Chapter 84

Zhou Andong yawned: “I’m going to sleep.”

Yuan Liying snapped a stalk of corn and tossed it into the stove: “Dumplings will be ready soon—eat before you sleep.”

Zhou Andong waved his hand: “No need. I’ll eat when I wake up.”

He slept straight through until past three in the afternoon; if his fourth brother hadn’t come to call him for food, he might have slept much longer.

Zhou Andong got up, washed his face with cold water, and walked in to see the little girl waving at him: “Big brother, hurry up—this one’s got a meatball inside, so delicious!”

The little girl wasn’t afraid of the heat; she grabbed a dumpling and bit into it, scalded her tongue, spat it back into her bowl, and cried, “So hot!”

Everyone burst into laughter—it had been years since even their parents or siblings had laughed so joyfully. This change filled Zhou Andong with quiet satisfaction. He hadn’t made much money yet, but this New Year had been good—it was a promising start.

Even though the dumplings were leftovers reheated, Zhou Andong ate them with great relish.

“Slow down!” Yuan Liying snapped. “You’re acting like your fourth brother.”

Zhou Andong grinned: “Mom, these dumplings are delicious.”

Zhou Xiao let out a soft hiss as he sipped his liquor: “Moutai really is the best.”

Zhou Andong said: “If it’s good, drink more.”

“Your mother won’t let me drink,” Zhou Xiao glared at Yuan Liying.

Zhou Andong shrugged: “If you can’t manage your own wife, I can’t help you.”

“Eating dumplings won’t shut your mouth,” Yuan Liying shot Zhou Andong a glare, then placed a dumpling in Zhou Xiao’s bowl. “I’m not forbidding you to drink—I just want you to drink less. And as for smoking, stop chewing dry tobacco. You’ve got several packs of the good ones—just smoke those.”

Zhou Xiao grunted: “Do you know how expensive Zhonghua is? I can’t afford to smoke it.”

Zhou Andong put down his chopsticks, wiped his mouth with his hand: “If you can’t afford it, go trade with Old Zhang’s shop for something else—just don’t pick the worst stuff.”

Yuan Liying asked: “Where are you going now?”

Zhou Andong said: “After eating, don’t I need to stretch my legs?”

He stepped outside, lit a cigarette, and strolled lazily toward Old Zhang’s shop. He’d assumed the gambling at the arcade would make the news before the New Year—but it had vanished without a trace. He needed to call and check—something might have gone wrong.

The New Year was over. Zhao Jianlong must be preparing to act. He couldn’t just sit there and take hits—he had to seize the initiative. Only by making that bastard feel real pain would he settle down.

The shop was packed—people playing poker, playing mahjong, the whole room thick with smoke. Because of winter, the windows were sealed with plastic sheeting, no air circulating, the smoke so thick even Zhou Andong, a heavy smoker, nearly choked when he walked in.

“My god, someone might think the place is on fire,” Zhou Andong lifted the cotton door curtain and hung it on the doorframe. “Let some air in.”

“Oh, Dongzi’s here!”

“Play a round, Dongzi!”

“Heard you cleaned up last night playing with Old Gao and the others.”

“Dongzi, come play a few hands for me—I need to piss.”

Zhou Andong was the village’s first college student—everyone knew him. Those who knew him greeted him warmly; those who didn’t still smiled and nodded.

Zhou Andong went around calling out: “Uncle, Grandpa, Auntie, Aunt, Cousin, Brother, Sister!” Then added: “You all play—I’ve got a phone call to make.”

Zhang Hongqu, the shop owner, pointed to a small door inside: “The phone’s in there—go ahead.”

Zhou Andong said: “Long distance!”

Zhang Hongqu replied: “It works—unlocked.”

Zhou Andong stepped into the small room. It was cramped, with a kang barely large enough for two people, and the phone sat right on it.

Zhou Andong sat on the edge of the kang, picked up the phone, and dialed the number Guan Shengjie had given him. The line connected quickly.

“Hello!”

It was clearly Guan Shengjie’s voice. Zhou Andong said: “I knew it—you wouldn’t be out gallivanting on New Year’s Day.”

Guan Shengjie recognized Zhou Andong’s voice and exclaimed happily: “Dongzi, Happy New Year!”

“Happy New Year!” Zhou Andong grinned. “How was your holiday?”

Guan Shengjie sighed: “It’s suffocating. Look at my brothers—all have wives and kids around them. I’m alone. How could I feel good?”

Zhou Andong chuckled: “Then get moving—win over An Jing.”

Guan Shengjie perked up: “Dongzi, you’ve got to help me. If I can win An Jing, I’ll do anything—anything at all.”

“Don’t worry—I’ll speak well of you. But whether it works depends on you,” Zhou Andong said. “Enough of that—long distance is expensive. I just wanted to ask: why hasn’t the arcade gambling story been reported yet?”

Guan Shengjie replied: “You must’ve seen the news about the elder going south. The story was supposed to run before the New Year, but the editor-in-chief went south with him, and the deputy editor held it back. It’s almost the holiday, and the elder’s traveling—stability’s essential. No disruptions allowed.”

Zhou Andong sighed: “Looks like I’ve used up all my luck.”

Guan Shengjie teased: “Aren’t you God’s illegitimate son? What’s to fear?”

Zhou Andong said: “Maybe God has more than one illegitimate son.”

Guan Shengjie laughed heartily: “Don’t worry—the deputy editor takes this seriously too. The story’s only delayed. Once the elder returns, it’ll run—just no one knows when.”

Zhou Andong asked: “Give me a rough estimate.”

Guan Shengjie thought a moment: “March or April.”

“Not bad!” Zhou Andong said. “At least I won’t wait forever.”

“Shengjie, lunch is ready!” Another voice came through the receiver.

Zhou Andong said: “Alright, I’ll let you go—eat up.”

“Okay!” Guan Shengjie said. “I’ll call you when the story runs.”

Zhou Andong hung up and was immediately pulled to a card table.

In Beijing, Jian Qiu was packing her bags. A middle-aged woman beside her, strikingly similar to her and radiating aristocratic poise, stood watching.

She was Jian Qiu’s mother, Su Minglan: “What’s going on? You’re leaving on New Year’s Day?”

“Mom!” Jian Qiu pouted. “What’s going on? I’m just going to Xiangjiang for a couple days—An Jing’s already there, waiting for me.”

Su Minglan frowned: “You know I’m not asking about your trip to Xiangjiang.”

Jian Qiu paused her movements, slowly straightened, and looked at Su Minglan with serious clarity: “Mom, I want to decide my own feelings myself.”

Su Minglan frowned: “What do you mean?”