TBW - 11

11. Osmanthus-Branded Toilet Paper and Seagull Shampoo

The narrow bathroom housed a squat toilet and shower placed side by side. In the corner stood a three-legged stool topped with a large pack of Osmanthus-branded toilet paper and two cans of Seagull shampoo. Time seemed to have stood still here—everything was exactly as it had been when Shi Ying was in elementary school. 

The solar water heater had seen better days. The buildup of scale inside the pipes was so thick that even in summer, the hot water supply was meager. Turning the faucet to its hottest setting barely produced lukewarm water. 

Shi Ying wet his hair and scooped out a dollop of pale blue shampoo, rubbing it in for a long time without producing much foam. 

Finally, he found a bar of sulfur soap on the sink counter, which at least masked the stench on his body. Unfortunately, the smell of sulfur soap was even stronger, and after putting on his clothes, he wrinkled his nose in distaste at the odor emanating from his skin. 

He grabbed the mop to soak up the water from the tiled floor and wiped the condensation off the mirror with a couple of sheets of toilet paper. As he pushed open the bathroom door, his grandfather was just entering the living room through the front door. Seeing him fully dressed, the old man expressed some regret: “Did you finish so quickly? I wanted to help scrub your back.” 

“Was the water not hot enough?” 

“No,” Shi Ying replied. Now an adult, he valued his privacy and couldn’t bear the thought of his grandfather seeing him shirtless. “It was fine. I wasn’t dirty—just rinsed off.” 

“You should’ve at least dried yourself properly! Didn’t you even towel your hair? Be careful not to catch a cold!” 

Water droplets trickled down his jet-black short hair, soaking a patch of his T-shirt near his collarbone. Shi Ying wiped his neck, unsure whether his body was still damp or if he was sweating anew. Rubbing the back of his ear with his wet fingers, he casually asked, “So, did the buyer finally leave? She took her time. Did she take the bunk bed too?” 

Shi Ying didn’t intend to deliberately inquire about Cheng Simin’s current marital life—it would be immoral—but if the old man felt like sharing, out of respect, he could only listen. 

The wrinkles on his grandfather’s face tightened as though he’d accomplished something significant. Before he could respond, a strange commotion erupted from the side bedroom. 

A bowl of porridge had spilled all over the bed. Before Shi Ying could make sense of the shadow leaping up from the bed, his grandmother hurried out of Li Xiangqun’s room, clutching the bowl. 

She appeared to be catching her breath, shaken, but upon noticing Shi Ying watching her, she quickly composed herself. “My old arms and legs—they made me spill the porridge. I’ll go get another bowl.” With that, she closed the door behind her, blocking Shi Ying’s view. 

“Are you heading back tonight? If you’re tired, you can stay here. You and your grandfather can sleep in the big room, and I’ll squeeze onto the sofa.” 

Shi Ying had just finished showering, his body still damp, his hair unwiped, but he knew he couldn’t stay. That spilled porridge must have been his mother’s doing. The last time he had direct contact with Li Xiangqun was in the psychiatric hospital. During those days, aside from repeatedly apologizing to the victims’ families, he visited her daily. But every day, Li Xiangqun lashed out at him during episodes, sometimes requiring sedatives to stop her from harming him—or herself. 

Later, the doctor advised him not to visit anymore, as it agitated her. Her condition improved somewhat after that. So, when Li Xiangqun was discharged a week ago, he didn’t dare show up. Instead, he watched from across the street as his elderly grandparents helped his ghost-like mother out of the hospital gates. 

The thought that his presence might cause her to refuse eating twisted a knife in his heart. Without delay, he turned to leave. 

His grandfather followed him to the door, detaching the car keys from the large keychain and pressing them into his hand. “I won’t need the car for a while—you can use it for work.” 

Before Shi Ying could protest, his grandfather picked up the jar of pickled vegetables outside the door and thrust it into his arms. “Your grandmother says you love her pickles. She made such a big jar—if you’re filial, take it home with you.” 

The old man’s voice grew softer, almost whispering into his ear by the end. “Good heavens, if you don’t take it, I’ll be eating pickles morning, noon, and night. If I say I don’t want them, she gets upset. I can’t stand the smell anymore!” 

---

Downstairs, into the car, and back home. 

As Shi Ying passed the garbage station, he noticed the plastic bag Cheng Simin had left on the ground an hour earlier to feed stray cats. There were no streetlights in this old neighborhood, so he used his flashlight. A quick glance revealed not only boneless chicken meat but also shredded bun filling. 

Cheng Simin’s intentions were good, but there were few stray animals left in Banshan City. Since the pandemic restrictions lifted at the end of last year, residents had frequently complained to the neighborhood committee about stray dogs chasing people and wild cats scratching them. 

The prolonged home quarantine had caused the number of stray animals in Banshan to peak. Coupled with the city’s efforts to improve its image, the dog-catching squad patrolled weekly, capturing any stray animals bold enough to appear in human sight with wire nooses around their necks. 

If the food Cheng Simin left decomposed under the summer sun due to microbial activity, that would be the best outcome. But if a wary animal became emboldened by this feeding and approached humans, it would likely be captured sooner or later. 

