Chapter 95 Unpredictable Changes
On the 28th day of the twelfth lunar month, Wang Juan was born.
The iron gate of the labor camp slammed shut behind her. She stood there in the cold wind, holding a tattered cloth bag, stunned for a long while.
Half a month is neither a long nor a short time, but it's enough to wear down even the last bit of dignity a person has left.
The streets are filled with the festive atmosphere of the Lunar New Year.
Red lanterns were hung up at the roadside stalls.
The character "福" (fortune) was pasted upside down on the shop window.
People carried large and small bags of New Year's goods, their faces beaming with joy.
She was the only one standing in the crowd, wearing a faded old cotton-padded jacket, her hair dry and tangled, looking like an incongruous patch.
Wang Juan put her hands in her sleeves, lowered her head, and walked quickly forward.
People come and go, all heading home.
And ever since she went into business, when rumors reached the ears of the King's parents,
They were heartbroken and couldn't understand how their strong-willed daughter could have fallen so low.
She was too ashamed to go home; she knew she would only be scolded if she did.
That rented room in the west of the city was her only place to go.
The room was as cold as an icebox.
Wang Juan curled up on the bed, wrapped herself tightly in the thin, translucent quilt, her stomach growling with hunger.
By evening, I simply couldn't hold on any longer.
Wang Juan got up, took out her last five yuan from under the bed, locked the door and went out.
The steamed bun shop at the street corner was still open, so Wang Juan bought two steamed buns and started eating them while standing by the roadside.
The cold steamed bun made her choke, and she forced herself to swallow it down, almost bursting into tears.
"Hey, isn't this Juanzi?"
A voice came from behind.
Wang Juan turned around and saw Xiao Hong, whom she had met at the dance hall before.
Wang Juan remembered her; she later also entered the same line of work, but she heard that Wang Juan was doing better than Wang Juan.
"Sister Hong." Wang Juan swallowed the steamed bun in her mouth and forced a smile.
Xiao Hong looked her up and down, her gaze lingering on her old cotton-padded coat: "Just came out?"
Wang Juan nodded.
"Tsk, look at you, so pitiful." Xiao Hong took out a cigarette from her purse, lit it, and took a puff. "Come on, let me treat you to something hot."
Wang Juan hesitated for a moment, but still followed.
Xiao Hong led her into a narrow alley, and after several twists and turns, they entered a low, flat-roofed house.
The room was filled with smoke, and several men and women were lounging on a tattered sofa, puffing away around a small glass bottle.
"Here, try this." Xiao Hong pulled out a small paper packet from the corner and spread it on the table. Inside was some white powder. "It's good stuff. Have a couple of bites and all your worries will disappear."
Wang Juan stared at the powder.
She knew what it was; she had seen it in a dance hall before. Someone who had it done would go crazy, crying and laughing at the same time.
She took a step back.
"What are you afraid of?" Xiao Hong laughed. "It's always like this the first time."
Wang Juan stared at the wisp of white smoke, her mind a jumbled mess.
She closed her eyes, bent down, and leaned closer.
The first choking made her cough, but then a strange warm current rushed from her throat to the top of her head.
The humiliation that had been weighing on my heart seemed to have vanished all at once.
She felt light as a feather, as if she were about to fly.
"How is it?" Xiao Hong's voice seemed to come from a very far place.
Wang Juan opened her eyes, her gaze unfocused, but a smile spread across her face: "...Okay."
That night, Wang Juan forgot how she got back to her rented room.
All I remember is that blissful feeling, and Xiao Hong saying "Come often in the future," and I gave her my last four yuan.
When I woke up the next day, it was already afternoon.
Wang Juan lay in bed, staring at the moldy spots on the ceiling, when she suddenly felt unwell.
It was an itch that seemed to seep into your very bones, like countless tiny insects crawling and biting you.
She sat up, scratching her arm, but the itch seemed to emanate from within, and scratching until the skin bled didn't help.
A cold sweat broke out all over my head.
Wang Juan rushed out of the house and ran to the alley from yesterday. Xiao Hong wasn't there; only a blond young man was leaning against the doorway smoking.
"Looking for Sister Hong? She's not here today." Yellow Hair glanced at her. "Want some goods?"
Wang Juan nodded vigorously.
"Do you have money?"
Wang Juan searched all her pockets, only to find a few coins. The blond-haired man scoffed, "What can you buy with that little bit of money?"
"I...I can..." Wang Juan stammered incoherently, "I can...anything..."
The blond-haired man sized her up, his eyes darting around like he was weighing a piece of meat.
After a moment, he smiled and said, "Alright. Come in."
From then on, Wang Juan embarked on an even faster downward spiral.
When those men get carried away, they're capable of anything.
Wang Juan was numb; she only cared about the brief relief that came after those few bites.
As for the festering, pus-filled sores on her body, she neither saw them nor wanted to see them.
The mirror in the rented room was covered in dust, and she didn't dare to look at herself in it.
Occasionally, when she washes her face under the tap in a public restroom, she glimpses her festering face in the mirror and is always startled.
Is this really the same Wang Juan who sold tickets on buses and was obsessed with marrying into wealth?
Wang Juan huddled in her rented room, listening to the sporadic sounds of firecrackers outside.
It was cold inside, and she was wrapped in a blanket, shivering all over.
The craving was about to kick in again, but she didn't even have the strength to go out and find the goods.
Someone's TV was on outside the window, and the sound drifted in intermittently: "Come home often... come home often..."
Wang Juan buried her face in the blanket, but didn't cry. Her tears had long since dried up.
