Shen Weiqing had chosen his location deliberately. Instead of the bustling city center, he'd settled on the artistic district to the east, where studios and galleries lined the streets. The place held meaning for him—it was where he'd taken his first art class during a middle school summer break, before he'd left for abroad.
Yi Qiao wasn't impressed on his first visit. "Did you have to pick somewhere so remote?"
"I'm not trying to draw in window shoppers," Shen Weiqing replied.
Standing amid construction debris, he held his coffee cup close, trying to shield it from the dust. His tall frame and broad shoulders filled out his trench coat well, but the swirling grit forced him to cover his face with his free hand, somewhat spoiling the elegant effect.
"Why are you even here? Go home and wait until it's finished," Yi Qiao sputtered between coughs, rapping his knuckles against the rough cement. "Young masters like you shouldn't be supervising construction sites."
The property was impressive—two connected three-story buildings with 1,600 square meters of space and a generous terrace. December was the target completion date, after which they could begin moving in the merchandise.
Shen Weiqing had already made his name in design circles. This venture marked his first foray into creating his own brand, aimed squarely at the luxury market. His clientele came through word-of-mouth, unfazed by the location but expecting excellence. He'd enlisted Song Wen, a Milan-based curator, to help him design the layout according to proper curatorial principles.
He wanted his work to feel intimate, not sterile.
During a video call reviewing the space with Song Wen, Shen Weiqing asked him to send over some sketchbooks he'd left in Milan. Before ending the call, a thought nagged at him. He shifted slightly. "Has Ezio gotten his shots?"
Ezio was Song Wen's dog—his "son," as he called him.
"Of course. My boy's in perfect health. All his vaccines and checkups are current. Why do you ask?"
"No reason," Shen Weiqing said, ending the call.
Between overseeing the renovation, he made weekly visits to his grandmother's house, bringing groceries and necessities, staying to talk for a while.
Whether by chance or design, he rarely crossed paths with Xiang Man.
Just once, arriving near noon, he found her there having lunch with his grandmother after helping check her blood sugar. Their meal was simple—noodles in tomato and egg sauce, with fermented bean curd and olive vegetables on the side. Xiang Man acknowledged him with a slight nod before returning to her meal. She ate with careful restraint, eyes fixed on the floating scallions in her bowl, not making a sound.
"Have you eaten?" his grandmother called out as he entered.
"I've already eaten. Don't worry."
Walking past Xiang Man's chair, he headed straight for the bedroom and opened his laptop to work. Through the door, he caught fragments of dish-washing sounds and quiet conversation—the usual small talk. He tuned it out until he heard the beep of the glucose meter as Xiang Man checked his grandmother's after-lunch readings.
His grandmother shuffled in shortly after, stifling a yawn. "I'm full and getting sleepy. Could you wake me in half an hour?"
"Of course."
Shen Weiqing closed his laptop, stood up, and eased the bedroom door shut behind him.
The windowless living room fell into shadow. Near the table, Xiang Man was putting away the glucose meter. Inside its case, he noticed his grandmother's important documents—her social security card, medical savings book, and various membership cards.
Shen Weiqing arched an eyebrow and followed her into the kitchen.
"Has she given you her bank cards too?"
He leaned against the doorframe, keeping his voice low.
"You don't say much, but you seem to know exactly how to handle the elderly. Is that your special talent?"
The water kept running. Xiang Man didn't look up as she scrubbed a bowl. "No. It's not."
She finished the few dishes quickly, shook the water from her hands, and turned to face his faint smile. Her voice matched his quiet tone:
"If you don't trust me, don't ask for my help. I don't need your small commission."
Really?
Not exactly.
But something about Shen Weiqing made her recoil from any interaction. She especially couldn't stand that perpetual smile of his, or the self-assurance that leaked from his eyes.
It wasn't hard to guess where it came from—his privileged background, his successful career. She'd pieced together fragments about his life from Grandma Wang's stories, forming a picture she didn't much like: someone who lived above it all, collecting achievements without effort, untouched by ordinary struggles.
People who'd never known hardship could afford to smile at everyone.
But she hated that expression of his. Beneath his casual manner, he watched her like she might steal something.
