Love For You - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Ten-Minute Locksmith

Teng City

It was exactly as he remembered—hot, humid, and dense with shade. The air was heavy and stifling, thick with a mix of that distinct sour, fermented stench of midsummer and the sharp, bitter scent of flourishing vegetation.

The door was still that same old iron gate, and the lock was the same mechanical one he had replaced years ago.

Miao Jing knocked on the door for a long time, her gaze fixed on a "Ten-Minute Locksmith" advertisement plastered on the wall.

The old master locksmith charged one hundred yuan. He slid a wire into the keyhole, gave it a casual twist, and with a crisp "click," the iron door swung open.

"Do you need to see my ID?"

"Didn't you say it was your own home? No need."

She was hauling two enormous suitcases. Having spent the entire train ride lying stiffly with her eyes wide open, she had dark circles under her eyes, and the faint, acidic smell of instant noodles still clung to her. Her accent didn't sound like a local's. The locksmith took a look at her refined features, then glanced at the simple furnishings inside, packed up his tools, and left.

It was an old apartment building from the nineties. The exterior walls and stairwells were covered in spiderwebs and grime. The landing was piled high with the residents' junk, and a cracked drainage pipe had created a gutter of sewage on the floor. It was dirty, suffocating, and littered with trash. This old neighborhood was dilapidated and filthy; none of the people who lived here were rich.

Miao Jing pushed her luggage into the apartment. It was an eighty-square-meter unit with two bedrooms and one living room. The layout was the same, though a few pieces of furniture had been replaced. It wasn't sparkling clean, but it wasn't filthy either. The kitchen and refrigerator showed no signs of recent use, but the ashtray on the table was overflowing with cigarette butts, and a crushed soda can on the coffee table still contained half a beer.

She looked over the apartment and finally headed toward the bedroom on the right. The keyhole was rusted and wouldn't budge. After a great deal of effort, she managed to ram the door open. As the door swung wide, the air current stirred the dormant dust, thick enough to choke on. Half of the curtains, their original color indiscernible, had fallen down. A sliver of gray, murky light filtered through the window. The old wooden bed frame had been dismantled, leaving only the skeleton, and the room was piled with miscellaneous junk, leaving no room to even set a foot down.

She pushed open the door to the left bedroom. The curtains were half-drawn; the room was bright and quiet. It held a semi-new spring mattress, a single wardrobe, and a desk cluttered with odds and ends. A plastic lighter and a semi-new steel-band mechanical watch were left on the edge of the desk. A pillow was tossed on the bed, topped with a man’s white undershirt and gray sweatpants.

She retreated from the room, sat in the living room to eat some crackers, gave her face a rough wash, and went to lie down for a nap.

The pillow belonged to a man, permeated with the scent of cheap tobacco, sweat, and skin—like potent, fermented alcohol, intoxicating and sharp.

She changed her position, turned her head, and her cold, bright eyes suddenly fixed on the edge of the pillow. Lying on the bedsheet was a strand of hair: very long, the root a short segment of black, the middle wine-red, and the tips dry and yellow—a woman's.

She rose from the bed with composed indifference, opened the wardrobe, changed the sheets and pillowcase, lay down, and closed her eyes.

Miao Jing slept incredibly deeply and didn't wake up until two in the afternoon.

Her two suitcases were bursting at the seams—that was all she owned. She needed to unpack, but she didn't know where to start. Finally, after staring blankly for a long time and wandering through the kitchen, bathroom, living room, and bedroom, she opened an app on her phone and placed an order: curtains, a mattress, pillows and quilts, bed linens, an air conditioner, an electric fan, and various other bits and pieces.

Then she went out to the supermarket. She returned carrying bags full of supplies: mops, rags, cleaning agents, shampoo, body wash, toilet paper, and sanitary pads.

A few old men and women were chatting at the windy entrance of the alley. Seeing her come back trip after trip with new items, their dim, curious eyes followed her over and over again.

Miao Jing recognized one of them and called out, "Grandma Zhang."

"You, you are... from the Chen family on the second floor..."

"Miao Jing. Chen Yi’s former younger sister."

Grandma Zhang was shocked. "You—why have you come back?"

"Yes." Miao Jing set down her shopping bags. "Chen Yi isn't home. How has he been all these years?"

When it came to Chen Yi, there was far too much to say. He was still the same as he had been all those years ago—destined to end up in the police station eating prison food sooner or later. Yet, he had managed to live a stable enough life, enduring the spit and scorn of his neighbors to this very day.

