Lu Fen squatted behind the crematorium's back door and counted three times.
In his palm was eighteen fifty. One ten-yuan bill, one five-yuan bill, and three coins.
He folded the money carefully and tucked it into the deepest corner of his pocket.
The nursing home had called yesterday. Starting next month, the fee was going up to fifteen hundred. He was still four hundred short. Not four hundred even — he had already done the math three times and still couldn't figure out exactly how much he was missing. Either way, he was short.
The steamed bun stall sat across the street.
He walked over, pulled out a single yuan, and bought one. A white bun, still warm, condensation beading up inside the plastic bag. He took a bite. Didn't taste a thing. Then squatted back down behind the door.
The crematorium was slow today. Two people that morning — an old man and an old woman. His job was to feed coal into the furnace, watch the casket go in, wait a few hours, sweep out the bone fragments, and pack them into an urn. The family wailed outside while he smoked inside. Strangers to each other. Fine by him.
"Lu Fen!"
The voice came from inside the yard. He didn't move.
"Lu Fen! You deaf?"
He stood up, stuffed the half-eaten bun into his pocket, and walked over.
It was Fatty Zhou calling him. A permanent employee, got in through connections, ordered people around all day. He was standing at the crematorium entrance now, a cigarette between his fingers, jerking his chin. "Clean up in there. That pile of ash has been sitting there half the day."
Lu Fen glanced over. The ash was next to the furnace. Not much. Ten minutes of work.
"Got it."
"'Got it' is all you've got? Hurry up. The director's coming by."
Fatty Zhou left. Lu Fen went in, picked up the shovel, and started scooping the ash into a bucket, one shovelful at a time. The furnace was still hot, the heat baking his face. He finished, carried the bucket out and dumped it, then came back and put the shovel back where it belonged.
When he came out, Fatty Zhou was still at the door, talking to someone. The man had his back to Lu Fen — suit, leather shoes, a leather briefcase in his hand.
Lu Fen didn't think much of it. He started walking toward the dormitory.
"Hey — you, the furnace stoker. Come here."
It was the man's voice. Lu Fen stopped and turned around.
The man turned too. He looked at Lu Fen, paused for a second, then smiled.
"Holy shit. It's you."
Lu Fen recognized him.
Qian Feng. The brother-in-law of Wang Dazhi, that developer from back then. Three years ago, Lu Fen had stood up for a friend and beaten up Wang Dazhi's nephew. When he went inside, Qian Feng had gone to his house, smashed the windows, and given his father a heart attack from the rage.
His father died later. Lu Fen didn't find out until he got out.
Qian Feng looked him up and down, his smile widening. "Heard you got out. Didn't think you'd end up here, stoking furnaces. What, a guy who's done time — that's all you're good for?"
Fatty Zhou chuckled along beside him.
Lu Fen said nothing.
Qian Feng stepped closer and leaned in to look at him. The scar on his forehead hadn't fully healed — he'd gotten that inside, from someone's fists. Qian Feng stared at it and clicked his tongue. "Took quite a beating in there, didn't you?"
Still, Lu Fen said nothing.
Qian Feng waited a few seconds. No response. His face stiffened slightly. He glanced back at Fatty Zhou, then at Lu Fen, and suddenly spat on the ground.
Ptoo.
The phlegm landed by Lu Fen's feet, less than ten centimeters from his toe.
Qian Feng wiped his mouth and smiled. "Oh, I forgot. You burn people now. Guess I should show some respect."
Lu Fen looked down at the spit. White, sticky, stuck to the concrete.
His hand clenched.
Qian Feng stared at his hand and laughed again. "What, you want to fight? Go ahead. Right here." He pointed at his own face. "Hit me, and you'll go right back inside for another three years. Who knows if your mother will still be there when you get out."
Lu Fen's hand didn't move.
Qian Feng waited a few seconds. Nothing. He shook his head, disappointed, and turned to leave. Fatty Zhou followed, glancing back at Lu Fen as he walked, muttering something under his breath.
Lu Fen stood there, looking at the spit.
The sun was blazing. Heat rose off the ground. The spit slowly dried, leaving a white stain on the concrete.
He squatted down and rubbed it away with the sole of his shoe.
When it was clean, he stood up and walked toward the back door. After a few steps, he remembered the bun still in his pocket, pulled it out, and took a bite. Cold now. Hard. It hurt his teeth. He chewed anyway and kept walking.
Beyond the back door was a dirt road. Across from it was an empty field, and beyond that, mountains. He squatted back down in his usual spot, finished the bun, wiped the grease from his fingers on his pants.
Seventeen fifty left in his pocket.
He ran the nursing home math again. Fifteen hundred — still four hundred short. No, four hundred and what? He did it once more, couldn't figure it out, and gave up.
His phone rang.
He pulled it out. The nursing home's number. He answered. It was Nurse Zhang's voice on the other end. "Lu Fen, your mother had another episode today. She keeps saying she wants to go home. Come see her if you can."
"Okay."
"And about the money… how's it coming along? The payment's due next week. If you can't make it, the bed might—"
"I know."
He hung up.
As he tucked the phone back into his pocket, his fingers brushed against the folded money. Seventeen fifty. The coins dug into his hand.
He pulled the phone out again and scrolled through his call log. The most recent one, from three days ago, was his mother's number. He hadn't answered. She had called but didn't speak when he picked up. He hadn't spoken either. He just listened for a few minutes, then hung up.
He kept scrolling until he found another number. No name saved, but he remembered it. Tu Su's number. He had only called it once — she had forced it on him, said, "In case you ever need me."
He never had.
Now he looked at that number for a moment. Then he tucked the phone away again.
He stood up, brushed the dirt off his pants, and walked back.