Shanghai shaped Shen Weiqing from his earliest days - elite schools, teachers switching effortlessly between crisp Shanghainese and English. At fifteen, he left China behind. His journey carried him from New York's bustling streets to Berlin's universities, and finally to Italy's ancient cities. He chased thrills on motorcycles and sought out dangerous sports wherever he went. Even after returning to China, he maintained that restless energy - working intensely, living even more so.
Something in him seemed destined for heights others couldn't reach.
His father, Shen Jian'an, gave him space to grow. Beyond insisting on strong character, he kept a light touch - with one exception. Every year, without fail, Weiqing had to return to Beijing.
"Visit your mother. And your grandmother," Shen Jian'an would say, guilt threading through his words.
From his grandmother, Weiqing picked up Beijing dialect, though he never quite mastered it. The words came out soft, almost careless.
"Would you like something to drink?" he asked as Xiang Man entered.
The room offered nothing but plain water.
"No thank you, I'm not thirsty," she replied in perfect, unaccented Mandarin. She sat precisely on the sofa's edge, keeping her legs together, canvas bag settled in her lap.
Weiqing poured her the pitcher's last water anyway. He went to the kitchen, filled a glass from the tap, drank it in one go, rinsed it, and returned it to its place.
Though Xiang Man had been here many times, this was her first encounter with another outsider. She forgot that she, too, was one.
Weiqing's presence made the small house feel suffocating. His cologne cut through the familiar air, marking it as different.
She steeled herself for the questions she was sure would come: her name, how she knew Grandma Wang, her massage experience. But Weiqing asked nothing, showing neither interest nor suspicion. He simply pulled out a wooden chair at the dining table and sat facing her.
His trench coat hung on a plastic wall hook, discarded. Xiang Man caught sight of the silver watch beneath his rolled-up sleeves, her eyes drawn to his prominent wrist bones still glistening with water droplets.
She turned away, but Shen Weiqing's voice cut through the silence: "Xiang Man."
The abruptness of his tone made her frown.
Shen Weiqing remained unfazed. He'd spotted her name tag at the pharmacy earlier, and it was a common enough name to stick in one's memory.
With a slight tilt of his chin, he motioned behind her. "All that came from your store?"
Behind Xiang Man stood an old-fashioned cabinet adorned with floral patterns. Through its glass doors, medicine bottles, vitamins, and calcium tablets were neatly arranged. Sticky notes covered the cabinet, the neat, delicate handwriting—clearly not his grandmother's—detailing dosages and instructions in bold strokes.
"Grandma must be quite the valued customer at your store," Shen Weiqing said, settling back in his chair. His smile didn't reach his eyes as he regarded Xiang Man. "Tell me, do you know her conditions? Their progression? Did you study medicine? Does your pharmacy just recommend drugs without proper medical oversight? Playing doctor, are we?"
Xiang Man recognized the hostility, but she'd faced her share of interrogations over the years. Her response came with practiced ease: "Prescription medications require a doctor's approval—we don't sell those without proper documentation. For everything else, we focus on meeting customer needs. We have a licensed pharmacist on staff for professional consultation if needed."
Every branch in her company maintained at least one licensed pharmacist, their credentials displayed prominently—standard protocol in the industry.
She met Shen Weiqing's gaze steadily after speaking. His light brown eyes held an unmistakable disdain. Her answer hardly seemed to matter; he'd already categorized her: just another pharmacy clerk, socially inept, emotionally stunted, lacking sales finesse—everything he despised in a salesperson.
In his eyes, she was simply incompetent.
"So, are you one of these qualified pharmacists?"
Not yet, Xiang Man thought.
"And these massages—is that another service your pharmacy offers?"
"No. Grandma Wang just happens to trust me."
Shen Weiqing couldn't see what his grandmother found so trustworthy about her. Sure, she was passably attractive, but nothing else about her stood out.
He eyed the health supplements lined up in the glass cabinet, concerned that his elderly grandmother might have fallen victim to some clever marketing scheme or fraud.
"Shen Weiqing."
His grandmother's voice preceded her arrival, the door opening to release the temple incense that clung to her clothes.
