TBW - 2

Chapter 2: Corn Cobs, Sugar Syrup, Yokan, and Chicken Leg Bread

The train had traveled most of its journey, and the seat behind her was still vibrating at a high frequency. But Cheng Simin, now smiling serenely, no longer cared whether the brat behind her was following public etiquette. Humming a tune, she eagerly opened a second-hand shopping app and began searching for lightly used furniture located in Banshan City. 

Xicheng, through which the Yellow River flowed, was once a crucial stop along the northern route of the ancient Silk Road’s eastern section. 

Banshan City, Cheng Simin’s hometown, nestled at the foot of the Helan Mountains’ eastern slopes, earning its name “Banshan” (Half Mountain) early on—a name that had stuck ever since. 

Before Cheng Simin was born, Banshan was still a county. 

Thirty years ago, the entire county had only two main streets. One led straight to Chunhui Market, where daily necessities were purchased, and the other ended at a farmers’ market bustling with activity every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. 

Cheng Simin’s parents once sold their own produce at the farmers’ market, though initially, they didn’t have a fixed stall—just an old tricycle. In spring, the cart was filled with chives and fragrant toon leaves; in summer, it overflowed with plums and apples. 

From as early as she could remember, Cheng Simin often accompanied her parents, Cheng Wei and Chen Xiaofen, to the market. Though she spoke late, her sweet words made up for it. Whenever passersby approached their tricycle, she would call out cheerfully, “Uncles and aunts, come take a look! Our stuff is great!” 

Her parents aimed to earn extra money to support the family, while young Cheng Simin hoped the fruits and vegetables in the cart would sell out quickly. Whenever everything was sold, Cheng Wei’s mood would brighten considerably, and she would receive a few small coins as a reward. 

Back then, money still held significant value. With just twenty cents, Cheng Simin could buy a hollow corn cob, a ball of sugar syrup, or—if she felt extravagant—a piece of yokan paired with chicken leg bread, skipping dinner altogether. 

As the sweet snacks piled up, so did Cheng Simin’s cavities, coinciding with the growing population settling in the county. 

Not long after, her baby teeth turned black and retired prematurely, while the fruits and vegetables brought by local farmers began to fall short of demand. Cheng Wei spotted the opportunity in reselling agricultural products and spent the money he and Chen Xiaofen had originally set aside to build a house in the countryside. Following other vegetable vendors, he rented a stall in the farmers’ market, ending their days of toiling in the fields. 

Later, with the smooth progress of western development in China, Banshan transitioned from a county to a city. 

To save a substantial amount of tuition fees for their daughter’s future education in primary, middle, and high school within the city, Cheng Wei and Zhang Xiaofen voluntarily returned their farmland and moved their household registration from the countryside, becoming part of the wave of rural-to-urban migrants benefiting from policy changes two decades earlier. 

Cheng Simin’s parents clearly moved to Banshan for the visible “sweet rewards.” 

Similarly, Cheng Simin’s decision to return to Banshan, where she grew up, wasn’t driven by nostalgia or affection for her hometown—it was simply the most cost-effective choice at this stage of her life. 

Commercial apartments weren’t residential homes. After four years of drifting in Jicheng, Cheng Simin hadn’t managed to register her household in the city under her name. The fast-paced metropolis didn’t welcome average people, and deep down, she didn’t particularly like Jicheng either. 

After resigning, she didn’t follow the advice of many unemployed predecessors online who clung desperately to keeping their household registration in Jicheng, waiting for another chance to turn their fortunes around. Instead, she immediately transferred her collective household registration from her former workplace. 

Holding her household migration form and looking around, the only place that could accept her was Xicheng’s talent market. 

After all these years of hustling, Cheng Simin’s household registration was sent back to her original place of origin. It sounded embarrassing, but it wasn’t without its advantages. 

Because Xicheng had a smaller population and less development, the benefits offered to unemployed individuals were relatively generous. While applying for various subsidies provided by the local government, Cheng Simin also took the opportunity to apply for subsidized housing in Xicheng using her “Employment and Entrepreneurship Certificate.” 

Cheng Simin had thoroughly researched the application and usage of public rental housing in Xicheng beforehand. 

Compared to the provincial capital where she attended university, most of Banshan’s public rental housing was located in mature communities developed a decade ago. Due to the severe population drain in the city and the stringent requirement that applicants must have graduated within the past five years, very few young people applied for public housing in Banshan. As a result, the available units for lottery selection were generally around 80 square meters in size. 

Though spacious, like all public rental housing in Xicheng, the rooms came unfurnished. 

Her future residence would consist of bare walls, tiles, a toilet, and a sink—nothing else. A water heater, gas stove, and bed were essential, and beyond that, Cheng Simin planned to purchase a few rugs, a sofa, a hammock chair, a bookshelf, and a coffee table to make her new life with Beibei feel somewhat proper. 

This time, even though her home was rented, she resolved not to use cardboard boxes as tables or sit on the floor eating takeout meals. 

After all, she now had plenty of time to spend at home—no need to be too hard on herself. 

There weren’t many second-hand furniture options in Banshan, especially those in good condition. After scrolling through several pages on the app without finding anything satisfactory, Cheng Simin decided to post her own request for second-hand furniture.

