"Bargain price, fifty. I’ll fix it for you now."
Faced with what she saw as daylight robbery, Li Sui was indignant: "Are you even human? That’s twenty more than what my grandpa used to pay the repairman."
"You get what you pay for," Zhou Jinghuai replied, dusting off his hands as he stood up.
"I’m checking the surveillance footage right now! I’m not paying a cent." Li Sui grabbed his arm and dragged him along.
However, the footage revealed that no one had entered the area in the hour before the power outage.
The only "visitor" was a small dog.
Unfortunately, the lighting was too dim to make out the dog’s features clearly. The only discernible detail was a leash around its neck, suggesting it wasn’t a stray.
While it was true that every grievance had its perpetrator, if the wiring had indeed been chewed by a pet dog, the repair costs should rightfully fall on the owner.
But with the footage this murky…
Even the security guard couldn’t help but chime in: "How are you supposed to find anyone with this? Might as well cut your losses. The time you’d spend searching could be better spent earning it back."
Li Sui hesitated, about to concede, when Zhou Jinghuai suddenly asked, "Can I borrow the computer?"
"Huh?"
The guard was puzzled by the request, but since the market supervisor had called earlier instructing him to assist them fully, he quickly nodded. "Of course, go ahead."
Li Sui watched, baffled, as Zhou Jinghuai pulled up a chair and downloaded some obscure software she didn’t recognize.
Soon, the grainy surveillance image on the screen began to sharpen, gradually revealing the dog’s appearance—a brownish-yellow Chinese rural dog.
Next, footage from different cameras was imported, splitting the screen into multiple small windows. As lines of code scrolled below, nine clips from various angles froze simultaneously.
Each window displayed a different timestamp in the corner, but the star of every frame was unmistakably the same little dog.
19:20—It entered the back of the building. 19:28—It emerged.
19:35—It appeared outside an embroidery shop.
19:42—It was spotted on the path leading to the south gate.
19:50—It ran out through the south gate.
It was then that Li Sui remembered where she’d seen the dog before—near another sugar painting stall by the south entrance.
"Damn, bro, you’re good," the guard said, clapping Zhou Jinghuai on the shoulder. "What kind of software is this?"
"Just a little thing I worked on with some friends in college," Zhou Jinghuai brushed off before turning to Li Sui. "So, how do you want to handle this?"
Li Sui thought it over. If the dog had been accompanied by a person, she might have suspected some shady business rivalry.
But judging by the footage, it seemed like pure coincidence.
The sight of the elderly woman at the entrance reminded her of her grandfather, softening her resolve.
"Forget it," Li Sui told herself. "It’s not that much money anyway."
Zhou Jinghuai said nothing more.
When the two returned to the shop, however, they were surprised to find the same elderly woman standing there, holding the "culprit" dog by its leash and looking around anxiously.
Spotting Li Sui, the woman hurried over, extending her hand apologetically. In her palm was a piece of blue protective tubing that had once covered the chewed wire.
"I’m so sorry. I saw Wangwang bring this back, and I figured he must’ve bitten through some wiring somewhere. When I came in, I noticed one shop had lost power."
"Grandma," Li Sui said, surprised, "you knew I was the owner?"
The woman smiled. "When your grandfather was still around, we used to run into each other often. He always talked about you and even showed me your photo. Not many young people are into sugar painting these days. He’d be so happy knowing you’ve taken it up."
Though technically competitors, Li Sui saw no trace of rivalry in the old woman’s eyes—only warmth and pride.
For some of the older artisans, it seemed making money wasn’t the priority. What mattered most was keeping the craft alive.
Looking at the woman’s kind face, Li Sui felt a lump form in her throat.
"How much will it cost to fix the wiring?" The grandmother pulled out a worn red wallet filled with a few bills and carefully selected the only hundred-yuan note inside.
"Is this enough…?"
"You don’t need to give me that much." Li Sui plucked out a ten-yuan bill instead. "This is plenty."
"Are you sure? Don’t worry, dear. I only run this stall to pass the time. Money isn’t an issue."
"Really, it’s enough," Li Sui reassured her. "I know an electrician who gives me a discount."