"Same old story. So old and still doesn't have a proper job or a family of his own, always hanging around with no-good people..."

Miao Jing knew that Chen Yi had achieved nothing in these past six years. He had spent two years away, then returned to start a business with friends. He hung out with trash and dated disreputable women. His latest career was running a pool hall near the vocational high school. But it seemed he had gone away; he hadn't been back for nearly half a month.

She never counted on him to amount to anything. A high school dropout, a small-time hoodlum who engaged in extortion and brawling—if he could just stay out of jail and act like a normal person, that would already be an accomplishment.

There was plenty to say about Chen Yi, and the same was true for Miao Jing. Not waiting for Grandma Zhang to turn the topic onto her, she made an excuse about being busy and carried her things upstairs.

She cleaned the house, starting with the kitchen and bathroom. She threw away what needed to be discarded and bought what needed replacing. When she was hungry, she ate instant noodles and crackers; when she was tired, she slept on the spring mattress. When the large and small items she ordered online arrived, she began "clearing the wilderness" in the bedrooms—scrubbing and washing everything, assembling furniture, and washing the bedding.

She unearthed quite a few things from the dusty, cobweb-covered cabinets. Her old clothes and odds and ends, a giant stack of high school test papers and textbooks—all bundled in large hemp sacks. Miao Jing spent a long time sorting through them, putting these items into storage boxes and sealing them under the bed. She unpacked her luggage piece by piece, and the room was finally starting to look presentable.

In the process, she gave Chen Yi’s room a deep clean, too. She cleared the dust from the top of the wardrobe, washed the curtains that hadn't been cleaned in years, laundered the bedding, and mopped the floors and wiped the windows. She swept up shriveled cigarette butts, a woman’s colorful hair tie, and an unopened condom from under the bed. She treated it all like trash.

After a full week of labor, she was sore and exhausted. The neighbors, hearing and seeing the activity on the second floor, all knew that someone had returned to the Chen household. Some of the newer neighbors didn't recognize Miao Jing, seeing only a twenty-four or twenty-five-year-old woman, refined and beautiful, with a cool, detached temperament—a person completely at odds with Chen Yi. The old neighbors, however, knew the history, and the gossip about the Chen family was endless.

Chen Yi had taken a cargo truck to Yunnan. At first, it was just a business opportunity unintentionally leaked by a friend at the Yunnan border. Chen Yi seized the chance, acquired a batch of small commodities like lighters and flashlights, hired a truck driver, and hauled them to the Golden Triangle area. On the return trip, he brought back a truckload of bananas and mangoes to Teng City. After deducting all costs and expenses, he made a few tens of thousands of yuan for his trouble.

During the two months of summer vacation, business at the pool hall was slow, so this was a nice bonus.

The trip had been rushed; they ate and slept in the truck the whole way, and it was hot, so he was covered in sweat and grime. When Chen Yi returned to Teng City that day, he finished handling all his affairs, intending to go home first to shower and sleep before meeting friends for drinks that night.

He didn't have much luggage, just a nylon tote bag he carried out and now carried back. It was stuffed with a spare set of quick-dry clothes, two cartons of cigarettes, toothpaste, a toothbrush, a towel, and a phone charger. Teng City's climate was hot and humid, so Chen Yi stripped off his sour-smelling T-shirt, draped it over his shoulder, and walked down the street with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

His appearance wasn't exactly polished, but it made people want to whistle—he had that raw, athletic, arrogant air typical of a young man. With his tan skin, a piece of jade hanging from a black string around his neck, broad shoulders, and a back like a wall, his muscles were clearly defined, marked with a few faint, old scars. His chest wasn't overly bulky but smooth and lean, tapering down to a flat stomach. His waist was tight and narrow, and his long legs, encased in black trousers, looked powerful and strained against the fabric.

Looking up at his face, he was a man of twenty-five or twenty-six with a crisp crew cut. His facial features were sharp as a knife, his nose high and straight, his lips slightly thick with a sensual, dark hue. He looked a bit menacing, with a scar between his eyebrows that cut into his left brow—a vicious sort of handsome. That was especially true of his eyes: wild and roguish, shining with defiance, an expression of "who cares" hiding a predatory vigilance that could bite back at any moment.

Exhaling a smoke ring, he headed up the stairs. The smell of chicken soup drifted through the hallway; he didn't know which household it came from. He pulled out his keys and opened the door. The interior was instantly bright—the windows were clear, and the floor was clean. It didn't look like his home anymore, yet the furniture was familiar. On the strange wooden shoe rack by the door sat a woman’s sandals and heels, while on the lower level, his sneakers and flip-flops were washed clean and arranged neatly.

