Chapter 7: The City at Four in the Morning

The alarm clock rang at 3:50. I fumbled in the dark to turn off my phone, and sat up from the folding sofa, my whole body aching. Two of the sofa’s springs were broken; sleeping on it all night felt like my back had been punched eight hundred times.

The kitchen lights are already on.

The range hood was humming, and the air smelled of eggs and scallions. I rubbed my eyes and walked over, peering into the kitchen through the doorway.

My mom was frying eggs with her back to me. She got up at 3:30, just like she said. Her hair was casually tied into a bun, and she was wearing the same gray T-shirt from yesterday as pajamas, with knee-length cotton shorts underneath. The kitchen light in the early morning was a warm yellow, shining on her bare calves, making them appear bright white. Her ankles were very thin, and she was wearing a pair of old rubber slippers.

She tiptoed to reach the salt shaker on the shelf above the stove, her T-shirt hem lifting up slightly, revealing a small strip of bare skin on her lower back and the waistband of her cotton shorts. Because of the tiptoeing, her calf muscles tensed, stretching from her ankles to the backs of her knees, then relaxed after a couple of seconds. Once she had the salt shaker, she sprinkled a handful of salt into the pot, muttering, “This shelf is way too high…”

I cleared my throat: “I’ll get it.”

She was startled and turned around. The movement caused the fabric of her T-shirt to sway, and the two prominent curves of her chest swayed slightly beneath the fabric, but because of their weight, they seemed exceptionally real. At 3:50 a.m., under the dim light, it was clear she wasn’t wearing a bra; the outline of her breasts clung to the fabric so clearly that even the two tiny nipples at the top were faintly visible.

”Why did you come over without a sound? You scared me to death!” She pointed at me with a spatula, which was still covered in egg yolk, dripping down.

My gaze was fixed on the range hood above her head. “Hmm. You’re up.”

”Go wash your face, it’ll be ready soon.” She turned back to continue frying the eggs. “Mom cooked you some porridge, and the eggs are done. There are also two steamed buns warmed up next to it. Fill up your water bottle and take it with you on the way.”

I grunted in agreement and left the kitchen. Washing my face in the bathroom with cold water cleared my head a bit.

Alright, Shen Qi. You’re her son. She got up at 3:30 in the morning to fry eggs for you. What are you thinking?

When I came out after washing my face, the table was already set: porridge, fried eggs, steamed buns, and a dish of fermented bean curd. She stood beside me, hands on her hips, watching me sit down and eat.

”Drink more porridge, and steamed buns dipped in fermented bean curd are delicious.”

”Um.”

”Don’t skimp on lunch when you eat out. Find a clean restaurant; street stalls are unhygienic.”

”Um.”

”Mom will cook for you when you get home tonight. What would you like to eat?”

”casual.”

”What do you mean by ‘whatever’? You always say ‘whatever’. What kind of dish is ‘whatever’? Mom doesn’t know how to make ‘whatever’.”

I stuffed a whole fried egg into my mouth to stifle any potential laughter. After chewing twice, I swallowed: “Braised pork.”

”Okay. Mom will go to the market this afternoon to buy pork ribs… no, braised pork belly is for pork belly. What’s the price of pork belly now? I think it was 18 yuan a pound last time I bought it? I don’t know if it’s gone up…”

She started calculating the price of meat. While she was rambling on, I finished my porridge, stuffed the steamed bun into my pocket, and stood up.

”They’re gone.”

”Wait a minute.” She pulled a medicine box from the top of the refrigerator and handed it to me. “A lozenge. Take one if your throat feels uncomfortable. Don’t push yourself. Come back if you feel unwell.”

I took the medicine box and put it in my pocket. She then reached out and straightened my collar. Her fingers felt cool when they touched the skin on the back of my neck. She pinched the fold of my collar a couple of times to flatten the corner that had been turned up.

”Alright. Go ahead.”

I went outside. The stairwell was pitch black; the motion-activated light blinked three times, stayed on for two seconds, and then went out. I felt my way down the stairs, feeling for the handrail. The air at four in the morning was stuffy and humid; the cicadas hadn’t woken up yet, and the streetlights cast a dim yellow glow on the empty street.

I rode the old bicycle I borrowed from the landlord and arrived at the express sorting station in twenty minutes.

The sorting station was located under a large tin shed on the outskirts of the city. At four in the morning, more than a dozen people were already working. The conveyor belt whirred, and packages poured out from one end, large, small, square, and flat, piled up like mountains. My job was simple: sort by area code, pick them out, and stack them into the corresponding baskets. Bending over, raising my hand, throwing; bending over, raising my hand, throwing. Repeatedly.

The first hour was alright. My back started hurting in the second hour. In the third hour, I cut my finger on the edge of the tape; the blood seeped out, diluted by sweat, and flowed all over the back of my hand. The guy next to me handed me a roll of band-aids, which I put on and continued working.

I finished work at eight in the morning, received my wages for the day—one hundred and twenty. I stood at the entrance of the sorting station, counted the bills twice, folded them, and stuffed them into the innermost part of my pocket. The sun was already out, making the tin roof creak. I squatted in the shade and finished the slightly spoiled steamed bun in my pocket, then drank half a bottle of water.

