Wang Yan passed Jinxian Road. He saw Night Tokyo under renovation—and, coincidentally, Ah Bao, Tao Tao, and Lingzi standing at the entrance, covered in dust from the work.

Lingzi was unfamiliar, but Ah Bao and Tao Tao—he knew them well. In his last life, they’d built empires together. Here, Ah Bao was still Ah Bao—name unchanged, spirit unchanged. Tao Tao, however, had clearly fallen.

An interesting twist: the “familiar faces” were different.

In Wang Yan’s thousand-year life, Ah Bao had been memorable—rarely had he encountered someone so repeatedly, so tightly.

As the three laughed and joked, Wang Yan strolled past them calmly, heading toward the market.

He bought peppers, eggs, tofu, cabbage, onions, cucumbers, meat, fish—then rice, oil, salt, seasonings. Finally, at a store, he spent forty-five yuan on a bottle of Maotai, plus other household items. He returned, burdened with a pile of goods.

Master Ge hadn’t left—he was reading a book in Wang Yan’s room.

“I’m telling you, close the door when you come and go! You leave me here alone—can’t leave, can’t stay.”

Master Ge noticed Wang Yan’s haul, especially the Maotai. “Oh my, you bought expensive wine? A few yuan’s fine! You spend like this—you’ll always be poor. Money’s earned, saved.”

“You haven’t earned a cent yet, and you’ve already spent so much. No wonder you’re thirty, no wife, no kids, alone in Shanghai. Your parents would die of anger if they knew.”

“New home—celebration. Come on, Master Ge, help me pick vegetables. Do it yourself, eat well.”

“When we cleaned the room, why didn’t you say that?”

“Didn’t I help? Hurry up—want to eat early? Start early.”

Master Ge sighed, then followed Wang Yan downstairs to the shared kitchen. There, Wang Yan met most of the building’s neighbors.

Teacher Chen, who loved painting; Teacher Shi, who loved singing; Teacher Kong, who taught piano; Jinbao’s mother, raising her child alone. Others—migrant workers, much like Wang Yan.

Overall, the building was lively, full of clattering sounds.

Wang Yan’s cooking skills were always top-notch. One stir-fry, and the scent filled the whole building.

“Hungry?”

Little Jinbao, a chubby boy, stood there, mouth slightly open, eyes squinted by fat, filled with longing, nose twitching.

Hearing Wang Yan, he nodded eagerly: “Hungry.”

Wang Yan smiled, grabbed a bowl, scooped a little of this, a little of that, filled it, and handed it to the boy. He pinched the boy’s chubby cheek. “You’re getting fat. Run more, jump more. Eat your food, then wash the bowl yourself. Don’t make your mom do it. Understand?”

“Mm.”

“Go on.”

“I keep saying this kid’s fat, but every time I say it—oh no!—Jinbao’s mom flies off the handle.” Master Ge looked shaken.

“Maybe life was hard before. Now she’s raising him alone—fatter means more fortune.” Wang Yan shook his head, smiling. “Alright, Master Ge, take these two bowls up. Let’s eat.”

…

“You know, your cooking’s really good—better than many restaurants. Especially this Dongpo pork—perfectly tender. Delicious.”

Master Ge smacked his lips. “Little Northeast, you’re not planning to open a restaurant in Shanghai, are you?”

“Opening a restaurant needs capital. Do I look rich? But since you mentioned it—Master Ge, I’ve got a chance for you to get rich. Invest in me—I’ll open a restaurant.”

“Forget it. My coffin money’s for retirement—I won’t touch it. You should get a job as a cook first. I’ve never eaten on Huanghe Road, but your skills are good enough to earn a living there. Cooks there earn high wages. If you become head chef, in two years you can open your own small place.”

All the rich folks eat over there—they conduct business by day, network by night, and indulge themselves, staying lively until the wee hours. If you hang out there and catch the eye of some big boss who takes you under his wing, you’ll strike it rich. You wanna go? Tomorrow I’ll ask Boss Bao—he’s got influence over there.

“Rich people eat there. They do business by day, network by night, enjoy themselves—stay lively till dawn. If you work there and impress a big boss who takes you under his wing—you’ll get rich. Want to go? Tomorrow I’ll ask Boss Bao—he’s got connections there.”

“Thanks for looking out for me, Master Ge, but I don’t need it.” Wang Yan raised his cup, clinked it with Master Ge’s. “Drink up. You drink little—better that way. Too much is poison.”

“Don’t need to tell me—I’m dizzy after two sips.”

Master Ge waved his head, twirled his fingers, then lifted the cup and took a tiny sip.