"Grandma."
Shen Weiqing rose to embrace her, draping an arm across her shoulders. Six months had passed since their last meeting, and she seemed to have shrunk somehow. He noticed Xiang Man standing too, and for the first time, he saw her actually smile as she greeted his grandmother. They clearly knew each other well.
"Xiao Man, meet my grandson, Shen Weiqing."
Xiang Man avoided his gaze, offering Grandma Wang a reserved smile instead. Her lips barely moved, the corners of her mouth lifting just slightly.
Hideous, Shen Weiqing thought. She should have saved herself the effort.
"Have you eaten?"
"Yes, I have."
"Come inside then."
Shen Weiqing stayed at the doorframe - the bedroom was too cramped. He watched long enough to confirm that Xiang Man did, in fact, know what she was doing.
She perched on the bed's edge, sleeves rolled up, her work-worn hands moving with confident precision. Her massage technique far outshone her salesmanship, revealing genuine skill, though he wondered about her training.
As she worked on Grandma Wang's legs, she kept up a steady stream of everyday conversation - discussing supermarket deals, speculation about Labor Day holiday changes, and remedies for sick goldfish. Nothing profound, but practical and unpretentious, much like herself.
Mid-massage, she spoke up, "Let me check your insulin pen later. I'll adjust the dose and take your blood pressure too."
"Thank you, Xiao Man."
"Don't mention it."
At this, Shen Weiqing stepped out into the narrow alley, checking work messages on his phone while staring at the sky above.
An hour later, Xiang Man emerged with a white canvas bag over her shoulder, her hands still damp from washing.
As she squeezed past him, she paused just long enough to report that his grandmother's blood pressure was normal, adding that she should get more rest.
She offered a brief, detached goodbye.
Her neat bun had come undone, replaced by her preferred off-duty ponytail. As she turned, the slightly curved end of her ponytail brushed against his shirt.
"Xiao Man has such a kind heart. I often visit her store for medicine," Grandma Wang said.
Shen Weiqing took the spot on the sofa where Xiang Man had sat. The wooden frame pressed uncomfortably against him, forcing him to adjust. "Isn't it time for another checkup? I can stay a few extra days - we could go tomorrow."
"We had one before New Year's," Grandma Wang said. "Xiao Man came with me to the hospital you arranged. Everything checked out fine."
The pieces clicked into place for Shen Weiqing. That explained why Yi Qiao had mentioned seeing a young woman with her at the hospital.
"You two are close?"
"Naturally," Grandma Wang replied. "She visits often."
Shen Weiqing finally voiced his concern: "But can you trust her? You shouldn't take medicine without proper guidance."
He rapped his knuckles against the glass cabinet. "These supplements - are they even legitimate? Don't let yourself get taken advantage of - elderly people are easy targets."
Grandma Wang swatted at him. "You foolish boy, you're the gullible one. She helps with massages and hospital visits. The least I can do is support her business."
Grandma Wang was cleverer than she let on. She deliberately bought from Xiang Man's pharmacy, choosing high-commission items to help meet monthly quotas. Most of it sat unused until expiration.
Xiang Man must have known but never mentioned it. They'd reached an understanding: in exchange, she regularly visited to give massages, clean, and monitor Grandma Wang's vitals.
Nothing extraordinary, but meaningful in its consistency.
"I've asked you to move, but you won't. Tried getting you a caretaker - you refused. Asked you to come to Shanghai with me - another no. Why are you so set in your ways? I can't always be here to help, living so far away. Yet you'll trust a stranger?"
"What about your mother?"
"She's in her lab all day. How often does she even come by?"
Wang Zhan, Shen Weiqing's mother, lived on campus as a university professor, consumed by academics. Even with retirement looming, her drive hadn't wavered.
"I manage just fine alone. If I need anything, Xiao Man helps. I like my privacy - don't want anyone interfering," Grandma Wang's voice turned stubborn. "And Shanghai is out of the question. I'd never adjust there."
Shen Weiqing started to protest but stopped at her last words, swallowing his frustration.
The older generation's complicated relationships defied simple solutions. His life had been relatively smooth, with family matters being the main source of his headaches.
