The girl stopped beneath the sign of "Lin's Department Store." Inside, a middle-aged man with stubble and a gray apron was unloading goods from a pickup truck.
"Just wait here a moment. I'll go talk to him for you."
"Mm." Qi Yan nodded slightly.
"Well, if it isn't little Lin! What brings you to my shop today?" The uncle’s booming voice carried clearly to Qi Yan, standing two meters outside the door.
*Little Lin? Is that her surname or given name?*
"Uncle Lin, I’ve brought you a big client today…" The girl whispered something in his ear. The man dusted his hands and strode toward Qi Yan.
"So you’re Qi Ping’s boy! Look how you’ve grown! You barely reached my waist back then." Uncle Lin patted his slightly protruding belly and laughed heartily. "You seem lost—probably don’t remember me! I carried you once as a kid, and you peed all over me… Ahahaha!"
"I’m sorry, I don’t recall. Did you know my father?"
"Your father saved our whole town! Back then, the local clinic hadn’t reformed yet. Medicine costs were outrageous—no insurance, filthy conditions. Even colds kept relapsing. When kids ran fevers at night, we’d rub alcohol on them at home. By dawn, we’d queue for hours at the hospital… only to watch rich folks cut in line. Damn it all." A trace of indignation flashed in his eyes.
"After seeing that mess, your father stormed into the director’s office and gave him a proper scolding. When the director refused to change, your father quit his ill-gotten salary. He opened his own clinic, selling medicine at cost and charging pennies for shots and IV drips. Later… the director was finally reported and replaced. The new one cleaned house. Around the same time, national healthcare reforms kicked in. But your father’s clinic couldn’t get certain low-cost specialty drugs—only hospitals could supply those. Slowly, only old customers remained. Then he left town…" Uncle Lin sighed.
Listening, Qi Yan’s memories stirred. His father, Qi Ping, was a doctor—a stern man in black-rimmed glasses, always buried in work, often sleeping at the clinic.
As a child, Qi Yan had longed to ride on that broad back. But his father had never carried him. He’d carried patients instead.
Qi Yan’s grandfather was a renowned ink-wash painter. Though Qi Yan had three uncles, none pursued art. His father, the youngest, bore all his grandfather’s hopes—only to abandon painting for medicine.
Unlike Lu Xun, who traded medicine for literature to heal China’s soul, Qi Ping was practical. He wanted only to ease suffering with his own hands. He’d even called painting "useless" to his father. Now, his son survived on that very "uselessness." The irony stung.
"But I heard about… what happened to them. Such good people gone too soon. Tch, tch—damn this loose tongue of mine!" Uncle Lin slapped his own mouth several times. "Enough of the past. Let’s look ahead. Show me your shopping list. What do you need?"
"Here." Qi Yan fumbled out a slip of paper.
Uncle Lin stroked his chin. "Daily essentials. I’ve got most here. But rice? You’ll need Old Zhang’s grain shop. People often sell surplus rice there. Pots and pans? Old Li’s kitchenware store. And… what’s your budget?"
Qi Yan’s living expenses were his tuition and rent for the year. Roughly six thousand yuan remained. For all these supplies, he’d hoped to spend eight hundred—just enough to scrape by.
"About seven or eight hundred," he said vaguely.
"More than enough! We’ll get you quality goods. Pick what you need here. Ask little Lin if you can’t find anything. I’ll gather the rest from other shops. Be quick!"
Uncle Lin dashed off to neighboring stores. The kind-hearted girl chuckled softly. "That’s Uncle Lin for you. Talks nonstop, works till the job’s done. Let’s start shopping!"
She knew the store like her own pockets. Her recommendations were helpful—never pushy like supermarket clerks.
Thanks to her, Qi Yan finished quickly. Wiping sweat from his brow, he thought how smoothly it had gone, all thanks to this mysterious mask-wearing girl beside him.
"Is that an open-air market over there?" Qi Yan asked, hands on hips, gazing at the metal canopy in the distance. He’d visited such places with his mother as a child.
"Mm. Locals sell vegetables, dried goods, live poultry, and fresh pork and beef there. Though ‘fresh’ is debatable now," the girl said, watching the crimson sunset tilt lower.
"Shall we go? Uncle Lin will take time sorting goods. And spices alone can’t make a meal." She smiled.
"Then I’ll trouble you again."
Aunt Chunxiang had promised fresh greens for tonight. But tomorrow? The day after?
The road ahead stretched long and arduous—a path with no end, walked only by the siblings themselves.