When she'd first arrived in Beijing, she'd stayed in a youth hostel—25 yuan a night. The dorm packed over a dozen workers into bunk beds. One night, doubled over with menstrual cramps, she'd knocked on the owner's door asking for hot water. He'd answered shirtless, giving her that same look, like she was something low, like she must have hidden motives.
"I didn't mean that," Shen Weiqing said with his usual smile, holding up a hand in surrender.
That smile again. So infuriating.
Xiang Man lifted her chin. Her hands were dry now. "Did you get your rabies shot?" Before he could answer, she added, "Though I suppose it doesn't matter. Rabies has an incubation period. It might already be dormant in you. Too late for the vaccine now."
She walked out, leaving him laughing behind her.
His picture of Xiang Man grew clearer—like a sheet of white paper with razor edges. Silent until disturbed, but quick to draw blood when pressed.
Later, he found her WeChat through his grandmother's phone and sent her a request.
He apologized again: "Sorry about earlier. Let's keep working together. When's that massage device coming?"
Xiang Man didn't respond.
November was approaching, bringing winter with it.
On her day off, Xiang Man deep-cleaned her apartment and pulled out her winter clothes, hanging them one by one. The cold always got to her, but quality down jackets cost too much. She'd learned to hunt for off-season deals—plain black ones that reached her calves. They got her through the subway rides, the bitter winds, Beijing's brutal winters.
The north had its own kind of cold. After years here, she'd finally gotten used to it.
That morning, heading to work, she noticed a new shoe rack outside the next bedroom. Several pairs of men's sneakers lined it—a new tenant must have moved in.
Her apartment had three bedrooms, shared between tenants who mostly avoided each other. Xiang Man had been there longest. The previous tenant had been a woman. Now that a man had moved in, she paused before quietly collecting her pajamas and underwear from the shared drying rack on the balcony, taking them back to her room.
No time for breakfast. She ran to the station, missed two trains, squeezed onto the third, and clocked in at the pharmacy with one minute to spare. Her junior colleague Jiang Chen had saved her, bringing a red bean bun and sweet corn from the convenience store.
They huddled in the camera's blind spot, munching corn. Jiang Chen sounded frustrated. "Video-called Mom last night. She said I've lost weight. I told her I'm standing at the counter seven hours a day—of course I've lost weight! Instead of sympathy, she lectured me. Said if I'd studied harder and gotten into a good school, I'd be in an office now."
Xiang Man studied her face. She had gotten thinner.
"Office work wears you down too. Life's exhausting no matter what you do."
Jiang Chen edged closer. She'd latched onto Xiang Man since her first day as mentor. But before she could finish her corn, the store door opened. Unusual to have customers this early. They looked up to see Manager Yang Xiaoqing. Both instinctively hid the corn behind their backs.
"Don't bother hiding it. Finish up—then we're having a meeting."
The pharmacy ran two shifts with six employees plus a manager. The manager handled admin and communication rather than sales.
Yang Xiaoqing was in her early thirties, single, and focused entirely on her career. Staff from different stores agreed she was one of the stricter managers. But she was straightforward and fair with praise and discipline. Even if others didn't like her style, Xiang Man respected it.
"Xiao Man, Sun Lin's quit. For now, you and your trainee will cover her shifts. I know it'll be rough, but I'm working on finding someone new."
Yang Xiaoqing noticed Xiang Man's name tag, its metal edges worn and scratched. She'd been here since 2015—four years now.
She shifted, as if dodging the security camera, and lowered her voice. "Do you know why Sun Lin left?"
Xiang Man shook her head.
But Jiang Chen nodded. "I heard it was because—"
"Quiet. Even if you know, keep it to yourself," Yang Xiaoqing cut in. "I'm going for regional manager next year. Sun Lin had the most experience here and naturally wanted my position. But the company kept rejecting her store manager applications. She's too intense—got discouraged and decided to go home, get married, start a family."
Sun Lin was a few years older than Xiang Man, with a boyfriend back home. When he'd visited Beijing, they'd taken Xiang Man and Jiang Chen out to eat. Xiang Man couldn't quite picture his face anymore, but she remembered the big bag of Qianxi chestnuts he'd brought, sharing them generously.