"Alright, don't go," Shen Weiqing conceded, settling back down. "I'm opening a flagship store for my home goods brand. The first one's in Beijing. I've picked the location, so I'll be around more often to visit."
"When does it open?"
"This fall."
"Good, come by regularly then. I'll cook you something special."
"Don't even think about it!" Shen Weiqing laughed. "You're getting too old for that."
Despite her health issues, Grandma Wang's spirit remained strong, and she bristled at such remarks. "Xiao Man never talks to me that way."
Xiao Man, Xiao Man.
Shen Weiqing was getting tired of that name.
He silently decided to find a way to convince his grandmother to move or at least not live by herself. Beyond his concerns about her health, he questioned Xiang Man's actual usefulness.
Sure, she could handle minor tasks, but what about real emergencies?
Regardless of her intentions, her slight build and apparent delicacy suggested someone who'd crumble under serious pressure.
Shen Weiqing resolved to have a proper talk with Xiang Man next time he found her at his grandmother's place.
Hopefully, she'd see reason.
But timing proved elusive.
Despite spending several days in Beijing, he didn't cross paths with Xiang Man again before his departure.
He didn't bother visiting the pharmacy to find her.
September arrived before he knew it.
After finishing his work in Shanghai, Shen Weiqing turned his focus to the Beijing flagship store.
Yi Qiao and some friends had started a business, working out of Sanlitun Soho. They practically lived in their office, caught up in the startup grind. One weekend, they threw a small gathering that stretched into the night, partly to welcome Shen Weiqing.
Later, after helping a drunk Yi Qiao home, Shen Weiqing stood outside for a smoke.
He rarely smoked, occasionally having a menthol cigarette for its mild taste. But the autumn wind kept snuffing out his lighter until he finally gave up, tossing the unlit cigarette away.
As he turned his head, he spotted two young women leaving a hotpot restaurant nearby.
In the early autumn chill, Xiang Man wore a sweatshirt topped with a denim jacket. It reminded him of that day at his grandmother's place, when she'd rolled up her sleeves, showing a glimpse of her undershirt.
Was she really that sensitive to cold?
Standing under the streetlight, Shen Weiqing surprised himself by how clearly he remembered her.
Such an unremarkable face, yet it stuck in his memory.
More surprising still, Xiang Man seemed to recognize him too. She carried a cake box, apparently coming from a birthday celebration. As she passed under the streetlight, she paused, seemed about to speak, then thought better of it.
She settled for a slight nod instead.
The two women walked on.
Jiang Chen, arm linked with Xiang Man's, had finished a small bottle of beer - just enough to get tipsy. "Who was that? Someone you know?"
Xiang Man simply said he was an acquaintance.
"My boyfriend's picking me up. We can share a cab - drop you off, Sister Xiao Man."
"Don't bother. It's out of your way. I'll take the bus."
"It's fine. There's a night bus—won't take long."
Beijing's night buses were one of the many things Xiang Man loved about the city. They could get you anywhere, even if it meant long waits and multiple transfers.
Her hometown had nothing like that.
She remembered one winter night there, wearing just a thin shirt, huddled against a shop's metal shutter, waiting for dawn. The first sunlight had been painfully beautiful, drying her tears as it rose.
"I'm heading out then. See you tomorrow."
"Sure."
Shen Weiqing was leaving the parking garage when he spotted her across the wide street—standing alone at an empty bus stop, head tilted back to study the route map, counting stops.
The night wind whipped dust through her hair as she balanced the cake box in one hand, the other pulling her jacket closer.
A stark white billboard behind her traced her outline—small and slight, but she stood straight, like a solitary chess piece placed with deliberate randomness on a vast board.
Unassuming, yet impossible to ignore.
Shen Weiqing drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Once. Twice.
Then swung the car around.
"Hey."
He paused, searching for her name.
As he lowered the window, the night air rushed in, carrying a mix of city smells.
When their eyes met and he saw her startled look, he felt a flash of regret—but there was no backing out now.
Scowling, he barked:
"You! Get in the car!"
0 Comments