Chapter 41: Prefabricated Buildings Not for Rent or Sale

As they drew closer, the dim surroundings gradually came into focus. Seeing Cheng Simin’s distracted expression, Shi Ying instinctively eased the pressure on her hand.

Her frightened demeanor affected him, and without realizing it, he softened his tone. “What’s wrong?”

Cheng Simin’s gaze drifted to the right as she whispered an explanation. “This shop belongs to my parents.”

Shi Ying glanced up at the sign that read “Six Plates Hot Pot,” his brow furrowed with confusion. “Really? Old Zhao said this hot pot place has been around for thirty years—it was started by two brothers from Dexian.” Not only did the gender of the owner not match, but hot pot wasn’t even a specialty dish of Banshan City.

“I thought your parents were locals here in Banshan. Didn’t you used to have a vegetable stall?”

Cheng Simin’s eyebrows knitted together, her nose and mouth tilting towards the front of the car. “It’s not a restaurant. It’s Jiabao Bedding & Textiles! Xiaobao is my younger sister—her name is Cheng Jiabao.”

“Shi Ying, let’s not eat here. They usually stay open late; we might run into them later!” Cheng Simin fidgeted nervously, glancing around like a living meme.

Shi Ying sat upright again in the driver’s seat and took a good look at the row of dilapidated houses next to the car. Only then did he vaguely recognize the place Cheng Simin had mentioned.

“Cheng Simin, are you talking about this condemned building? The windows are smashed, and there’s no one inside—it’s clearly not operating. Did you get the wrong address after being away for so long?”

Hesitantly, Cheng Simin pulled herself up from her seat. At first, she peered out through the car window, but eventually, she opened the door and stepped out to take a closer look. As Shi Ying had pointed out, there was no bedding store here anymore. The signboard above the entrance had long been stolen by scrap metal dealers, leaving behind only two strips of decorative lighting tubes.

Moreover, the brick walls of the house were painted with bold red characters reading “Condemned Building” and “Not for Rent or Sale.”

But Cheng Simin couldn’t mistake this address. She walked over to the broken window, turned on her phone’s flashlight, and shone it inside. Though the shelves once filled with goods were now empty, in one corner stood the Butterfly-brand sewing machine her mother, Chen Xiaofen, had used to alter clothes for neighbors.

“Is this it?” Shi Ying’s voice floated over from behind her.

Cheng Simin turned off the flashlight, stuffed her phone into her pocket, and nodded lightly.

Shi Ying leaned against the rusted security bars on the window and peeked inside the ruined structure. “Looks like they’ve moved out. Why did they switch to selling home textiles? Are they no longer selling vegetables?”

“No, they stopped selling vegetables after you transferred schools. When the farmers’ market was renovated, they lost their permanent storefront and started hopping between different vegetable shops.” As Cheng Simin recounted all this, her tone was unnervingly calm. Her detached demeanor gave her eyes a cold, water-blue hue that shimmered faintly in the night.

“They lost all the money they’d earned before and sold our family’s apartment just to open this shop, selling things like bed sets, underwear, and socks.”

“It seems they’ve failed again.” Shi Ying recalled encountering Chen Xiaofen at a hot pot ingredient store and guessed she must have been making ends meet by selling takoyaki at the night market.

Now he understood why. It turned out Cheng Wei’s stubborn insistence on buying that house years ago had come true—the building was now condemned. If only they had listened to her advice back then, perhaps they wouldn’t be in such a predicament now.

Where was Xiaobao now? Counting on his fingers, she should be seven years old, just starting elementary school—not yet old enough to commute. Following her parents’ unstable lifestyle, she probably wasn’t the cherished family treasure she once was.

History always found ways to repeat itself, especially in Cheng Simin’s family.

Though these thoughts crossed her mind, Cheng Simin knew that even if she went back in time a hundred times, Cheng Wei and Chen Xiaofen would never heed her advice. The reason they ultimately cut ties with her was a secret hidden for more than twenty years—a truth tied to blood and flesh that couldn’t simply vanish with a few words.

Cheng Simin still harbored resentment over the matter, so aside from shock, a secretive sense of satisfaction began to grow within her.

“How about we eat somewhere else?” Shi Ying, ever perceptive, remembered how Cheng Simin had casually mentioned once that she no longer contacted her parents and claimed she didn’t care. But now, judging from her tone and choice of words, he sensed that losing touch with her family still deeply affected her emotions. Not wanting her to feel upset during their meal, he suggested finding another place.

“No need—we finally found this spot, and you already drove Beibei around town looking for it. Let’s eat here.” Cheng Simin opened the back door, led Beibei to find a spot nearby, and threw a strained smile over her shoulder. “You grab a table first—I’ll be there after I clean up some poop.”

Despite her attempts to maintain a cheerful facade, Shi Ying couldn’t help but notice how lonely and desolate Cheng Simin and Beibei’s silhouettes looked as they waited outside the hot pot restaurant.

A family of four finished their meal and left, prompting the proprietress to rush out, swiftly clearing the table while apologizing to Shi Yi. “Young man, can you sit outside? All the private rooms upstairs are full, and downstairs is noisy with people drinking and playing dice. You and your girlfriend will find it quieter out here.”

Shi Ying didn’t clarify his relationship with Cheng Simin but instead accepted the menu and nodded politely. His thoughts wandered, and he casually asked the proprietress, “Wasn’t there a bedding store next door? What happened to it?”