Then I rode my bike to the construction site.

Today’s construction site is in the west of the city, a forty-minute bike ride away. After arriving, I changed into a hard hat and reflective vest, and joined a group of workers moving cement slabs. Each slab weighed about forty or fifty pounds, requiring two people to lift it, unloading it from the truck and stacking it in the designated spot. After moving about twenty slabs, my arms started shaking. Seeing that I was young, my coworkers gave me a few more trips.

I gritted my teeth and kept silent.

During my lunch break, I squatted in the shade of the construction site’s temporary housing and ate a six-yuan boxed lunch. The rice was rock hard, and the dish was stewed potatoes and chicken carcasses, but there was hardly any meat on the chicken carcasses, just bones. I chewed a couple of bites and then remembered that my mom had said she was going to make braised pork today, and I almost threw the lunch away.

I finished work at the construction site at 5 PM, earning 180 yuan a day. Adding the 120 yuan I earned this morning, that’s 300 yuan today. There’s also the internet cafe night shift from 10 PM to 2 AM, four hours, 50 yuan. That makes 350 yuan a day.

A little over ten thousand a month. Rent is eight hundred, utilities are two hundred, food is two thousand, my mom gets five hundred for pocket money, and we need to save up for tuition, miscellaneous fees, and uniform fees at the start of the school year…

Not enough. Far from enough.

I rode my bicycle against traffic for a short distance on Jianshe Road during rush hour, and a bus honked its horn three times. The July heatwave rose from the asphalt, baking the entire city. Sweat streamed down from under my hair, stinging my eyes.

I got home at 6:30. Fifth floor. My legs were shaking as I climbed the stairs. When I got to the door, my hand was shaking so badly I had to insert the key twice before it was in the lock.

The door opened, and a strong aroma of braised pork wafted out, so rich it could knock you over.

My mom poked her head out from the kitchen: “You’re back? Wash your hands and eat. The braised pork is fresh out of the pot.”

There were two dishes and a soup on the table: braised pork belly, stir-fried greens, and seaweed and egg drop soup. The braised pork belly was a bit too dark in color, the sauce had been reduced too much, but the pieces of pork were large, with a good balance of fat and lean meat, and the sauce was bubbling. The greens were overcooked and a bit yellow. The seaweed and egg drop soup, however, was up to standard.

”You put too much sugar in this braised pork.” I picked up a piece and stuffed it into my mouth; it was so sweet it made my throat ache.

”That’s because of too much soy sauce, not sugar.” She sat down across from me, picked up a piece of green vegetable with her chopsticks and put it in my bowl. “Eat more green vegetables, you have blisters on your lips, it’s because you’re feeling hot.”

I chewed and swallowed the cloyingly sweet braised pork. It really didn’t taste very good.

I picked up another piece.

She watched me eat, her expression shifting from tense to relaxed. Then she started eating herself, taking a couple of bites and muttering, “It is a bit too sweet… I’ll use less soy sauce next time.”

I ate my rice in silence. She was across the street muttering about how pork at the market had gone up to 20 yuan a pound today, which was practically robbery; how the garbage bags at the grocery store downstairs were 2 mao more expensive than at the supermarket; and how a young man living in apartment 502 next door was playing video games all night and making so much noise that she wanted to knock on his door and yell at him.

I listened, occasionally humming in agreement. My hands were still trembling as I poked the chopsticks into the bowl. I was carrying cement slabs on a construction site.

She didn’t see it. She was talking about the garbage bags.

We ate dinner until 7:30. I helped her wash the dishes, but she wouldn’t let me and insisted on doing it herself. I said, “You cooked, it’s my turn to wash.” She said, “You’ve worked all day, go and rest, don’t get in my way.” I said, “You should also get in my way and move aside.” In the end, the two of us squeezed into the two-square-meter kitchen, one washing the dishes and the other wiping them, bumping elbows several times.

She started making the bed at 8:30. At 9:00, she urged me to go to sleep. I said I had to work at 10:00. Her expression changed slightly, but she didn’t say anything. She filled her thermos with hot water and placed it on the shoe cabinet by the door.

”Be careful on the road.”

I left home at 9:45 PM. The cicadas, having chirped all day, were finally exhausted, with only a few still weakly hissing. The stairwell was pitch black; the motion-activated lights were completely out of order, so I groped my way down five flights of stairs in the dark.

It’s a 15-minute bike ride to Xingchen Internet Cafe. The owner, surnamed Sun, is bald and fat. When he saw me, he tossed me a key and told me to go patrol the place. It’s an all-night shift, from 10 PM to 6 AM, involving patrolling, topping up customers’ accounts, and cleaning. It costs 50 yuan a night.

The internet cafe was filled with flashing blue lights, the clatter of keyboards, and the smell of cigarettes and instant noodles. I sat down at the counter and opened my phone’s notes app when there were no other customers.

Day 5/1821.

I hesitated for a moment before closing the memo app, then typed another line.

The braised pork was too sweet, but I ate three bowls.