His son went to get the luggage and the things he’d brought, saying, “I’ll take it, Dad.”
His daughter-in-law beckoned him inside. “Dad, come on up. Nannan’s been waiting for you—she’s been waiting forever.”
“Alright, alright.”
Zhang Ningfu smiled.
Up the stairs, the door opened. Inside the small apartment, warm and cozy, toys were scattered all over the floor.
The moment Zhang Ningfu stepped in, a little girl clutching a doll came pattering out, shouting, “Grandpa!”
“Hey!”
Zhang Ningfu bent down, his rough hand patting the girl’s head. “Nannan, you’ve gotten so tall already.”
“Come on in, old man.”
Zhang Ningfu’s wife came out of the kitchen wearing an apron.
Behind Zhang Ningfu were his son and daughter-in-law, carrying the luggage and bags.
With the New Year here and the family reunited, Zhang Ningfu felt truly happy.
—
At a bus station in a county town in northern Jiangsu, Mo Wanzhen dragged her suitcase and carried a large backpack out through the exit. Not far away, a boy who looked somewhat like her waved eagerly, then jogged over, calling out, “Sis!”
Mo Wanzhen looked at her younger brother, surprised. “Why are you here?”
He grinned. “I’ve been waiting for you forever.”
As he spoke, he took her suitcase, then reached for the big bag on her shoulder. “Give it to me—come on, let me carry it.”
Then he added, “Mom and Dad told me to come. They said you were getting back today and told me to come early to wait for you.”
“Let’s go. My bike’s at the entrance—I’ll take you home.”
“Mom and Dad were talking about you all last night.”
Mo Wanzhen smiled. As she handed all her luggage over to him, she sized him up and said, “Did you get taller again?”
The two chatted and laughed as they walked out of the station together.
—
In an old apartment building in Jing’an, Accountant Xue sat on the edge of the sofa, holding the phone receiver to his ear, talking to his son on the other end. “I know, I know. You’re busy. You can’t make it back.”
“Don’t worry about me—just focus on your work.”
“What could happen to me, living alone?”
“So you’re not coming back—does that mean I can’t celebrate the New Year?”
—
Meanwhile, Wang Chuang took Bai Ting and Wang Junwei to a residential compound belonging to a government-affiliated unit.
The compound was quiet, with few buildings and no tall ones—the highest was only four stories. It had been staff housing allocated to senior officials back in the day.
The unit Wang Chuang brought them to had also once belonged to a senior official. After retirement, the couple had moved to Hainan to settle down for their later years. They no longer lived in Haicheng and were planning to sell this place.
The apartment had only two bedrooms and one living room—not very large—but the renovation was nice. The furniture was complete, and everything was kept clean and bright.
There was a spacious living room and dining area, and the balcony was large too—neat and convenient for drying clothes.
Bai Ting and Wang Junwei walked around inside, looking carefully. They liked it quite a bit and felt it was good—no matter what, it was far better than the dorm-style housing at the silk factory.
“So?” Wang Chuang asked them. “What do you think?”
“Pretty good. Really good.”
Bai Ting wandered around the living room. She liked the leather sofa—it looked upscale—and she also liked the wooden accent wall behind the TV. It felt solid, a bit old-school, exactly her kind of aesthetic.
“So we’re buying this one?” Wang Chuang asked, checking their opinion.
“We’re buying it already?”
Bai Ting and Wang Junwei were still looking around.
They’d never imagined that right before the New Year, their son would buy them an apartment.
—
In a hotel room, Zhao Mingshi was tangled up with his girlfriend on the bed, his hands roaming everywhere.
He wasn’t wearing anything but a pair of underwear, bare legs rubbing against her.
His girlfriend tried to reason with him. “I really have to go. I can’t just not go home for the New Year, can I?”
Zhao Mingshi didn’t care, clinging to her. “It’s not New Year’s Eve yet—there’s still one more day.”
“Don’t go today. Stay with me a bit longer.”
“Baby, I love you.”
—
In the kitchen of the west unit of the dorm building, the door shut tight, Zhang Xiangping was using a coal stove to pan-fry the egg wrappers for dumplings. Jiang Jianmin sat alone at the nearby table, playing cards by himself.
Zhang Xiangping muttered, “No idea what time Mingshi’s coming tomorrow.”
Jiang Jianmin had a cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Didn’t he say he’d come? He’ll show up eventually.”
Then he asked, “How much did you put in his red envelope?”
Zhang Xiangping replied, “Five hundred.”
Jiang Jianmin immediately glared. “Are you crazy? He’s just a student—does he really need that big a New Year’s envelope?”
Zhang Xiangping looked at him. “Then how much do you say? One hundred? Two hundred? Less than what the Zhao family gives—can you live with that?”
Jiang Jianmin snorted. “I’m his real father. What’s there to be embarrassed about? A son doesn’t despise his mother for being ugly, and a dog doesn’t despise its home for being poor. You think he’d complain I gave too little?”
“If he dares, I’ll break his legs.”
—
At the old Suzhou house, the day before New Year’s Eve, Mother had originally wanted Huo Zongzhuo to take Jiang Luo out to Pingjiang Road and the surrounding area, to stroll around and have some fun—she was afraid staying at home would be boring and Jiang Luo might feel restless.
