Chapter 37

January 8th, Wednesday, the sky was still gloomy, the snow still light, but it kept falling.

All night last night, the north wind howled, whistling through the cracks behind the back door; something had been blown away or carried off, and the courtyard kept erupting with sudden clatters and bangs, loud and persistent.

In the dead of night, Zhou Andong woke up frozen, shivering as he got up to light the stove, piled it full of coal, then slept straight through until past eight.

“Achoo!”

Zhou Andong was brushing his teeth when he suddenly felt his nose itch—he sneezed, and foam sprayed everywhere.

“Fuck, who’s cursing me?”

At that moment, the door creaked open, the thick cotton curtain lifted, and Jiang Yuyue stepped in, wind and snow clinging to her, holding buns and soy milk.

“I knew you lazybones hadn’t left,” Jiang Yuyue said with a smile, placing the buns and soy milk on the stove. “Bought them right in front of your place—still warm. Hurry up and eat.”

Zhou Andong rinsed his mouth, washed his face, and wiped himself roughly with a towel: “Why are you here?”

“What do you mean, why am I here?” Jiang Yuyue immediately pouted. “If I need you for something, I can come, but once it’s done, I can’t? That’s classic—throwing away the millstone after grinding, no—crossing the river and breaking the bridge.”

Zhou Andong laughed: “I meant, with this freezing north wind and snow falling, don’t you feel cold?”

Jiang Yuyue took off her gloves and squatted by the stove to warm her hands: “Staying home’s boring, so I came to hang out with you.”

Zhou Andong picked up the plastic bag—inside were six buns and two packs of soy milk: “You haven’t eaten either.”

Jiang Yuyue said: “With wind like that, how could I eat on the street?”

Zhou Andong poured the soy milk into a bowl, grabbed a bun, and squatted by the stove to eat.

Jiang Yuyue made no fuss—she bit straight into a bun: “Mmm, first time eating these buns—pretty good.”

After eating, Zhou Andong pulled on his cotton coat and pulled on his cotton hat: “Let’s go.”

The north wind stung their faces; Zhou Andong kept his head down and walked forward, Jiang Yuyue jogging behind him: “Slow down.”

Zhou Andong reluctantly slowed his pace—it was just too cold, the wind too fierce, and he only wanted to get to the factory fast.

Jiang Yuyue clutched her ears with her gloved hands, her cheeks bright red from the cold: “Where are we going?”

Only then did Zhou Andong notice Jiang Yuyue wasn’t wearing a hat—he snapped: “Are you stupid? It’s this cold and you’re not even wearing a hat?”

He yanked off his own hat and shoved it onto her head: “And this stupid down jacket—no hood at all. What’s the point of buying it? Looks good, useless.”

Jiang Yuyue felt the warmth of the hat, the faint scent of tobacco and sweat, and a barely noticeable smile curled at her lips; her gaze toward Zhou Andong softened unexpectedly.

“Stupid hat, stinks,” Jiang Yuyue muttered, still sharp-tongued.

“Give it back,” Zhou Andong reached out to snatch it.

Jiang Yuyue clamped her hands on the hat and laughed as she darted away: “Dream on.”

At the Jiangzhou Brewery Supply and Marketing Department, twenty or thirty people were crammed inside, including Jiang Aimin, proprietor of Aimin Store.

“Comrade Yan, look at this calendar—there’s the ad: Jiangzhou Brewery. How could they not make this liquor?”

“Right, Comrade Yan, we know this is tribute liquor, we don’t expect factory price—just sell it to us at retail?”

“Yes yes yes, I won’t take much.”

“Just give me two cases—no, one case is fine.”

The office was a chaotic uproar, giving Yan Guohai a pounding headache.

“Everyone, everyone, quiet down and listen to me.”

The noise died down; Yan Guohai sighed helplessly: “I really don’t know what’s going on with this Jiangzhou Imperial Tribute Liquor. Think about it—don’t you know the factory’s situation? We can’t even pay our workers’ salaries. If this liquor were ours, do you think we wouldn’t sell it?”

It can’t be denied