Chapter 39: “Bring the Surströmming to Miaolin Dessert Shop”

“Both of us are lonely—one not returning home, the other kicked out by their parents. We’re just huddling together for warmth. Why is it always framed as though I’m the only one suffering? Neither of us is better off.”

Ou Jinghe was resting her eyes on the bed. With the housekeeper gone for seven days, the room had descended into chaos. Aside from the time she spent at the dessert shop, she stayed alone at home, ordering takeout when hungry. Gao Yuan and his parents had already gone on vacation to the Maldives—perhaps with another woman too, who knows? Ou sent a message to Gao Yuan: “Go ahead, but make sure my parents don’t see you.” To her own parents, she lied: “New Year’s meals are always with Gao Yuan’s family. When I have time, I’ll come back.”

She hadn’t eaten all day, lying in bed for hours without checking her phone. She carefully reflected on the play she’d watched the previous night—a script created by the drama club during her college years. She played the second female lead, often delivering lines that broke the fourth wall, interacting directly with the audience. She still remembered one line: “When you lie in bed staring at the ceiling, there are countless versions of yourself looking back at you from above—the married you, the one with children, the career-driven you, the youthful version refusing to grow old… Each could’ve been who you might’ve become. But when those countless versions look at you now, wouldn’t they think you’ve fallen apart?”

Just thinking about it made her realize how haggard she truly was—or rather, how rotten. By evening, she got up and ordered takeout, sitting on the empty balcony in the cold living room. The food wasn’t bad—in fact, every dish in the plastic containers tasted better than anything her mother ever made. Her mother’s cooking was always bland, carelessly seasoned, reflecting her apathy toward life. Now, this trait had passed down to her. On New Year’s Eve, she couldn’t even bother to boil a pack of dumplings or tangyuan. Her mother texted asking if she needed to call Gao Yuan’s mom, which Ou flatly refused: “What would she say to you? That you sold your daughter for an elevator apartment?”

After hanging up, she felt a pang of regret—some things were hard to say. If she mentioned missing the old alleyway New Year celebrations, her mother would likely praise Gao Yuan’s resourcefulness again. All she really wanted was someone to reminisce about that tiny house. When her grandmother was alive, three generations lived together in that cramped space. She slept wherever she could fit, like a parcel tossed into any corner of the room. After her grandmother passed, her parents converted part of the house into a piano studio, separating her sleeping area with a curtain. Though cramped, those teenage years were her happiest.

In Ou Jinghe’s eyes, the notion that beautiful men and women led easy lives was a distant fairy tale. Any luck derived from looks came at a steep price. In the narrow alleys, gossip spread fastest about pretty women. Those who left the neighborhood and succeeded elsewhere returned with whispered secrets. The slower ones stayed behind, wearing red dresses while working as masseuses in shops. Rumors swirled around them, lewd comments covering their bodies like filth. Ou’s father was indeed handsome—sharp side profile, delicate features—but her mother was plainer, with soft, rounded brows and lips. Ou inherited traits from both: bright black eyes with drooping corners, a straight nose with a rounded tip, and sharp lips that formed a heart shape when she smiled. Before adulthood, she appeared sweet. Her father, skilled in cooking, ran a snack shop but carried himself like a thug, picking her up from school in slicked-back hair and sunglasses. Her classmates teased her: “Ou Jinghe, is your dad a mob boss?”

At fifteen, she worked odd jobs to save money for a pair of jeans. While trying them on in a fitting room, she overheard her father flirting with a middle-aged woman next door. She was a waitress from their family restaurant, choosing a gaudy pink dress, her coarse, dark fingers betraying her labor. Afterward, Ou transferred to a boarding school, sold her piano after barely a year of lessons, and moved into a rented attic while her parents leased out part of their storefront. For a time, she thought her father’s affair might have stemmed from their proximity under the same roof. Later, seeing classmates living in spacious apartments with top-tier skincare products, she felt a chill of despair. Even as a Shanghainese woman living downtown, her sharply beautiful lips contrasted with the ease of others who didn’t worry about bills, swiping credit cards for luxury goods. Their smiles weren’t the same.

After graduating university, she applied for a full scholarship to Japan. During the summer before departure, she underwent double eyelid surgery and rhinoplasty. If fate demanded blood debts, she’d carve herself first, ensuring she reached what she wanted. In Japan, with her jet-black hair and crimson lips, she became the epitome of Shanghai beauty, drawing male attention in class. But upon returning to Shanghai, the men she met left her dissatisfied. At twenty-eight, Ou found herself stuck. Her boyfriend, a medical sales rep earning twenty thousand yuan a month, couldn’t afford a house, and her own job remained unstable. When he asked when she’d introduce him to her parents, she hesitated. Her parents still lived in the increasingly dilapidated alleyways, urban redevelopment dragging its feet. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Amidst her struggles, she encountered Gao Yuan at a class reunion. He wasn’t tall or particularly striking, but he said one thing: “Marry me, and I’ll handle your family’s relocation compensation.”

Caught between her struggling career, financial woes, and a boyfriend unable to propose, meeting Gao Yuan felt like being pulled back into balance. Especially when he claimed she was his first crush, the sudden sense of having everything handed to her felt intoxicating. She quickly moved out of her boyfriend’s place, rented a proper elevator apartment, and pretended to be single. Everything flowed smoothly afterward—even when her precarious situation surfaced, Gao Yuan didn’t mind. Her parents’ gratitude for his role in securing relocation compensation bordered on reverence. Whenever the old house was mentioned, thanking Gao Yuan was practically the only topic.

