Chapter 9: Heartless and Soulless

Watching the retreating backs of Liu Zhiguang and the others, and hearing the faint laughter drifting away, Zhou Andong rubbed his chin. It’s the New Year—since you three are practically handing me your faces to slap, if I don’t take the chance, how could I possibly feel at peace?

“East Brother!” Yao Jun walked over from afar.

“I was just going to look for you,” Zhou Andong slung an arm around Yao Jun’s shoulder. “It’s been ages since you and San’er met. Call him tonight—we’ll get together.”

“No problem!” Yao Jun replied. “By the way, how are you feeling? After the show ended yesterday, I went looking for you but couldn’t find you. I went to your place in the evening—you weren’t there. This morning I went to the broadcast station—you didn’t show up either. I was starting to worry.”

Zhou Andong said: “I divorced Jiang Yuying. We finalized the paperwork yesterday afternoon and went back to Tanghezi that night.”

Yao Jun wasn’t surprised—he was actually delighted. “Welcome back to the joyful life of a single man!”

“Get lost!” Zhou Andong snapped. “The factory encourages us workers to sell liquor—how many bottles have you sold?”

"Sell crap!" Yao Jun said. "We're just ordinary workers, and all our friends and relatives are regular people. Bulk liquor is 1.2 yuan per jin, the better kind is 1.8. It tastes fine. And there are Longjiang Kou cups—8 mao per cup, three taels per cup. After you drink it, you keep the glass cup. Who'd waste six taels of sorghum for that?"

Zhou Andong nodded thoughtfully. “Alright, I’ll show my face at the broadcast station. You go about your business.”

Yao Jun said: “I’ll buy a pack of cigarettes and call San’er on the way.”

The broadcast station was just two ordinary single-story houses behind the fermentation workshop.

Zhou Andong carried a bag of dumpling buns, walking while pondering. He’d been eyeing this batch of liquor all along—but to sell it, he’d have to take an unconventional path. He couldn’t hurt himself, yet he had to make it dazzling. Whether he’d gain both fame and profit depended entirely on this one move.

Zhou Andong pulled open the broadcast station’s door, lifted the thick cotton curtain, and was hit by a wave of heat. A stove burned fiercely in the center, with several sweet potatoes resting on top, filling the room with fragrance.

A woman of about fifty sat by the stove knitting a sweater. The firelight glowed on her face, tracing the marks of time, yet giving her an unusually warm appearance.

“Aunt Liu!”

Zhou Andong grinned and set the buns down on a nearby table. He grabbed a roasted sweet potato from the stove lid—it burned his fingers, making him hiss. He tossed it into the air, switching hands back and forth until it cooled enough to peel and bite into.

“So fragrant!”

Liu Huilan looked up, unimpressed. “You still have the appetite to eat? How heartless can you be? You didn’t show up this morning—the station chief’s face was as long as a donkey’s. You’re in deep trouble.”

Zhou Andong didn’t care. He swallowed the sweet potato in a few bites, then handed Liu Huilan a half-pound bag of dumpling buns. “For you—Qin family dumpling buns.”

Liu Huilan smiled. “At least you’ve still got some conscience. That’s why I always cover for you.”

Zhou Andong chuckled. “Headache or stomachache?”

Liu Huilan said: “I told them you had diarrhea.”

Zhou Andong’s lip twitched. “What was Zhang Zhanhai’s reaction?”

“What reaction? You’ve been here nearly a year, slacking off two days out of three—always either a headache or a sore ass. I can make up excuses once or twice, but over time, do you think he’ll still believe you?”

Liu Huilan picked up the kettle beside the stove and filled a porcelain mug labeled “Serve the People.” “Listen—I hear the old factory chief will retire in two or three months. He’s already handed everything over. Now Zhang Deyou’s running things, which means his promotion to factory chief is sealed. I don’t know who you pissed off to get dumped here to rot. But I think you should visit Zhang Deyou more often, bring him gifts, get transferred back to Quality Control or another department. Don’t stay here wasting time—you’ll never get ahead.”

Zhou Andong grimaced. “Aunt Liu, the one I pissed off is Zhang Deyou.”

The water Liu Huilan had just sipped sprayed out of her mouth onto the stove, hissing into steam. “You little—”

She didn’t know what else to say, only shook her head helplessly, feeling sorry for Zhou Andong. He’d been a college graduate with limitless potential—but now he’d offended Zhang Deyou. As long as he stayed in the brewery, he’d never recover.

Zhou Andong sighed. “I still don’t know why I suddenly got bored that day and wandered into the warehouse. And of all things, I happened to see Zhang Deyou hugging and kissing Wu Meijuan from the canteen.”

“Cough!”

Liu Huilan sprayed water again, nearly choking. “Really?”

Zhou Andong said: “Why would I lie to you? You don’t even pay me.”

Liu Huilan was utterly speechless, only kept sighing.

Zhou Andong said: “Don’t worry. This situation’s actually fine. Zhang Deyou and I are keeping our distance. If he dares to bother me again, I’ll make sure he dreams of me and wakes up screaming.”

Liu Huilan rolled her eyes. “Look who’s talking.”

At that moment, the door creaked open as the thick curtain lifted. A short, long-faced, slightly overweight middle-aged man stepped in. Seeing Zhou Andong, his face darkened. He sneered.

“Oh? Did the college grad get lost?”

Zhou Andong beamed. “Station Chief, I don’t know what I ate, but I started having diarrhea yesterday afternoon. I couldn’t find you, so I asked Aunt Liu to cover for me—I left the gala early, spent the whole night tossing and turning, went to the hospital this morning for medicine. Now that I’m feeling better, I came to work.”

“Hmph!”

Zhang Zhanhai jabbed a finger at Zhou Andong’s forehead. “Are you stupid? The whole factory’s heard you made a bet—you’ll sell seven tons of liquor before Lantern Festival, or else you’ll bark like a dog and crawl from Workshop Two to the main gate?”

“Word spreads fast,” Zhou Andong muttered.

Zhang Zhanhai poked him again. “Are you brain-dead? Everyone knows now. If you don’t sell that liquor, your reputation’s ruined.”

Zhang Zhanhai had once been deputy head of the factory’s security unit. He was often cold and rigid—too principled, really—which earned him too many enemies, so he’d been exiled to the broadcast station. But he wasn’t truly malicious.

Suddenly, Zhou Andong felt a bubble of gas swell in his stomach, then rapidly descend—followed by a loud *pfft* as it escaped out the back.

“Station Chief, I can’t hold it—I’ve got stomach cramps. I’m going to the toilet. You can scold me when I get back.”

Watching Zhou Andong dash off clutching his stomach, Zhang Zhanhai frowned. “Is this kid really having diarrhea?”

Liu Huilan lifted her eyelids slightly. “He just ate a sweet potato.”