Initially, Shi Ying had already loaded his grandmother’s jar of pickles into the car and started the engine. But with a stoic expression, he stepped out of the driver’s seat once more. 

Walking back to the entrance, he bent down, picked up the plastic bag, tied it securely, and tossed it into the trash bin before returning to the car and turning the steering wheel. 

The drive home took only ten minutes, but finding a free parking spot outside the Huanghe Garden complex consumed much of his time. 

The underground parking garage in Huanghe Garden was for sale only, not rent, and the above-ground spots cost five yuan per day. Many drivers, like Shi Ying, were frugal, making the sidewalks in front of shops outside the complex prime real estate for parking. 

Tonight, Shi Ying returned too late. After circling around for a while, he found no decent spots and had to park far from the entrance, next to a scrap collection station. After parking, he carried the jar of pickles on a long trek back to Building 6. 

As the elevator reached the 12th floor, his phone rang. Few people called him at this hour—it was likely a job interview.

Since his mother’s accident, he had been sending out resumes to various companies all over Xicheng.

His grandfather’s prediction was actually wrong. Over the past two months, Shi Ying had been rejected by employers at least ten times.

Back when he went abroad for high school, it was already considered late. Li Xiangqun had thought it through: the pressure of China’s college entrance exam was immense, while the British education system was shorter—three years for a bachelor’s degree and one year for a master’s. By the time Shi Ying returned with his overseas credentials, he would still have the advantage of youth. At the very least, he could work in his father’s company.

After nearly a year in a language program and six years for undergraduate and master’s degrees, Shi Ying planned to return to China for employment after graduation. However, executing the plan of studying abroad and returning to make money turned out to be far more difficult than expected.

A watered-down master’s degree in business carried little weight. The finance industry was saturated with dazzling graduates from prestigious schools. Forget about working in top public or private equity firms on the primary or secondary markets—what kind of buy-side or sell-side roles could he even aspire to with his qualifications? His options were either becoming a bank teller or entering a state-owned enterprise to coast until retirement.

Shi Kaiji could have arranged a job for him, but after seven years of studying abroad, the family had spent over three million yuan, with zero returns in terms of money or social status. Shi Ying couldn’t bring himself to ask his parents for help again. Instead, he gritted his teeth, used his post-graduation work visa to return to the UK, and “ambitiously” informed his family that he intended to pursue a Ph.D., planning to walk the illustrious path of returning as a highly educated academic to enter academia.

He had missed the prime period for applying to Ph.D. programs and didn’t dare tell his family about his gap year.

For international students pursuing a Ph.D. in the UK, full scholarships were out of the question, and even partial scholarships were hard to come by. A three-year Ph.D. program would cost another million yuan at the very least—and that didn’t even account for delays in graduation.

To minimize out-of-pocket expenses, Shi Ying spent that year scrambling to visit numerous universities, humbling himself to network with professors across disciplines. Eventually, he secured an offer in the humanities and social sciences.

But now, after only a year of switching fields, he had dropped out due to his inability to pay tuition fees.

With such a bleak employment profile, it was no wonder that even Shi Ying himself, if he were the boss, might hesitate to hire himself. But desperate times called for desperate measures. He couldn’t afford to be picky. There was no clear path ahead, but he had to try something—anything.

Temporarily placing the jar of pickles by the door, Shi Ying cleared his throat and answered the unfamiliar call. As expected, it was HR scheduling an interview.

Over the past few days, Shi Ying had applied to every company in Xicheng—relevant or not, as long as it was somewhat related to business, he took whatever came his way. His job requirements had dropped significantly. If a company could provide him with social insurance and housing fund contributions and offered a salary of 6,500 yuan per month, he was willing to take the job.

After all, when he graduated with his master’s degree, a car company in a first-tier city had offered him a monthly salary of 18,000 yuan, which he had turned down without a second thought.

The address of the company on the other end of the line didn’t ring any bells. Shi Ying cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear, hurriedly pulling out his keys to unlock the door and head inside.

He opened his laptop, logged into his email, and found the full name of the company in his sent folder: Xicheng Dingfeng Wealth Management Center.

This small private equity firm belonged to Jicheng Dingsheng Capital Group, managing less than 10 billion yuan in assets. They were recruiting for a financial product manager position at their Banshan branch office. No prior work experience was required, and the starting annual salary was 200,000 yuan—a tempting offer indeed.

The initial interview was scheduled to take place in the provincial capital of Xicheng. Before that, HR asked if he could first participate in a video interview, with the interviewer being his potential direct supervisor.

Shi Ying had no reason to refuse, even though the video call was scheduled outside of standard working hours as defined by labor laws.

In apartment 1201, Shi Ying scrambled frantically, rummaging through drawers to find a shirt and tie, preparing for the online interview. Meanwhile, under the starry sky, in apartment 1203, Cheng Simin strolled leisurely, just emerging from a pet lifestyle store outside the neighborhood.

After moving the furniture upstairs, she immediately went to the foster home to pick up her dog.