At 3:07 in the morning, Zhang Shumin squatted in the shadows of the back alley of the Champs-Elysées apartment, like a nocturnal animal waiting for prey.
She had chosen this time deliberately—the security guards had just finished their third round of patrol, and there were still fifty-three minutes until the next round. She knew this time by heart, just like the scar on the base of her right hand from the wire scratch.
The cool night breeze, carrying the fragrance of locust flowers, blew across her cheeks, but it could not cover up the stench of spoiled seafood wafting from the garbage room.
Zhang Shumin wrinkled her nose, pulled out a half-empty bottle of toilet water from her pocket, and sprinkled two drops on her collar. This was her little trick; it could both mask the smell of garbage and repel mosquitoes.
"I should get something tonight." She muttered to herself, and her right hand had already touched the wire hidden inside the apron.
She bought this 30-centimeter-long special iron wire from Old Li at the scrap yard for 20 yuan. The top end is bent into a delicate hook shape that can open most simple locks on the market.
The iron door of the garbage room made a soft click, and Zhang Shumin's ears pricked up immediately. She remained in a half-crouching position for ten seconds, making sure she hadn't disturbed anyone before slithering into the garbage room like a water snake.
In the darkness, her fingers touched the first black garbage bag. The touch from her fingertips made her immediately determine that it was kitchen waste - the sticky plastic bag was covered with cold condensation.
She gave up decisively and turned to the pile of neatly bundled cartons in the corner. At the bottom of the third carton, her fingertips suddenly touched a piece of smooth fabric.
"Got it!" Zhang Shumin's pupils dilated slightly in the darkness. She carefully pulled out the piece of fabric and, using the dim light of her phone screen, identified it—a navy blue silk tie with the word "Brioni" embroidered subtly in silver thread at the collar tip.
Her breathing suddenly quickened. Last month, at the entrance of a second-hand luxury goods store, she saw the owner buy a tie of the same brand for 800 yuan.
Zhang Shumin buried her face in her tie and took a deep breath. The base notes of high-end men's perfume mixed with a faint smell of cigar penetrated her nostrils, reminding her of the smell of those well-dressed guests when she was a waitress at the Peace Hotel twenty years ago.
Just as she was about to put the tie into her pocket, she felt a sudden sharp pain at her fingertips.
She jerked her hand away, discovering a half-piece of shattered glass stained the back of her tie clip, gleaming coldly in the light of her phone. A drop of crimson blood oozed from the wound on her index finger, forming a small, dark flower on the silk tie.
"Bad luck!" Zhang Shumin cursed inwardly, but still quickly disinfected the wound with saliva, then took out the small pair of scissors she carried with her from her cloth bag and carefully trimmed off the blood-stained part.
The remaining fabric was enough to make a women's silk scarf, and she was thinking about how to bargain with Master Wang when she went to the tailor shop tomorrow.
Her second find was a Louis Vuitton dust bag. Her heart nearly leaped when she touched the distinctive cotton velvet bag. Inside, however, was a wrinkled purple tie, the synthetic fabric bearing the logo of an insurance company.
Zhang Shumin curled her lips but still stuffed it into the cloth bag - although this kind of company-customized tie is not valuable, it is great in quantity. If she collects twenty of them, she can sell them to vendors at the night market.
When she reached the seventh trash bag, she paused. An elegant leather tie box lay half-buried in the coffee grounds, the gold-stamped "Kiton" on the lid gleaming in the light of her phone.
Zhang Shumin's hands began to tremble uncontrollably. She had only seen this top Italian brand on posters in luxury goods recycling stores.
She held her breath as she opened the box. Inside were three ties neatly arranged: burgundy silk, silver-grey jacquard, and dark blue with a dark pattern. Each tie came with a sterling silver tie clip, one of which was engraved with the words "To my beloved Jason."
Zhang Shumin's fingertips gently stroked the uneven marks, and she suddenly remembered the divorce statement published in the newspaper this morning - the president of a listed company and his wife reached a divorce agreement for a sky-high price.
"It turns out that even the sorrows of rich people are worth money."
She laughed at herself, but suddenly heard the sound of leather shoes tapping on the ground outside the garbage room. The security guard's footsteps arrived twenty minutes earlier than scheduled.
Zhang Shumin quickly closed the tie box, only to find her palms sweating. She looked around, her gaze settling on the cleaning tool cabinet in the corner. The door was ajar, just enough to hide a small figure.
When the security guard's flashlight beam swept into the garbage room, Zhang Shumin had been huddled in the tool cabinet for a full seven minutes. Her left leg began to cramp, and a bottle of pungent disinfectant was pressed against her right shoulder, but she even controlled her breathing to the most gentle rhythm.
Only when the footsteps completely disappeared did she rush out like a frightened weasel, and before leaving, she did not forget to take away the coffee-stained tie box.
It was already 4:20 in the morning when I returned to the residential building.
Zhang Shumin lives on the third floor of an old residential building with no elevator. The lights in the hallway have long been broken, but she can still find her way home with her eyes closed.
The key was inserted into the lock, and when it turned, there was a metallic friction sound of "click". When the door opened, the darkness in the room poured out like a tide.
She walked in quietly without turning on the light.
The living room was silent, save for the ticking of the wall clock's second hand. The door to his son and daughter-in-law's room was closed, a faint ray of light peeking from beneath the crack—they were still awake, probably checking their phones again.
Zhang Shumin didn't say anything and walked straight to her room.
Zhang Shumin's door closed gently behind her with an almost inaudible click. This sound was like a dividing line, completely isolating her from the outside world.
This chapter is not finished yet, please click on the next page to continue reading the exciting content!
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