"Well, if you say so." The woman tightened her grip on the leash and apologized again. "I truly am sorry…"
"It’s fine."
As Li Sui watched the grandmother leave, she noticed Zhou Jinghuai studying her with an unreadable expression.
She glared at him. "What?"
"Thought you wouldn’t take her money."
"Why wouldn’t I? Damages should be paid for. Besides, refusing would’ve made her feel worse."
Li Sui dug out two twenty-yuan bills from her own pocket, added the ten from the grandmother, and slapped them into Zhou Jinghuai’s hand with a flourish. "Here you go, Master Zhou! Work your magic!"
Zhou Jinghuai: "…"
By the time the shop’s lights flickered back on, the market had already closed for the day.
Li Sui tallied up the day’s earnings—close to three hundred yuan. Not bad for only three hours of business.
As she packed up her tools, she suddenly realized: "Where’s Chengcheng?"
Zhou Jinghuai replied, "Had the driver take him home."
"Oh." Li Sui picked up her keys, spinning them around her finger. "Well then, you’re in for the joy of walking home with me tonight!"
Most shops were dark by now, but the colored lanterns along the path still cast a dreamy glow. Maybe it was her good mood, but even the moonlight seemed warmer than usual.
The surroundings were quiet, with only a few stall owners left on the otherwise empty streets. The downside? The litter scattered across the ground was impossible to ignore.
"Every single day, it’s the same thing! Can’t people walk a few steps to the trash can? How am I supposed to clean up this sticky mess? Again!"
Li Sui turned toward the voice. A cleaning auntie was crouched nearby, grumbling as she scraped at something on the cobblestones with a shovel.
As someone who usually closed up and left early, this was Li Sui’s first time seeing the cleaners at work after hours—and her first time hearing their frustrations.
She picked up a plastic bag near her feet and walked over to toss it in the bin, only to freeze when she saw what the auntie was struggling with.
Half of a large, intricately drawn "Zhang" character had shattered, while the other half had melted into syrup under the heat, now smeared black into the stones by countless footsteps.
At that moment, Li Sui’s steps faltered.
Fragments of conversations she’d overheard from passing tourists echoed in her mind:
"It’s just writing, isn’t it? I could do this at home with some melted sugar."
"That little stall near the entrance does better work. Let’s go there instead."
"Ugh, isn’t this thing just bought to take photos for social media? Do people actually eat it? It’s all sugar—so unhealthy."
...
Li Sui stood frozen in place until her vision suddenly darkened.
Zhou Jinghuai’s right hand had covered her eyes.
When he let go, the cleaning aunt had already left with the trash bag, and the ground was spotless as usual.
The atmosphere turned cold.
Li Sui lowered her head in silence until she heard Zhou Jinghuai ask gently, "Are you thinking, ‘Why does it still hurt to see the sugar paintings thrown away or trampled, even though I told myself it’s fine as long as I make money?’"
Li Sui looked up in surprise. "How did you know?"
She had always believed that once the transaction was done, what customers did with the sugar paintings was none of her concern. But at this moment, a strong voice echoed in her heart.
They shouldn’t have ended up as trash.
She had seen the sugar paintings her grandfather made. Though few bought them, the awe in every customer’s eyes was genuine. Maybe it was because her own skills were lacking that they became disposable props for photos before being discarded.
Zhou Jinghuai led her to a nearby bench. A breeze brushed past, but it couldn’t disperse the dark clouds over Li Sui’s head.
"Li Sui, why don’t you like sugar paintings?"
The dislike seemed etched into her mind, but when had it started? It took her a long time to find the answer.
"Probably... when I was six or seven. Grandpa set up a stall in the park, and when there were no customers, he’d guide my hand to teach me. Every day, I’d watch kids playing together on the lawn, wishing I could join them. But I didn’t want to disappoint Grandpa, so I suppressed my longing and kept drawing those boring zodiac animals. The more I looked at them, the more I hated them." Li Sui sighed. "As I grew older, the hatred faded, but I still didn’t care much. I thought it could only be a hobby—something that couldn’t make money."
"But when faced with danger, avoiding it is instinct. That day, why did you choose to catch it even if it meant getting hurt? If money matters so much, why didn’t you demand compensation but instead insisted they eat it?"
