It was around 6 p.m. when Shen Anran and her mother finished and closed up the stall. It had rained earlier and the weather was chilly. As a small bonus, Shen Anran made hot and spicy noodles for the customers who had taken shelter from the rain in their stall. She served everyone who had stayed to avoid the rain, a steaming bowl. They ate happily and thanked her repeatedly, their faces flushed from the heat of the noodles.
Their sincere gratitude filled her with warmth. For a moment, she found herself contemplating whether she should give up her dream of becoming a fashion designer and instead concentrate fully on cooking and serving .This work was exhausting, but the joy she felt seeing satisfied customers was real.
Liu Meilan wore a scarf that Shen Anran had carefully tied around her neck. She rubbed her hands together while waiting for Shen Anran to lock the outer door. Her eyes drifted toward the opposite stall. A new wall signboard had been mounted. It read: "ChenYu's Breakfast Stall."
She assumed the owner must be named Chen Yu. She wondered what kind of meals they sold and was tempted to try the place the next day.
Li Yichen and his aunt had already closed their stall when their food sold out around five. Because of the rain and the long journey home, they hurried to catch the last cart. Unlike Liu Meilan, Wang Shulan was outspoken. She had some fashion sense too, since most of her clothes were sent by her husband working in Haicheng. She applied light makeup when necessary and looked younger than her age.
Like Liu Meilan, Wang Shulan was hardworking in the fields but lacked business sense. They only knew how to sell farm produce. They had trained their children the same way. However, ever since both children suddenly awakened to business ideas and insisted on opening stalls near the school, the elders had been surprised to discover that their children had developed a natural business sense they themselves never had.
On their way back, Shen Anran and her mother met Mr. Xu. He had almost left because there were no passengers. Seeing them carrying goods in a sack bag, he quickly rushed forward to help load their things. He greeted them cheerfully and asked how the stall was running, promising to patronize them when he had the means.
Along the way, Shen Anran casually asked if there was any new gossip in the village. She simply wanted to hear what was happening.
Mr. Xu sighed. "They say you and your mother are selling your bodies in the county," he said carefully.
"Nonsense!" Liu Meilan snapped in anger.
Shen Anran, however, chuckled softly. So that was the reason behind those strange looks.
Her determination to leave that gossip-ridden village grew stronger. Her mother had gone around borrowing money and had managed to gather some cash, keeping part of it aside to repay debts. Shen Anran wondered who could have spread such rumors. Only one name surfaced in her mind—Zheng Shanshan.
"It's fine," Shen Anran said calmly. "If they think we are doing something indecent, they won't dare to come near our stall."
Though still enraged, Liu Meilan comforted herself with that thought. She had even considered dragging those women to the county to show them the stall, but Shen Anran stopped her. After that, they talked about other village matters—who had died, who remarried, who was preparing for marriage.
Soon they reached their bus stop. They waved goodbye to Mr. Xu and carried their goods down. Unbeknownst to them, several village women saw them smiling and immediately assumed they were involved with him. "Shameless," their thoughts never needed proof. It never occurred to them that Mr. Xu was simply doing his job and heading home.
The next day was Saturday, so mother and daughter slept in. They were so exhausted that they did not wake until noon.
Shen Anran groped for her phone. She had an important meeting. She put on gloves and a mask while waiting for her clothes to be delivered from ironing. As she waited, her phone buzzed with a notification: an emergency announcement requiring all occupants to come downstairs.
She frowned but took the lift.
She was relieved to find it empty—until a stranger without a mask rushed in from the opposite apartment. He apologized repeatedly for bumping into her and then suddenly sneezed on her elbow.
Shen Anran stiffened. There was no water, no sanitizer, and the lift was already moving. She could only endure it.
The man kept sneezing. Her heart grew increasingly uneasy. Then he collapsed.
For a split second, she hesitated. She knew she should keep her distance. She knew something was wrong. Yet she still rushed forward.
She cursed herself inwardly for being foolish, for acting on instinct instead of caution. What if he was infected? What if she exposed herself? But seeing someone collapse triggered her humanity. She could not just stand and watch.
She supported him and pressed the emergency button, her hands trembling.
By the time the lift reached the ground floor, medical staff in full protective suits were already waiting. Only then did it dawn on her—he might be a COVID patient.
Panic flooded her.
She hurried to wash her hands repeatedly and poured excessive sanitizer over her skin until it stung.
Later, it turned out the "emergency" announcement had not even been about a virus case.
Three weeks later, she heard that the man had died of COVID.
"Anran'er, Anran," Liu Meilan called in panic, shaking Shen Anran's body.
She had woken up to check on her daughter and found her sweating, her hands clenched tightly in the blanket. Worry rose instantly in her chest.
"Anran, Shen Anran," she called again, tapping and shaking her gently.
In Shen Anran's dream, only one relative had come to see her. They stood on the other side of a transparent barrier, separated from her hospital bed. He told her she had no hope of surviving and that she should sign the documents to hand over the company.
She had no husband. No child.
Her cough worsened, each breath becoming more difficult. Her body felt weaker by the second.
As she lay there, she clenched her fists in anger. In her mind, she realized everything had been preplanned—the emergency, the stranger in the lift, and her death. It had all been arranged by the relatives she once trusted.
Her fingers tightened even in her sleep.
And Liu Meilan kept calling her name.