Lu Fen woke up earlier than usual today.
He didn't know why. He woke up just as dawn was breaking. He tossed and turned, unable to fall back asleep, so he finally sat up and got dressed.
When he went out, the sky wasn't fully light yet. He stood at his door and glanced toward the entrance of the alley.
No one.
He stood there for a few seconds, then turned back. After two steps, he stopped again.
He didn't know what he had been waiting for just now.
Then he thought about the steamed buns, the soy milk, the ribs braised with green beans from the past few days. Every morning, there was a plastic bag at his door. She never knocked. Just left it and left.
Today, there was nothing.
He stood there for a moment, then turned and walked toward the crematorium.
---
He was distracted all morning.
He almost burned himself while adding coal. Fatty Zhou cursed at him, saying he'd "lost his soul." Lu Fen didn't respond. He kept working.
At lunch, he squatted behind the back door, gnawing on a steamed bun. As he gnawed, he pulled out his phone and glanced at it.
No messages.
He tucked his phone back into his pocket and kept gnawing.
The bun was dry. Hard to swallow. He thought about the ribs she had made — tender, flavorful, the meat sliding right off the bone. The more he thought about it, the harder it was to swallow.
He put away the remaining half of the bun, stood up, and started walking back.
After two steps, he stopped again.
He didn't know what was wrong with him.
---
In the afternoon, Old Liu was reading the newspaper. Lu Fen sat in the duty room.
Old Liu suddenly said, "That pig slaughterer didn't come today."
Lu Fen froze for a second and looked up at him.
Old Liu's eyes were still on the newspaper, his face expressionless. "Didn't come in the morning. Didn't come at noon."
Lu Fen said nothing.
Old Liu turned a page of the newspaper. "She used to come every day."
Lu Fen still said nothing.
Old Liu didn't say anything more.
Lu Fen sat there, staring out the window. His mind was a mess. One moment it was the way she rode her motorcycle, the next it was her hand handing him the knife, then it was her voice saying "I made it."
He thought about that knife, still under his pillow.
Then he thought about the way she had squatted at his door yesterday.
He didn't know what was wrong with him. He just felt… empty.
---
When he got off work, it was almost dark.
He walked out of the crematorium, stood at the entrance, and looked around.
No one.
He stood there for a few seconds, then started walking back.
When he reached the entrance of his alley, he looked toward his door from a distance.
No one.
He walked over, stood at his door, and looked down at the ground.
No plastic bag.
He stood there for a few seconds, opened the door, and went inside.
The room was dark. He didn't turn on the light. He sat on the edge of the bed. After sitting for a while, he reached under his pillow and felt around. The knife was still there. Hard. Cold.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled to his contacts.
There was a number. No name saved. She had forced it on him that one time, said, "In case you ever need me."
He had never called it.
Now he looked at that number for a very long time.
His finger hovered over the screen. He didn't press it.
Finally, he tucked his phone back into his pocket, lay down, and stared at the ceiling.
His stomach growled. He remembered the half bun left over from lunch, pulled it out, and took a bite.
Dry. Hard. A struggle to chew.
He chewed, and her face was in his mind.
The first time she rode her motorcycle into the alley, took off her helmet, and squinted at him: "You're always hanging around here. Casing the place?"
That time at the barbecue stall, when she handed him the knife and said, "Take it. For self-defense."
The way she squatted at his door, carrying the food containers, saying, "Ribs braised with green beans. I made it."
He thought, why didn't she come today?
Something happened? Or did she just not want to come anymore?
As he thought about it, he finished the bun. He wadded up the plastic bag and tried to toss it into the trash can, but he missed. It fell on the floor.
He didn't pick it up. He just lay there.
---
In the middle of the night, he woke up.
Not naturally — he woke up from a dream. In the dream, someone was riding a motorcycle. He kept chasing but couldn't catch up. He chased and chased, and then the person turned around. It was her face. He tried to call out, but no sound came. Then he woke up.
He sat up and caught his breath.
The room was dark. Moonlight came through the window. He pulled out his phone and glanced at it — 3:20 AM.
He lay back down. Couldn't fall asleep.
He stared at the ceiling. Her face from that moment when she turned around was in his mind.
He thought, what really happened to her today?
---
The next morning, he woke up again.
Not to knocking. He woke up on his own.
He sat up, paused for a few seconds, then walked over and opened the door.
No one was there.
On the ground sat a plastic bag.
He froze for a second, then bent down and picked it up — steamed buns, soy milk.
He glanced toward the stairwell. No one.
He stood there for a few seconds, closed the door, and went back inside.
The buns were still warm. He took a bite — meat filling, juice running out.
As he chewed, the corner of his mouth lifted again.
This time he noticed, and he didn't press it back down.
He just let it stay lifted and finished both buns.
---
When he finished, he stood up and walked to the door. Then he stopped.
He remembered something — he didn't even know her name.
He knew she was a pig slaughterer, rode a motorcycle, lived over by the slaughterhouse. Last name? First name? No idea.
He stood there, thinking for a long time.
Then he pulled out his phone and scrolled to that number.
This time, he didn't hesitate. He pressed call.
Ring—ring—ring—
She answered.
Neither spoke for a moment.
Then he said, "It's me."
She still didn't speak.
He said, "Lu Fen."
There was a few seconds of silence on the other end. Then she said, "I know."
It was her.
He said, "Did you… this morning, the buns — did you leave them?"
Another few seconds of silence on the other end. Then she said, "No."
He froze.
She said, "I had something to do yesterday. I didn't go. And I didn't go this morning either."
He was stunned.
Not her? Then who left the buns?
She said, "There were buns at your door?"
He said, "Yeah."
She didn't speak.
He didn't speak either.
After a few seconds, she said, "Alright, I'm busy."
Then she hung up.
Lu Fen looked at his phone. The screen said Call Ended.
He stood at the door, stunned for a long time.
Not her? Then who left the buns?
He looked down at the plastic bag in his hand, now empty, then looked at his door.
Suddenly, he remembered what Old Liu had said that morning — "That pig slaughterer didn't come today. She used to come every day."
Used to come every day.
The buns, the soy milk, the ribs at his door these past few days — she had left them all.
But this morning's…
He couldn't figure it out.
---
On the way to the crematorium, he kept thinking about it.
When he arrived at the entrance, Old Liu was smoking. He saw Lu Fen, and his gaze paused on Lu Fen's face for a moment.
Lu Fen walked over. Old Liu handed him a cigarette. He took it.
They squatted and smoked.
When they finished, Old Liu stood up and walked inside. After two steps, he turned back and said, "What's wrong with the corner of your mouth?"
Lu Fen froze for a second and touched the corner of his mouth.
Nothing was wrong with it.
Old Liu had already gone inside.
He squatted there and touched the corner of his mouth again. Suddenly, he remembered that when he was eating the buns that morning, the corner of his mouth had been lifted. Lifted for a long time.
He froze for a second.
Then he stood up and walked inside.
After two steps, he stopped again.
He didn't know why he had frozen.
But he knew — the corner of his mouth was lifting again.
---