Lu Fen finished both steamed buns.
Meat filling, juicy, with so much broth it ran down his chin when he bit into them. He hadn't had buns this delicious in a long time. When he finished, he wadded up the plastic bag, tossed it in the trash, and stood up to leave.
When he reached the door, he stopped again.
He looked down at himself — still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. A little wrinkled. He froze for a second, not sure why he had noticed.
He stood there for a few seconds, then left in the same clothes.
---
When he arrived at the crematorium, Old Liu was smoking at the entrance. He saw Lu Fen, and his gaze paused on him for a moment.
Lu Fen walked over. Old Liu handed him a cigarette. He took it.
They squatted and smoked.
When they finished, Old Liu stood up and walked inside. After two steps, he turned back and said, "That woman on the motorcycle came again this morning."
Lu Fen looked up.
Old Liu had already gone inside.
He squatted there, turning that sentence over in his mind. Came again. Meaning she had come by in the morning? Looking for him?
He stood up and walked inside. After two steps, he stopped again.
What did she come for?
He thought for a few seconds, couldn't figure it out, and went back to work.
---
Not much work today. After burning two people, he was done.
At lunch, Lu Fen squatted behind the back door, gnawing on a steamed bun. As he gnawed, he thought about the buns from that morning. The taste was still on his lips. He chewed subconsciously. The steamed bun had no flavor.
He swallowed the bun, pulled out his phone, and glanced at it.
No messages.
He tucked the phone back into his pocket and kept gnawing.
When he finished, he stood up, brushed the crumbs off his hands, and started walking back.
After two steps, he stopped again.
He didn't know what he had been looking at just now. Waiting for a message? A message from whom?
He stood there for a few seconds, then kept walking back.
---
Nothing to do in the afternoon. Old Liu was reading the newspaper. Fatty Zhou was nowhere to be seen. Lu Fen sat in the duty room, staring out the window in a daze.
His mind was a mess. One moment it was Lame Li's face, the next it was Tu Su's hand handing him the knife, then it was those two buns from the morning.
He touched the knife under his pillow. Hard. Cold.
Then he thought of the way she rode her motorcycle — the wind blowing through her hair, her back straight.
He didn't know what was wrong with him.
He had lived for decades and never felt like this before.
---
When he got off work, it was almost dark.
He changed his clothes and walked outside. At the entrance, he subconsciously looked around.
No one.
He stood there for a few seconds, then started walking back.
When he reached the entrance of his alley, he saw from a distance someone squatting at his door.
His footsteps paused.
The person heard his footsteps and looked up.
It was Tu Su.
She was squatting there, spinning her motorcycle keys in her hand. When she saw him, she stood up. "Why are you so late?"
Lu Fen walked over. "Overtime."
She didn't say anything. She picked up a plastic bag from beside her and handed it to him.
Lu Fen took it and looked inside — two food containers.
"Ribs braised with green beans," she said. "I made it. Eat it while it's hot."
Lu Fen held the plastic bag and looked at her.
She felt a little uncomfortable under his gaze and turned her face away. "What are you staring at? Don't eat it if you don't want it."
Lu Fen said, "I'll eat it."
The corner of her mouth twitched — he couldn't tell if it was a smile. Then she swung her leg over the motorcycle, started it, and rode away.
Lu Fen stood there, watching the motorcycle disappear at the end of the alley.
He looked down at the plastic bag in his hand. Still warm.
He opened the door, went inside, and opened the food containers.
Ribs braised with green beans — two large containers full, still steaming. He picked up his chopsticks, grabbed a rib, and took a bite.
Tender, flavorful. The meat slid right off the bone with a light suck.
He chewed, then grabbed another rib.
He ate half a container before realizing he hadn't eaten any steamed buns. But he was already full.
He looked at the remaining container, put the lid back on, and set it aside.
He would eat it tomorrow.
---
When he lay down, her face was still in his mind.
The way she had squatted at his door. The slight discomfort in her voice when she said "I made it." The way she had ridden away on her motorcycle without looking back.
He thought, why was she being so good to him?
How long had they even known each other? They had barely exchanged a few sentences. And yet she had given him a knife, given him steamed buns, given him ribs.
He thought for a long time. He couldn't figure it out.
Finally, he stopped thinking and went to sleep.
---
The next morning — another knock at the door.
He sat up. This time he didn't pause. He walked straight over and opened the door.
No one was there.
On the ground sat a plastic bag — steamed buns, soy milk.
He picked it up and glanced toward the stairwell. No one.
He stood there for a few seconds, then closed the door.
He went back inside, sat on the edge of the bed, and ate the buns.
Different filling today — chive and egg. Pretty fragrant too.
As he ate, the corner of his mouth lifted again.
This time, he noticed.
He froze for a second, then quickly pressed the corner of his mouth back down.
But it was too late. It had already lifted.