Before dating Gao Yuan, she’d meticulously compared her boyfriend to him. It was just one calculation, hardly premeditated. But after marriage, she understood the concept of blood debts. Every incision came back to haunt her. Beyond money, everything else hovered just above hell.

When Xiao Ma Ge messaged her, Ou Jinghe felt lethargic, ready to fall asleep at any moment. Spending New Year’s Eve alone in Shanghai, devoid of festive spirit, was no different from any other night—as long as she avoided turning on the TV or going online. Xiao Ma Ge persisted in calling, irritating her enough to hang up repeatedly. Undeterred, he called twenty times in a row until she finally answered. His voice burst through: “Sis He, where are you?”

“At home.” She was surprised by her own honesty.

“Busy? Eating New Year’s dinner?”

“No.”

“Turns out even rich ladies find New Year boring—come to the dessert shop.”

“You’re crazy. Who opens a dessert shop on New Year’s Eve? Besides, the chefs and waitstaff are all back home. No one’s cooking.”

“Sis He, we’re just drinking. Come on. If there’s no food, I’ll bring holiday goodies—soy-sauce duck, salted chicken, oil-braised shrimp, sticky rice pudding, spring rolls. You just need to unlock the door. Oh, Jian Zhaowen has surströmming. Want to try? Supposedly unlucky not to eat it on New Year’s.”

This bizarre logic. “Xiao Ma, aren’t you spending New Year at home?” Ou stood up, searching her closet for a down jacket—it was freezing today.

“I ate earlier. No point staying up late waiting for midnight with my parents. They refused my holiday gifts, so I brought them back. Brother Jian’s bringing hotpot—you hurry and open the door.”

Hungry, Ou quickened her pace as she approached the intersection, spotting them. Jian carried the pot casually, while Xiao Ma, his nose red from the cold, trembled outside with a bag of food. Once inside, Ou scrutinized Xiao Ma’s face: “Xiao Ma, suddenly realizing you’re quite handsome.”

Xiao Ma smoothed his slicked-back hair: “Looking sharp, huh?”

Inside the dessert shop, Xiao Ma efficiently rearranged tables: “With such high ceilings, the AC will take forever to warm up. Might as well eat at Yu Zhimei’s.”

Jian countered swiftly: “It’s because you didn’t want to stink up your own place that you brought the surströmming here to torment Sis He.”

Xiao Ma coughed loudly: “Huh? What? I didn’t know!”

Unfazed by Xiao Ma’s self-interest, Ou focused on the bag of holiday treats. She craved these classic Shanghai dishes tonight. Picking up oil-braised shrimp with her fingers, the grease was slightly cloying but still sweet and fresh. Cold sweet-and-sour pork ribs carried a faint gaminess reminiscent of her childhood, hidden beneath rice and unwilling to share. Sticky rice pudding required steaming, but she sneakily scooped a piece, earning a slap on the hand from Xiao Ma. Resigned, she watched him set up an induction cooker, skillfully heating each dish while complaining: “These days, men aren’t desperate to marry. I’m handsome, can cook—how am I still single? If I were Jian’s height, maybe I could trick brides even without owning property.”

Xiao Ma was indeed a striking young man, with a quintessential Shanghai look, wire-rimmed glasses adding a touch of early Republican elegance. Ou teased: “Xiao Ma, why does every sentence revolve around marriage? How badly do you want to get married?”

“I’m lonely! Desperate for warmth to thaw my icy heart!” Xiao Ma yelped as hot oil splattered, removing his glasses. Ou laughed: “Wow, Xiao Ma, your eyes are huge!”

“A thousand degrees nearsighted. So what? Big eyes are fine, right?”

“Put your glasses back on—without them, you look too lecherous.” Ou wiped her tears: “Ma Minmin, don’t remove your glasses in front of girls you like before marriage. It’s your shield of respectability.”

“Am I that bad? Brother Jian, do I look lecherous without glasses?”

Jian glanced up: “…Hurry up and put them back on.”

Ou ate heartily, letting Xiao Ma chatter away. When he grew tired of talking, he quickly shifted the topic to her: “Sis He, your husband actually let you out?”

“Why not? Just friends meeting. No kids to care for, no elders nearby—we basically live separate lives.”

“Sis He, are you unhappy in your marriage?”

“Of course not. My husband earns so much money—what more could I ask for?”

“Sis He, it’s okay. Just the three of us here, keeping you company for New Year’s. You can be honest.”

“Both of us are lonely—one not returning home, the other kicked out by their parents. Huddling together for warmth. Why single out me as lonely? None of us is doing great. What about Shi Rui? No news since she went home.”

“Heard she’s practicing driving and piano back home, planning to buy a house post-New Year. Her parents are adamant about her marrying soon—driving for kids, piano for husbands.”

“I feel chills. Is this how parents talk to adult children?”

“Absolutely. Shi Rui complained to me on the phone—I was shocked. She’s turning twenty-six this year. Not sure if she’ll return—good riddance. More space for renovations.”

Jian kept fiddling with the hotpot, overcooking the beef. Xiao Ma tossed out the tough, dry pieces and replaced them: “Brother Jian, step away. Don’t touch the pot. You’ve ruined the beef. Can’t you even boil water properly?”

PS: Tonight’s chapter is about a not-so-lonely New Year’s Eve. I didn’t originally plan for Xiao Ma Ge to become such a beloved character, but seeing his popularity, I decided to give him more screen time. Thanks for reading! Please vote, add this story to your bookshelf, and join the discussion. Seeing your replies makes me feel less alone in this journey. Waiting to chat with you all! ❤️