Under the same night sky, however, the scene at Wen Xiaoxiao's home was quite different.
The New Year's Eve dinner table was laden with food.
Zhao Fei made a point of returning from the factory early to help make dumplings.
Zhou Lanying prepared the filling, Wen Xiaoxiao rolled the dough, Ma Chunying watched TV with the children in the living room, and Zhao Yidi occasionally came over to lend a hand.
A rare gem, a treasure that's all over the world, grabbing at anyone who can't resist. (This is a fragment of a longer text, possibly a news article or social media post.)
"This year's filling is really delicious." Wen Xiaoxiao held the dumpling wrapper in her palm, scooped a spoonful of filling onto it, and with a nimble pinch of her fingers, a dumpling shaped like a gold ingot was formed.
"I added some dried shrimp to enhance the flavor," Zhou Lanying said with a smile. "Xiao Fei, how many days off does your factory take during the Chinese New Year?"
"We'll put it on the fifth day of the new year." Zhao Fei's dumpling-making skills were clumsy but earnest. "The equipment needs to be tested on the sixth day, so we need to keep a close eye on it."
"You should take a break." Wen Xiaoxiao glanced at him. "You look so tired lately, your eye sockets are sunken."
"It's alright, it'll be better in the spring." Zhao Fei placed a crookedly wrapped dumpling on the bamboo mat and chuckled self-deprecatingly, "My skills are not as good as yours."
Yizhen and Yibao ran into the kitchen: "Mommy, when are we going to eat? We're hungry!"
"Almost there, almost there, go wash your hands first," Wen Xiaoxiao urged them out.
At 8:00 PM sharp, the Spring Festival Gala began.
The family sat around the television, the table laden with dishes.
Zhao Fei opened a bottle of baijiu (Chinese liquor), poured a small glass for himself and Wen Xiaoxiao, poured a glass of sweet wine for Zhou Lanying, and the children drank soda.
"Come on, let's have a toast." Zhao Fei raised his glass. "Wishing Mom good health, wishing the children academic progress, and wishing our family gets better year after year."
The glasses clinked together, the crisp sound mingling with the cheerful laughter from the television.
Halfway through the meal, Wen Xiaoxiao took out red envelopes and handed them out one by one.
Yizhen and Yibao were overjoyed, clutching the thick red envelope, their smiles so wide their eyes disappeared.
Zhao Yidi accepted the red envelope and whispered, "Thank you, Mom." Wen Xiaoxiao ruffled her hair and said, "Our Yidi has grown another year older."
Because Wen Xiaogai wouldn't let Ma Chunying leave, Ma Chunying spent the Spring Festival here this year.
She also received a red envelope, which she declined for a while before finally accepting it, her eyes a little red: "Thank you, Boss Wen, thank you, Boss Zhao."
"You've had a tough year," Wen Xiaoxiao said sincerely.
On the sixth day of the first lunar month, before the festive atmosphere had even faded, Xiao Junkai arrived.
He was riding his bicycle with a net bag hanging from the handlebars, filled with apples and oranges.
When she entered, her face was flushed from exercising.
"Happy New Year, Uncles and Aunts! Happy New Year, Grandma!" He greeted everyone in a clear voice as he went around offering his New Year's greetings.
Wen Xiaoxiao smiled and handed him a handful of candy: "Jun Kai is here? Yi Di is upstairs."
“I came to ask her to help me with my winter break homework,” Xiao Junkai said seriously. “There are a few questions I don’t know how to answer.”
Zhao Fei looked up from behind the newspaper, glanced at him, then looked down again, but a slight smile played on his lips.
Xiao Junkai ran upstairs.
Zhao Yidi's room door was open, and she was sitting at her desk reading when she heard footsteps and looked up.
"Why are you here?" she asked, somewhat surprised.
"Come do your homework." Xiao Junkai put the net bag on the table. "Here, my mom told me to bring it."
Zhao Yidi looked at the fruit, then at him: "Are you really here to do your homework?"
"Otherwise what?" Xiao Junkai pulled out a chair and sat down, took out a math workbook from his bag, turned to a page, pointed to the question, and said, "I really don't know how to do this one."
Zhao Yidi leaned over to look, her hair hanging down as she glanced at the pages of the workbook.
Xiao Junkai stared at that strand of hair for two seconds before looking away.
Downstairs, Wen Xiaoxiao and Zhao Fei exchanged a glance but remained silent.
After a while, Wen Xiaoxiao whispered, "When I called Sister Fu yesterday to wish her a Happy New Year, she said that we should be more tolerant. She said that Director Xiao always tells Junkai to be careful about his image, and Sister Fu said he's old-fashioned."
Zhao Fei folded the newspaper: "It's normal for kids to interact, there's nothing wrong with it. Yidi knows what she's doing."
"I know." Wen Xiaoxiao looked towards the stairwell and could vaguely hear the sound of someone explaining a problem upstairs, as well as Xiao Junkai's occasional laughter.
She thought back to her youth, how time flies! In the blink of an eye, her daughter has reached this age.
Outside the window, the winter sun shines on the ground; although it's still cold, there's already a hint of spring.
A few tiny buds seemed to be swelling on the withered branches, almost invisible unless you looked closely.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, in a rented room, Wang Juan curled up on a cold bed, her body covered in festering sores and oozing pus.
The sunlight streaming in through the window couldn't penetrate her already decaying life.
In this world, some people are dying, and some people are growing.
Spring will eventually come, but some people will not live to see it.
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