The proprietress, the younger brother’s second wife, had been working at the shop since marrying five years ago. She lived in the small house behind the shop with her husband during the day and enjoyed chatting with neighbors, making her well-versed in local gossip.

“Yes, you mean the Cheng family next door? A few years ago, they opened a home textile shop. His wife could even alter clothes. I got my pants hemmed and made shoe insoles there. Her craftsmanship was excellent and cheap—just a few yuan for repairs. You won’t find such affordable tailoring anymore.”

“This year, the government introduced a new policy stating prefabricated buildings aren’t for rent or sale. Their building was deemed hazardous. Poor them—they had to shut down a thriving business. Isn’t that heartbreaking?”

With a heavy sigh, the proprietress scrubbed the greasy table with detergent-soaked cloth and tossed the residue into a trash bin below.

Flipping through the menu, Shi Ying watched Cheng Simin pull disposable gloves and garbage bags from her backpack to pick up Beibei’s waste. Before she returned, he continued chatting casually with the proprietress. “It’s not the end of the world. As long as they still have their lives, maybe receiving compensation could turn out to be a blessing.”

After all, starting over elsewhere wouldn’t compare to his father’s colossal debt to the bank.

Comparing tragedies, his family’s losses were far greater.

Hearing this, the proprietress pursed her lips and lowered her voice. “Blessing? You don’t know the half of it. Because of that compensation, people died! When they bought this house years ago, they didn’t transfer ownership. Once news of demolition spread, the original owner’s children immediately disowned their father, claiming he had dementia. They argued the land belonged to them, rendering the purchase contract invalid.”

“The lawsuit failed earlier this year. Old Cheng suffered a cerebral hemorrhage right in court. He was rushed to the hospital but passed away within two days. His wife, left alone with a young child, stood no chance against relentless harassment. Relatives of the original owner camped outside daily, scaring her witless. She fled with her daughter not long after.”

“That’s why I tell my husband never to listen to his ex-wife about buying commercial property here. Renting is fine, but selling? Never! These villagers may seem kind-hearted, but they’re ruthless.”

“Look at us—they saw our thriving business this year and raised our rent. To this amount!”

She gestured dramatically, then suddenly scrutinized Shi Ying and Cheng Simin, who was approaching the shop entrance. “Wait, how do you know there was a bedding store here? You both seem unfamiliar. Were you residents here before?”

Cheng Simin rarely returned home during university, and when she did, it was always on New Year’s Eve when the hot pot shop closed for the holidays. This was the proprietress’s first encounter with Cheng Wei’s eldest daughter.

“No, no,” Shi Ying replied, careful not to reveal Cheng Simin’s identity.

Aside from a medium-sized farmhouse hot pot, he quickly marked several expensive dishes on the menu. Handing it back, he masked his unease with a gentle smile. “My family runs a small business too. Lately, the market hasn’t been great, so we’re considering cheaper rent options. I visited this area years ago and vaguely remember a bedding shop. Just curious.”

“Oh,” the proprietress nodded, her suspicions fading as she scanned the selected dishes. “Your memory is impressive! Ordering so many hearty dishes—are you two drinking? Most girls enjoy our osmanthus wine—it’s affordable. Shall I bring a bottle for your girlfriend to try?”

“Sure, thanks.”

“Alright! Let me fetch some eight-treasure tea for you. This pot here is stale—I’ll brew a fresh one.”

The proprietress cheerfully whisked away the menu and teapot, forgetting her earlier chatter.

Cheng Simin tethered Beibei to the table, sat down, and placed a large pack of tissues, a small pack of wet wipes, a bottle of hand sanitizer, and a tin of cooling oil on the table. “You didn’t order extra napkins, right? I brought plenty.”

Shi Ying was still processing the news of Cheng Wei’s death, feeling slightly dizzy.

In his memories, Cheng Wei was a somewhat proud but rough man. Every time Shi Ying saw him, Cheng Wei would nod sternly with his hands clasped behind his back, saying, “Here to see Minmin? Study hard. Being a parent isn’t easy!”

This pretense of seriousness lasted barely a minute before Cheng Wei reverted to form—either removing his socks to pick at his toes or using his teeth to open beer bottles. He loved chatting about everything under the sun: selling vegetables, farming, politics, and haggling with customers.

For a while, Shi Ying enjoyed listening to Cheng Simin’s father talk. There was a realness to Cheng Simin’s household that his own lacked. A beer-drinking, talkative father and a warm, hospitable mother serving tea—these felt novel and comforting, unlike his own family.

Even so, his feelings toward Cheng Wei remained neutral. Hearing of his passing evoked mild regret, but this was Cheng Simin’s father. He couldn’t imagine how devastated she would feel upon hearing the news.

She would grieve, no matter how tough she pretended to be. He just knew.

All of Cheng Simin’s tough exterior was a fragile glass shell, concealing something soft and vulnerable beneath.

Knowing this, he withheld the bad news—for now. Telling her required careful timing, certainly not this moment.

He needed to cushion the blow.

“Well, I can see that. If your bag weren’t so small, I’d think you carried chairs and tables with you too.”

“Tsk, someone like you wouldn’t understand the frugality of us common folk. Napkins in restaurants cost at least five yuan a box, and they’re barely filled. With my allergies, I need two boxes. Since I’m not earning money now, every bit saved helps.”

“What were you talking about with the proprietress earlier? You two seemed quite chatty.”