Chapter 8 The Simple Routine
Hanyang's life was simple. He woke at five, cleaned up after the paralyzed dog, then boiled plain noodles.
Zhaocai's lower half lay limp on the ground. The marks on his hind legs didn't look like illness. They looked like they had been inflicted.
I asked, "Zhaocai isn't sick, is he?"
I thought Hanyang wouldn't answer, but after a moment he said, "No. Someone beat him."
I fell silent and walked over to pat Zhaocai's head.
Before leaving, Hanyang still tried to drive me out. "You're leaving today. There's no place for you here."
"You slept fine last night, didn't you?"
Hanyang glared at me, grabbed his bag, and walked out.
I followed him and watched him enter a breakfast shop.
At ten-thirty he ate leftover buns from the shop, then went to a restaurant.
In the evening he went to a barbecue stall...
While Hanyang was still at work, I returned to the shack first.
Zhaocai saw me and gave a couple of whines, then lay back down. No one had cleaned him all day. His paralyzed legs were smeared with waste again, giving off a foul smell.
I carried in a bucket of water, struggled to light the fire the way Hanyang did, boiled water, cleaned the dog, and moved him closer to the fire to dry.
After that I swept the floor with a battered broom.
When Hanyang returned, his first glance went to the now-clean Zhaocai, then to me.
I was cooking instant noodles I had bought outside. "Almost ready."
He looked incredulous. "You can do this?"
Instead of answering, I teased him. "Do I look like a wife waiting for her husband?"
Hanyang stepped back in disgust.
"Food first, shower first, or... kiss me first?"
Hanyang looked ready to throw up.
I poured the noodles out, rinsed some in cold water for the dog, and split the rest between Hanyang and me.
Hanyang noticed the empty packaging I had thrown in the trash.
"Don't buy instant noodles again."
I paused mid-bite. "Why?"
"One pack of instant noodles costs two yuan. One pack of plain noodles costs three yuan and lasts two days... Your family went bankrupt. Save what you can."
Even while saying it, he picked up his chopsticks and muttered, "Thanks."
Cheng Yizhong's progress was fast. Two days later he sent over a thick stack of information.
"This Hanyang has it pretty rough. No one at home cares."
"His family owes a lot from gambling. His father tried to sell him several times."
"Hanyang ran away when he was little. Even his grandparents didn't want him."
"Later his father couldn't pay, so he tied Hanyang up in their old house and left him for the debt collectors, then ran off himself."
Cheng Yizhong sighed repeatedly. "Poor kid."
"I got in touch with one of the creditors, Zhuo Qiang. He owes the most. He's out of town right now. When he comes back, do you want to meet him?"
I put out my cigarette and looked at the darkening sky. "Thanks for this."
Hanyang returned while I was on the phone, carrying a bag of vegetable scraps.
I called out, "Hey, the breadwinner is back. Come in, dinner's ready."
After several days together, Hanyang seemed used to my presence. His face stayed cold, but he no longer tried to kick me out.
"Who were you talking to?"
"A friend."
I reached for the plastic bag in his hand. He held on tight. I couldn't pull it free.
"Then why are you staying here instead of going to your friend's place? You probably have plenty of friends."
"I'm not going. I fake it with them. With you it's real."
Hanyang rubbed the tips of his ears and loosened his grip on the bag.
"Who's playing with who..."