For single women posting purchase requests online, there are certain precautions to take. Ever since Cheng Simin was harassed by a delivery rider one late night while picking up her food, she had developed a set of tricks for situations involving interactions with strangers. 

To avoid unwanted attention from men with ill intentions, she ensured that no one formed preconceived notions about her before meeting in person. Thus, her profile on second-hand trading platforms always displayed a male gender and avatar. During text exchanges, she carefully worded her messages to make sellers believe she was a married man. 

She wasn’t afraid of being exposed during transactions either. When the time came, she would simply claim that “he” (herself) was unavailable and send “his wife” to pick up the item—a tactic that never failed. 

However, just as she was meticulously editing her purchase request, the mischievous child behind her finally met his reckoning with a stranger. 

The girl who had been quietly sleeping beside Cheng Simin, wearing a mask and hat, suddenly snapped. Rising to her feet, she turned around and shouted furiously at the boy behind her: “What the hell are you kicking for? You’ve been kicking my seat the whole damn ride! Do you have any manners? Whose kid are you, anyway? Born but not raised?” 

“Nobody’s teaching you discipline, so I’ll do it myself!” 

Her voice cut through the train car like a sharp whistle. For two brief seconds, silence reigned—then chaos erupted like oil hitting hot water. 

The little boy was no match for her and burst into tears. The woman who had been watching videos on her phone moments earlier now cradled her child with one arm and pointed accusingly at the girl. “Who are you calling uncouth? Watch your mouth, or I’ll rip it apart!” 

“Oh really? Rip my mouth apart, huh?” The girl stood up, whipped out her phone, and aimed its camera at the mother and son, clearly recording them. In a mocking tone, she narrated aloud: “Let me record this and post it online so everyone can see what kind of parents raise such bratty kids. This must be the legendary prince’s mom, right?” 

“You have time to lecture me but none to discipline your own son?” 

“So stomping on my seat for hours is fine, but if I break his leg instead, that’s okay too?” 

“Don’t talk nonsense! How dare you lay a hand on my son? Who do you think you are? Stop filming us!” 

The boy’s mother released her child and lunged toward the girl, attempting to snatch her phone. Unfortunately, her shorter stature made it easy for the girl to dodge her flailing arms. Face flushed red, eyes bulging, the mother screamed at the top of her lungs: “Why are you adults picking fights with children? So young and already so vicious—no compassion! Do you even plan to have kids?” 

The girl didn’t back down, shouting even louder: “Exactly! No marriage, no kids—peace and quiet. Do you think everyone loves having babies like you? Born but neglected—anyone can breed; even pigs give birth! Should I award you a medal for it?” 

“How dare you speak like that! Say it again—I dare you!” 

The argument escalated further. Passengers whispered amongst themselves as the spectacle grew increasingly heated. To prevent the situation from worsening, Cheng Simin quickly stood up, raising her arm above the seats to create a barrier. “Stop fighting! The train will arrive at the station soon. Everyone calm down…” 

“Ahh!” Before she could finish, an unseen hand grabbed her hair from behind. She let out a pained yelp as a clump of hair tore away from her scalp. Clutching her head, she gasped and recoiled into her seat. Before she could figure out who ambushed her, the boy’s father arrived from the back of the carriage and joined the fray. 

The commotion intensified. Both parents squeezed into the front row of seats—one choking the girl by the neck while the other began tearing at her clothes. Like a cornered cat, the girl bit down hard on the wrist attacking her and clawed at their faces with her manicured nails, leaving streaks across their skin. 

Screams, groans, and a cacophony of insults filled the air. 

Amidst the chaos, only one tall figure rose silently and swiftly exited the carriage. Meanwhile, surrounding passengers instinctively raised their phones to capture the scene. Some even turned on their flashlights, believing brighter lighting would yield clearer footage. 

In the age of social media, sharing instincts ran deep. Everyone knew good lighting was key to viral content. 

Who could blame them? In an era where views equaled money, a single viral video was akin to winning the lottery scratch card. 

Cheng Simin, however, had no habit of buying lottery tickets nor interest in filming. She tried again to intervene: “Stop fighting! Please stop!” But her pleas fell on deaf ears. Instead, someone stomped twice more on her white sneakers. 

Desperate, she squeezed back into the narrow space between the seats, grabbing the father by the collar and pulling him forcefully outward. Though her voice lacked authority, it carried righteous indignation. “No matter what, you can’t gang up on someone weaker! If you keep this up, I’ll call the train police! Can’t we talk this out without resorting to violence?” 

“Hah! So you’re siding with her, huh? Not even the heavens above can save you two now. Just wait till I deal with both of you.” 

The man’s eyes were bloodshot, his forehead scratched and swollen. Glaring at his stretched-out polo shirt, he assumed Cheng Simin was taking sides against him. With a roar, he swung his arm toward her face. 

A rush of wind grazed her forehead. Instinctively, Cheng Simin ducked and leaned backward, attempting to evade the blow with what resembled an awkward backflip. 

Alas, she was no martial arts prodigy from a novel. While her upper body tilted backward, her legs remained firmly planted.