The scent of chicken soup... it was coming from the kitchen. He could even catch a glimpse of the back of a skirt.

The floor was so clean it shone. He tossed his tote bag onto the floor, held the cigarette between his fingers, and a playful, frivolous smirk tugged at his mouth. "Didn't you say you were coming over to sleep tonight? A surprise? Suddenly feeling so virtuous?"

The woman in the kitchen slowly stirred the chicken soup in the clay pot. Hearing the noise, she turned around and came face-to-face with him.

She was softer now, more mature, less fierce.

He froze, his pupils constricting sharply. The cigarette in his hand dropped to the floor. He cursed, "What the hell," knitted his thick brows, and stared at her with a piercing gaze, like someone peeling an orange or some other fruit, the sour, lingering juice spraying from between his fingers.

It was Miao Jing who spoke first. "You're back?"

"Do you want some chicken soup? I'll dish you a bowl."

Chen Yi squeezed out a few words: "What the hell... you... why are you here?"

"Why can't I be here?" Miao Jing looked down, ladling a bowl of soup in a slow, unhurried manner, her voice soft. "Am I not allowed to come back?"

"What the hell are you back for?" He pulled on his wrinkled T-shirt, crouched down to pick up the cigarette butt, stuffed it back into his mouth, and took a deep drag. His brows knit even tighter. Through the hazy smoke, he scanned the home. It was bright and cozy. The doors to both bedrooms were wide open, and the interiors were clearly visible. The balcony was full of hanging clothes, the old sofa in the living room was covered in a light-colored slipcover, and a vase of fresh flowers sat on the coffee table.

He had only been gone for a few weeks, and the place had completely changed.

"What the hell... you..."

Miao Jing was already used to it. "If you dropped that 'what the hell,' would you even know how to talk?"

Chen Yi’s expression changed repeatedly, then instantly went cold. "How did you get in?"

"I hired a locksmith." Miao Jing placed the bowl of soup on the table and turned to serve her own portion. "The spare key was in the drawer. I found it."

"I found a job in the Development Zone. A new car manufacturer opened a branch there. I transferred here and start work next week. The company dorms aren't very good, so I’m staying here."

"You, a top-tier university graduate, coming to work in this godforsaken little city? Was your brain hit by a car, or is it short-circuited?" He seemed irritated, kicked a low stool out of his way, walked two steps, and stood with his hands on his hips. "Are you sick in the head?"

"College graduates are a dime a dozen these days. Jobs are hard to find. The big cities are full of high-degree holders, and even if you earn a bit of money, you spend it all on rent and work until midnight every day. Plenty of people are moving back to their hometowns to live and work now."

"This is your hometown? What does it have to do with you? Your home is in Z Province, over five hundred kilometers away."

"Brother... haven't I lived here for ten years too? I finally found a job, can't I even stay here for a while?"

"Am I your brother?" His face was dark; he sat slumped in a chair. From her angle, she saw his flat, broad back and his thick, pitch-black hair. Chen Yi frowned. "Am I your brother?"

"If you aren't, then you aren't." Miao Jing sat by the table, slowly drinking her soup. "I’ll pay the rent for you first."

"Where the hell have you been? You haven't been back for days, and you smell like trash."

He kept a straight face, his expression fierce and cold. He ignored her completely, stood up, and went into the bathroom to take a cold shower.

They hadn't lived together in six full years, and suddenly having someone else in the house—the irritability and annoyance were real.

After his shower, he went into his room to get a change of clothes. Chen Yi couldn't help but kick the cabinet. "Did you touch my clothes?"

"I washed a few dirty ones and put them away for you." Miao Jing stood at his bedroom door, watching water drip from his hair. "T-shirts on the left, trousers on the right. I didn't touch your socks or underwear."

He gritted his teeth and shoved the stack of clothes into disarray. He heard her add in a calm tone, "There was also a woman’s nightgown and underwear. I put them in the drawer."

Chen Yi’s temple throbbed.

"Your girlfriend's?"

"Yeah," he grunted.

"The one with red hair?"

"Are you sick in the head?" He bit his cheek, slammed the cabinet door shut, and glared at her. "Miao Jing, are you sick in the head?!?"

Miao Jing pursed her lips. Her slippers padded against the floor, making a rhythmic sound, and the door to the adjacent bedroom clicked shut.

She sat at the desk, opened her laptop, checked some emails, browsed the web, and finally left the room. The house was empty, and a bowl of cold chicken soup still sat on the table.