He watched Wang Yan eat and drink heartily, puzzled: “Little Northeast, you seem confident—got a plan? You came alone, no connections, no help. I told you—it’s a market economy now, scammers everywhere. Tell me—what are you going to do?”

“You said my cooking can open a restaurant. You said Huanghe Road is full of rich people.”

“Right. But you’re not going to be a cook—what’s that got to do with you?” The old man had drunk three sips—his Mandarin slurred.

But Wang Yan understood. Aside from being emperor in Luoyang for decades, he’d spent the longest time in Beijing and Shanghai.

“I can grill skewers. Get a small cart, set up on Huanghe Road—charcoal, lamb skewers sizzling, oil dripping, aroma drifting down the whole street. Master Ge—would that work?”

“Hard. Huanghe Road? Everyone there’s rich. All big restaurants. You set up a skewer stall—you think they won’t chase you off? Better go to Wujiang Road. All street snacks there—shengjian bao, stinky tofu. And it’s closer.”

“I’m not doing it. Listen, Little Northeast, don’t keep fooling me. Between a meal and sitting all day threading skewers, I know which is lighter and which is heavier.”

After speaking, he paused, sensing his lack of confidence, then added, “I won’t help you, but you can’t just make me watch without giving me something to eat, can you?”

“Want to eat meat without working? Unless you cut my rent by ten yuan.”

“You drink only Maotai, and now you want me to cut your rent by ten yuan? Fine, Little Northeast—I’m taking your quilt away. Sleep on the bare bedframe.”

“Why so eager? Do you really think I’d let you just sit there watching? Besides, when I grill skewers, I need someone to taste them. Who better than you to know Shanghai tastes?”

“You’ve got some conscience left.” The old man sat down with a huff, then added, “I won’t thread skewers for you, but I can find someone else.”

Wang Yan raised an eyebrow: “Jin Bao’s mom?”

“You’ve got brains, I’ll say that. I’ll tell you—Jin Bao’s mom raises her kid alone, has no formal job, and takes odd jobs everywhere. It’s hard. Have her work here—no need to travel far. Pay her six or seven yuan a day, she’ll gladly do it. Want me to talk to her for you?”

“Talk to her about what, Teacher Ge?”

At that moment, a confident, haughty female voice rang from outside the door. Like Wang Xifeng’s entrance, she spoke first, followed by the crisp tap-tap-tap of high heels on wooden floors, then appeared in the doorway—a fashionable woman in a red coat, clutching a bag.

“Lingzi’s back! Have you eaten? Want to join us? Little Northeast cooks well.” Teacher Ge stood up, his wrinkled face beaming like a chrysanthemum.

“Little Northeast? You’re from the Northeast?”

Wang Yan smiled and nodded: “Wang Yan.”

“I’m Jin Ling. Everyone calls me Lingzi—you can too.” Lingzi greeted Wang Yan with a smile. “No need for food—I’ve already eaten. What were you two just talking about?”

“He said he wants to set up a cart on Huanghe Road to sell barbecue and asked me to thread skewers at home. Can I even do that? So he thought of asking Jin Bao’s mom to help—he’s got it rough raising a kid alone. Let’s help her out, right, Lingzi?”

“Sell barbecue on Huanghe Road?” Lingzi looked surprised. “Aren’t street vendors banned there?”

“I’ll go to Wujiang Road too. I’m new here, don’t know anything—just want to take a look first.”

“Then I’ll have to taste your cooking. Got chopsticks?”

Before Lingzi finished speaking, the old man had already fetched clean chopsticks and handed them over.

Lingzi didn’t hesitate. She walked over, sampled each skewer, then widened her eyes: “You could be a master chef already! What kind of barbecue do you sell? I run a shop right on this street—Night Tokyo. It’s under renovation, will open in half a month. Why not work for me? I’ll pay you five hundred yuan a month. What do you say?”

“Thanks, but I prefer doing it myself. Still, Teacher Ge said he’d waive your rent if you feed him three meals a day—and he even promised to take me out to eat. I’ll definitely take him up on that.”

“Come on then! Do you think I’d shortchange you a meal?” Lingzi waved her hand. “Fine, don’t come. I live upstairs. If you need me, just call.”

As she spoke, she took another bite of fish, gave Wang Yan a thumbs-up, then turned and skipped away…

“Alright, Teacher Ge, she’s gone—why are you still staring at the door?” Wang Yan leaned closer. “You’re fifty-five. Don’t tell me you’re lusting after a woman in her thirties?”

“Nonsense! How could I think like that? My heart belongs only to my late wife. I’m just saying—you’d be better off with Lingzi. Five hundred yuan a month—you know how much others make? Two or three hundred is the max. Aren’t you satisfied?”

“On Huanghe Road, I sell each lamb skewer for one yuan. Make more, I earn two hundred a day.”