Li Sui was stunned. She had never pondered this question in all these days.
She couldn’t answer, just as she couldn’t explain why she felt so lost now.
Could it really be, as He Xiaoyu said, that she was all talk but deep down cared more than she admitted?
"Zhou Jinghuai." Li Sui turned to look at him. Moonlight scattered in her eyes like fragile shards of obsidian. "Tell me, what does it feel like to like doing something? I’ve had many jobs, but all for money. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced liking something."
Zhou Jinghuai smirked and countered with a question. "Do you want seafood noodles?"
"Huh?"
Li Sui didn’t understand, but she did want them.
Blame that takeout order from last time—it traumatized her so much she hadn’t dared to order since.
She nodded. "Yes."
Zhou Jinghuai took her wrist and stood. "Let’s go."
"Now?" Li Sui checked the time on her phone. "But it’s already 10:30."
"So what?" Zhou Jinghuai quickened his pace, his voice firm and decisive.
Yeah, so what?
If she wanted to eat, why should time matter?
The clouds in Li Sui’s mind began to part. She jogged to keep up as he hailed a cab and took her to a Chinese restaurant.
The place served late-night meals, so it was still open. Inside, glasses clinked, and lively chatter filled the air with the warmth of human connection.
Zhou Jinghuai must have known the owner because a waiter quickly escorted them to a private room upstairs.
Li Sui unwrapped her chopsticks and rubbed her hands in anticipation. When the noodles arrived, the aroma was irresistible, and her stomach growled on cue.
The clear broth was topped with plump shrimp and clams, accompanied by a hefty crab—a feast for the senses.
Li Sui took a bite of shrimp. Watching Zhou Jinghuai do the same, she remembered Aunt Zhang’s words.
"You didn’t eat seafood before?"
"No."
"Then why now?"
"Not eating it before wasn’t because I disliked it. I just hadn’t tried much and assumed it wasn’t for me." Zhou Jinghuai’s lips curled. "But after having it a few times recently, I think it’s pretty good."
Li Sui wasn’t sure if his words carried a deeper meaning, but to her, this simple statement felt like sunlight breaking through the clouds.
She wondered if her relationship with sugar paintings was the same.
Maybe she didn’t dislike them. Maybe she’d never truly given them a chance, letting childhood resentment and stereotypes convince her otherwise.
Before she knew it, she’d finished the entire bowl.
Still savoring the aftertaste, she heard Zhou Jinghuai ask, "Do you understand now what it feels like to like doing something?"
Li Sui paused, then slowly grasped it.
Liking something might be as simple as craving a bowl of noodles—anticipating it halfway there, savoring it without distraction, your heart fully present.
"But eating is leisure, a treat. Sugar painting is work. Who enjoys work?" Li Sui dabbed her lips with a napkin.
"What if it’s not work?" Zhou Jinghuai poured her a glass of water. "Li Sui, you’re not that little girl anymore. You don’t have to carry it as Grandpa’s legacy, or some grand cultural duty, or even an obligation. Just treat it as a hobby. Try enjoying it?"
Try enjoying it?
The five words echoed in Li Sui’s mind, growing clearer and firmer.
Yeah, it wasn’t five or six years ago anymore.
She wasn’t financially strained now. She could afford to slow down and explore what she truly wanted.
Li Sui had never imagined she’d share these tangled, unspoken thoughts with Zhou Jinghuai.
But what surprised her more was his reaction.
Maybe it was the soft lighting playing tricks, but tonight, Zhou Jinghuai seemed impossibly gentle.
It was almost midnight when they left the restaurant.
The night breeze snapped her out of the intimate bubble they’d been in. Li Sui stole a glance at him.
As if reading her mind, Zhou Jinghuai looked back, his eyes asking, What?
Li Sui rubbed her knuckle against her nose and murmured, "Did you attend some zen meditation class these past two months?"
Zhou Jinghuai scoffed. "What?"
"Your temper’s gotten so much better. It’s almost unsettling."
He gave her a look reserved for idiots.
Li Sui inexplicably relaxed.
"...Thanks. Now it feels normal again."