"Sister Xiaoqing, why didn't Sister Sun Lin get promoted? She's been here forever."
"Time isn't everything."
Yang Xiaoqing's face gave nothing away. She didn't want to explain too much to Jiang Chen, still an intern and not even graduated. But she'd tell Xiang Man more. Xiang Man was quiet but knew how to keep things to herself. She had layers. In this city, that wasn't a bad thing.
"Sun Lin was good at her job," Yang Xiaoqing murmured once Jiang Chen was in the bathroom. "But being her age, unmarried, no kids, just dating—it made her look unstable."
Xiang Man looked down, saying nothing.
Things had changed. Being single and childless wasn't enough anymore—age and relationship status mattered too. They showed how much you could commit to work.
The memory of those chestnuts brought his face back suddenly. A simple, earnest man who adored Sun Lin. At the barbecue place, he'd spent the whole night grilling meat for her, barely eating himself. Those chestnuts had lasted Xiang Man ages, each one fat and sweet.
Yang Xiaoqing genuinely felt for Sun Lin. "Her personality didn't help either. Couldn't let things go. Really, she should've stayed in sales. The money's just as good as managing."
But it wears you down.
Xiang Man kept that thought to herself. Every night after work, her legs were swollen from standing, her socks leaving angry marks around her ankles.
"Xiao Man, what about the Licensed Pharmacist Exam? Weren't you taking it this year?"
"No," Xiang Man said. "Don't have enough years yet. I can try next year."
"Make sure you do. A pharmacist's license will open doors. If I make regional manager next year, I want you taking over here." Yang Xiaoqing leaned across the counter, dropping her voice. "Between us, you'd be better than Sun Lin. Your sales numbers might be middle of the pack, but you're reliable. Never a mistake in your inventory counts or order forms. That kind of thoroughness matters. Work with your strengths, don't worry about the rest."
Yang Xiaoqing had a knack for reading people. Four years watching Xiang Man had told her plenty.
Xiang Man was steady, reserved, quiet—not exactly sales material. She couldn't match the smooth talk of their top sellers, but that didn't matter. Management would suit her better, give her a clearer path forward.
As long as she knew how to choose her battles, kept her head when it counted.
Yang Xiaoqing kept that last thought to herself. No rush.
Checking the computer, she stopped short. "Ten massage devices in the past few days?"
Jiang Chen bounced out of the restroom, grinning. "Yes! Sister Xiao Man sold them all at once!"
Yang Xiaoqing turned to Xiang Man, who offered a small smile. "I know someone. Their company bought in bulk."
"That's fantastic!" Yang Xiaoqing reconsidered her earlier assessment. Maybe Xiang Man's sales skills were improving. "Keep in touch with customers like that. You have their contact info? Send holiday greetings, let them know about sales."
"I will."
Shen Weiqing had already sent the payment—fifty thousand yuan through WeChat, like he was buying a soft drink. Xiang Man accepted it, and he never mentioned it again, as if the whole thing had slipped his mind.
That evening, walking home, Xiang Man passed the alley leading to Grandma Wang's house. She turned in without hesitation.
It was the fifteenth of the lunar month. Grandma Wang was at Fayuan Temple burning incense. Xiang Man knew she wouldn't be home. She just took a photo of the doorway and sent it to Shen Weiqing:
"November 11th. Grandma Wang came by the pharmacy this morning for sliced noodles. Now at temple burning incense. All good."
Her first unprompted message to him. The start of their arrangement.
Years later, Shen Weiqing would dig up that message to tease her, holding her chin to kiss her, asking what she'd been thinking. She'd turn away from the kiss, saying simply, "Don't remember. Just know I really didn't like you then."
She had disliked him, true, but she'd had to deal with him anyway.
Not knowing what updates he wanted, she'd kept it basic. Yang Xiaoqing had advised maintaining customer relationships, but with Shen Weiqing, she'd given up on that idea. Instead, she'd followed the other advice: play to her strengths, avoid her weaknesses. And relationships she couldn't navigate easily? She kept her distance.
That day, Beijing hit three degrees Celsius, the temperature plummeting without warning.
She pocketed her phone without checking for Shen Weiqing's response, pulled her coat tighter, and stepped into the biting wind that swept the street.
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