But when Jiang Luo saw the mahjong set at home, he pulled Auntie Zhao in, and the four of them sat down at one table to play. They played mahjong, cracked sunflower seeds, chatted—and laughed their way through another whole day.
In the middle of a game, Jiang Luo suddenly asked Huo Zongzhuo out of nowhere, “Do governments usually have some kind of support for different districts or towns?”
Huo Zongzhuo looked at the tiles in front of him and asked back, “What kind of support are you talking about?”
Jiang Luo said, “Financial. Money.”
Huo Zongzhuo thought for a moment. “Policy support is possible. For example, if you open a factory there, they might reduce your taxes.”
“But money?”
“What do you mean?”
Jiang Luo glanced at him. “Wire transfers. Straight-up cash.”
Huo Zongzhuo shook his head. “Not very likely.”
“Public funds all have designated uses. If they give you money just for showing up, then when someone else comes, do they have to give them money too?”
Jiang Luo thought about it. “That’s what I figured too.”
Huo Zongzhuo asked, “Why are you asking?”
“Just curious.”
Jiang Luo curled his lips in a smile and joked, “If the Haicheng government would just hand me money, I could sit back and enjoy life forever.”
That evening, back at the small courtyard where he was staying, Jiang Luo ate the fried peanuts Auntie Zhao had made—brought over by Huo Zongzhuo—while quietly turning things over in his mind.
So it really was impossible for the government to just give out money.
Then where had the money Juxiang Town gave him back then really come from?
Did that person—the one helping him behind the scenes—truly exist?
—
On New Year’s Eve, after Auntie Zhao finished preparing the dishes, she left to go home and celebrate with her family.
At noon, Huo Zongzhuo simply cooked a few hot dishes himself, including a local Suzhou specialty—sweet-and-sour mandarin fish shaped like a squirrel.
Cracking sunflower seeds, Jiang Luo wandered into the kitchen and saw Huo Zongzhuo standing at the stove cooking. He said in surprise, “You can actually cook?”
Huo Zongzhuo turned to look at him. “Eat fewer sunflower seeds. You won’t be able to finish your meal later.”
Jiang Luo ignored him, nodded to himself, and said, “Not bad. You can cook for your wife and daughter in the future.”
Huo Zongzhuo shot him a look. “What wife and daughter?”
Jiang Luo replied, “Isn’t that obvious? You’re going to get married eventually.”
Huo Zongzhuo looked back at the pan, flipping the food with steady movements. His tone was flat. “I’m not getting married.”
Jiang Luo blurted out, “What, you can’t?”
Huo Zongzhuo immediately turned his head, lifted the spatula in his hand, and pretended he was about to smack him.
Jiang Luo burst out laughing and quickly turned tail and ran.
Huo Zongzhuo lifted his foot but didn’t kick him—didn’t have the heart to.
Brat.
—
That afternoon, Mother didn’t take her usual nap. After lunch, she sat under the corridor by the door, winding yarn. Jiang Luo sat beside her, holding it taut for her with his hands.
As she wound it, she said, “This was one of Zongzhuo’s sweaters from when he was twenty.”
“I found it recently. I was thinking of knitting him a new one, and since you’re here, I’ll take your measurements and knit one for you too.”
“I’ll take my time with it. Hopefully I’ll finish before next winter, so you can wear it then.”
“Sounds great,” Jiang Luo said with a smile. “I’ll definitely wear it. Every winter from now on.”
Jiang Luo had never really received maternal love; the concept itself was foreign to him.
Before, the only “borrowed” motherly affection he’d known was at Wang Chuang’s house, when Bai Ting would put a chicken drumstick in his bowl.
Now there was also Huo Zongzhuo’s mother, knitting him a sweater.
Warmth filled Jiang Luo’s heart. Borrowed motherly love was pretty nice too—he hadn’t called her “Mom” for nothing.
—
Inside the house, Huo Zongzhuo had no idea where he’d dug up a camera.
He lifted it and took several photos in a row of Jiang Luo and his mother by the door.
Later, when Jiang Luo stopped holding the yarn and sat at the doorway petting the cat, Huo Zongzhuo took more photos—this time of Jiang Luo and the little white cat.
Jiang Luo turned toward the camera, stroking the cat as he said, “This cat’s personality is like this? Anyone can pick it up, anyone can pet it? Aren’t cats usually pretty vicious?”
“Is your cat… kind of dumb for a cat?”
Huo Zongzhuo raised the camera again and took a few more shots, then came over and squatted down. He petted the white cat on Jiang Luo’s lap. The cat closed its eyes, lifted its head, and let him, purring contentedly.
Huo Zongzhuo said, “So letting people pet it makes it dumb?”
As he spoke, he raised a hand and ruffled Jiang Luo’s hair.
Jiang Luo immediately glared. “That’s crossing a line, don’t you think?”
Huo Zongzhuo laughed, lifted the camera, and snapped another photo of him.
—
Later that afternoon, a few guests arrived one after another—relatives and friends from Huo Zongzhuo’s side in Suzhou, coming to deliver New Year gifts. There was everything: chickens, ducks, fish, meat—and even dried fish snacks for the cat.
When they saw Jiang Luo, some were curious. Huo Zongzhuo introduced him as a friend visiting Suzhou. His mother corrected him, smiling. “He’s my younger son.”
Jiang Luo immediately called out, “Mom.”
Everyone laughed.