“You’re blowing smoke. If you could earn that much, why come to Shanghai?”

“My hometown’s too small. Even the provincial capital feels foreign. No ties, no burdens—why not head south to strike it rich? Back home, I’d make two hundred. Here, I could make two thousand, even twenty thousand. You said that ‘Boss Bao’ makes money in stocks and foreign trade? I couldn’t do that back home. These two days, I’ll study stocks—see if I can make money too.”

“That’s a trap. You know nothing—you’ll lose everything. No matter how many skewers you sell, it won’t cover it.”

“I came here naked, Teacher Ge.”

Teacher Ge fell silent, raised his wine cup: “You’re a free spirit. I feel you might become Boss Wang.”

“‘Little Northeast’ at thirty sounds bad.”

“Little Northeast.”

Wang Yan chuckled: “Let’s drink.”

…

“Wang Yan, I’ve brought the person you wanted. Talk to her.”

Teacher Ge stepped in, followed by the woman.

Jin Bao’s mom was a slight woman. Hard labor made her look older than Lingzi, but she might not even be older—after all, Jin Bao, that little chubby boy, was only in first grade.

“Sit, sit, sit.” Wang Yan invited.

Jin Bao’s mom sat down and said, “Thank you. My son already washed your bowl. It’s downstairs in the cabinet.”

“No big deal. Did Teacher Ge tell you what you’ll do?”

“Thread the meat skewers.”

“You might also need to cut meat—just something to do. Three hundred yuan a month. What do you think?”

“Three hundred? Really?”

“Teacher Ge is right here—do you think I’d lie to you?” Wang Yan took his wallet from the table, counted out three hundred yuan. “I’m paying you in advance. Today’s the eighth. From now on, I’ll pay you every eighth—always the full month upfront.”

“This…”

Teacher Ge beside her opened his mouth but stayed silent.

“Take it. I’ll work a month first—maybe I won’t last. You’ve got no steady job, so this fits. Wang Yan smiled. “It’s settled. Go home. Start tomorrow. Wait there—I’ll buy supplies and come find you.”

“Alright.” Jin Bao’s mom didn’t dawdle. She nodded firmly, thanked Teacher Ge, and left.

“You’re too generous! Three hundred’s a lot. How much money do you even have?”

“I’ve got a thousand left. Threading skewers isn’t easy. She’s struggling—so I’ll give her more. If I make money, a few dozen yuan don’t matter. If I don’t, this month’s pay is just helping her.”

Wang Yan waved his hand. “Teacher Ge, is that person you mentioned reliable?”

“He’s my old friend—would he lie to you? After breakfast tomorrow, I’ll take you over. You pay for breakfast. No more talking—I need sleep. You too. Go to bed early. You’ve got no place to stay—you won’t sleep well. Rest up. You’ve got hard days ahead.”

Teacher Ge waved goodbye and shuffled off to his room.

Wang Yan washed up simply, then returned to the empty room and lay down to sleep…

The night passed without incident. The next morning arrived.

Wang Yan didn’t run or practice boxing—he wasn’t familiar with the neighborhood yet, and bathing in the morning was inconvenient. He simply wandered outside, observing what the early morning here was like.

At any time, laborers rise early for survival. By five-thirty, steam rose from breakfast stalls; cars began passing, and the street gradually grew noisy, swelling into a chorus of voices.

Only then did Wang Yan return, finding Teacher Ge’s door wide open—he sat on a stool, staring at the doorway.

“Teacher Ge, up early? Waiting for me?”

“I thought you were still asleep.”

“Early to bed, early to rise. I took a walk around the neighborhood. Let me wash up and brush my teeth—we’ll go.”

Wang Yan moved swiftly. He went inside, shed his coat, and went bare-chested downstairs to fill a basin with water. His muscular frame made neighbors gawk and politely greet him.

He finished washing quickly, returned upstairs, and saw a room wide open for ventilation. A man with glasses sat in the cramped space, sketching on a drawing board. Books and scattered sketches filled the room.

“Teacher Chen, drawing so early?”

“When do you draw? Whenever you feel like it.”

“Teacher Chen, truly a great artist—your words make sense. Today I’ll buy lamb—I plan to sell barbecue. In the afternoon, come taste it and give me your critique.”

“Of course, of course.”

Teacher Chen said it, but waved his hand dismissively—clearly saying, “Go away, don’t disturb me.”

Wang Yan smiled, carried the basin back to his room, dressed, and joined Teacher Ge, who had been waiting impatiently.

“I’ll tell you—the Li family’s shengjian bao at the corner has the best breakfast. Theirs…”

Teacher Ge spoke at a steady, unhurried pace, slightly out of breath, walking slowly—but always full of words…