Chapter 111 Shopping Trip as a Transition
I've been waiting for you.
But where are you?
By the way, what are you doing?
**
On this rare sunny day, you decided to wash all the clothes, without even drying them, and just leave them to dry under the window, next to the radiator.
Although I can't take it with me, it's just sitting idle anyway.
After thoroughly cleaning and tidying everything up, you'll feel completely refreshed.
As for the cultural and tourism matters... I tentatively asked my aunt if I could take a break after working on the cultural and tourism account for so long, and let the interns I trained become full-time and take on more work. My aunt agreed without saying anything and told me to take a good rest.
Yay! Everything that happened in the past few days is like a stain, all washed away by the water!
Lying idly on the bed, scrolling through short videos, several messages popped up on my phone.
Tamara: "Want to go for a walk? The weather isn't too bad yet. I'll treat you to dinner."
Several special effects for throwing poop.
You instinctively frown, and unconsciously look up at the window. The gray sky is like a damp, cold old blanket, making it hard to breathe.
Not too bad?
This guy actually dared to contact you.
You stared at her profile picture for a long time.
Since the party incident, you haven't completely broken ties with her; in fact, you've maintained some intermittent contact with her, adhering to a "better safe than sorry" philosophy.
But the two of them definitely can't be considered friends. Someone as shrewd as her wouldn't go out of her way to be friendly.
Why are you contacting me so suddenly this time? What mischief are you up to now?
You: "Shouldn't you be packing up and getting ready to leave?"
The special effect of throwing poop comes in groups of ten and then throws it back.
Tamara: "I have been preparing, so I've been having a lot of fun these past few days. But I should say goodbye to you properly."
A heart-shaped special effect exploded on the screen.
You: "...Just tell me straight, what are you planning to do this time?"
Tamara: "It's okay, really it's okay. Just come shopping with me, have a meal, and I'll pay for it, okay? You're so strong, you're not afraid of me, are you?"
You stare at this line of text, unsure whether to be angry at her self-righteousness or at yourself for wavering.
She's certainly not someone you can trust, but there's really nothing you absolutely have to do.
You only have a week left before you have to leave this instance. If you think about it carefully, the only person you can really call a friend or acquaintance in this instance is Tamara.
You tossed your phone aside and sighed, "...I'm just killing time anyway."
After you changed your clothes, you replied with a simple two-word reply: "Where are you?"
She quickly sent her location, and when you arrived, she was already standing there, wearing a long black coat, bright silver earrings, and her hat brim pulled low.
It's true that no matter when you see her, she's always dressed up like this.
She was standing in front of the bookstore fiddling with her phone when she saw you, and her eyes lit up.
You approach her without greeting her, simply pulling your scarf down slightly to emphasize your reluctance.
"You're here earlier than I expected." She seemed to observe you intently for a couple of seconds before saying softly, "You seem... a little more relaxed than before?"
"It's alright. It would be even more relaxing if we didn't have to have a party today," you replied coldly.
"It's petty to keep bringing up the past." She smiled, her eyes devoid of any attempt to joke, and simply stuffed her phone into her pocket. "So, I'll treat you to a day of fun as an apology, okay?"
You didn't say anything, but lowered your head and adjusted your gloves, which was taken as tacit agreement.
"Don't look so serious," she joked. "I'm really good at having fun. I guarantee you'll have a great day with me."
You retorted without hesitation, and she accepted it with a laugh. However, she certainly knew how to pick a place; the market she brought you to was one of the oldest in the entire city.
Under the towering domed canopy were large tin stalls, with rows of fruits and vegetables, cooked food, honey, pickles, and trinkets neatly arranged. The air was filled with the sour smell of fermented milk and the salty aroma of smoked meat, and several red flags with onion and vodka patterns hung overhead.
Your nose is numb from the cold, but the aroma of grilled meat skewers still makes your mouth water.
"Did you think the people of Los only drink alcohol and eat potatoes?" Tamara smiled at you and squeezed into a small stall with a sign that read "Home-style Dishes" (translated). "You have to try this, beet salad. You'll regret it if you don't."
Ah…you looked at that plate of dark purple slurry, hesitant to speak.
"Give it a try, why would I lie to you about something so trivial?" Tamara seemed a little helpless.
"Mmm-hmm," you mumbled dismissively, picking up your fork and poking at it, before taking a small bite.
Sweet with a hint of sourness, the finely shredded carrots and dill aroma explode on the tongue—surprisingly delicious. I don't know if it's because the dorm supervisor always makes beetroot soup or because this salad is marinated so perfectly, but the earthy smell of the beets is completely masked, leaving only a refreshing sweetness.
"Isn't it delicious? You'll regret telling me." Tamara, with a self-satisfied expression, casually added another spoonful to your plate. "In ancient times, farmers relied on it to survive the winter."
Just as you're about to crack a joke about the topic, you hear an old lady next to you start babbling in Rosean, pointing menacingly at the spoons you just used to serve the salad.
“She said we used the wrong spoons for beets and potatoes.” Tamara turned to translate, chattering away and making the old lady very happy.
"What are you talking about?" you ask.
“She said we were too thin and needed to eat more beef,” Tamara said softly, lifting the plate to accept the dried smoked meat the old lady was offering.
"It gets stuck in my teeth." You chewed for a long time with your neck stiff, but still gave the old lady a thumbs up to show that it was delicious.
Tamara watched you and chuckled.
While she was opening her mouth, you dropped another piece of jerky into it.
Now she has no choice but to stubbornly endure it, just like you.
"You win." Tamara took a big gulp of beer before it went down.
The old lady, watching all this, suddenly smiled, revealing a few gold teeth. Then, she pulled a flyer out of her pocket and shoved it into your hand.
"Homemade dumplings," you read the translation on your phone, then decided to wait until you left before throwing the flyer away.
"You're really cautious," Tamara said, watching your furtive movements with a half-smile.
“No problem.” You waved your hand. “But did you call me out just to eat salad? You’re not sincere at all.” You drew out your voice in a strange tone.
"Hey, don't rush, let's keep shopping."
**
What kind of life do you lead?
I can guess without you saying it, it must be the kind that is very colorful.
By the way, I really like you.
I want to know more about you.
**
The markets in Los Kingdom are not the kind of clean and tidy tourist photo shoots, but a slow, noisy, and even somewhat smoky everyday life.
As Tamara strolled around, she described today as "half a festival"—a definition you didn't quite understand until you stepped into the winding market alley and were surrounded by voices, smells, old horns, and handcarts from all directions. Only then did you realize that this flamboyant person was actually speaking from a real perspective.
“People from other countries might be easily intimidated by the ‘rustic’ feel of this place.” She squeezed into the crowd, and after a while came back to hand you a brownish-red fried pancake. “Take a bite, and you’ll find grated radish, yogurt, and kimchi inside. It’s a genuine ‘national’ snack.”
You took it, took a small bite, and found the outer layer to be crispy, but the inside had a strange fermented taste.
You commented on this important point: "It tastes very healthy."
Tamara tilted her head and looked at you: "People in cold places like to eat sour and fragrant foods to make life less monotonous and boring."
Walk forward, and you'll see a grilled fish stall. The owner is flipping a thick piece of grilled salmon while sprinkling seasoning on it. Tamara suddenly falls silent, staring down at the fish's eyes on the grill.
“By the way, even when a fish dies, its eyes remain open,” Tamara said softly. “It’s like a video stuck on the last frame, staring at the screen, but never updating again.”
A chill ran down your spine: "Fish don't have eyelids, so they must have died with their eyes wide open."
She laughed again: "The scariest thing is not being seen, but not knowing who is watching."
You glanced at her, a slight stirring in your heart, but said nothing.
You were sitting on small stools at the alley entrance with your grilled fish, and an outdoor TV in the distance was broadcasting the weather forecast, but suddenly it stopped with a "click".
Tamara looked up.
You followed her gaze and looked over. It was just a normal lag; it was back to normal by the time you turned your head.
Just then, Tamara reached out and removed the fish bones. "Eat up," she said, handing it to you. "See how attentive I am?"
"Thank you?" you replied casually.
She smiled brightly, as if she had snatched some unexpected candy from your mouth.
**
I want to know more about you.
I want to know more about you.
I want to know more about you.
I want to know more about you.
**
Next up is a stall selling milk skin candy.
You picked one that had been lightly smoked by charcoal, and biting into it felt like biting into a thick piece of rubber.
The food at the market is very authentic, but unfortunately you can only enjoy the freshness and can't get used to all of it.
Fortunately, there's more than just food here. Around the corner, there's a pop-up book fair converted from an old-fashioned arcade. A projection screen hangs at the entrance, and as soon as someone approaches, it displays the keywords of the books that person browses most frequently.
As you approach, the curtain flickers, revealing a line that reads: "Loneliness, Documentary, the Twist of Language."
You frowned, and as Tamara leaned closer, the curtain instantly changed to read: "Script loopholes, power abuse, jokes."
She nodded at your keywords: "I didn't realize you were such an artsy type."
But you looked at her line and asked, "And what about you? Do you play murder mystery games in dungeons too?"
The two looked at each other and smiled.
It was winter, and dusk came quickly, as the market lights began to illuminate the scene.
You're not walking fast, not because you're afraid of missing the stalls, but because no one is saying "we're going home" first.
As darkness fell, the screen in the shop window flickered again. In just a moment, Tamara stopped and glanced at you.
That look in your eyes is familiar, as if you're looking at something else through them.
She's been looking at you like that all day.
"I had a lot of fun today," you said. "But just tell me, what are you planning?"
You really wanted to go shopping with her, but she was just too weird.
Just as she was about to say something, music started playing.
Tamara's expression changed drastically, and you reacted instantly!
**
I miss you so much.
So I came.
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Author's note: Hehe
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