SES Chapter 104 Part 2

Yes.

A cold, bone-chilling wind, reeking of salt and fish, blew straight at him.

Mu Dai adapted quickly to her new life.

It was extremely dull, yet extremely simple.

Her world was limited to the market and the little restaurant: serving dishes, working the register, wiping tables, taking out trash—everything on a steady, unchanging track.

Zheng Li hated it. Seventeen years old, still restless like the wind, chasing passion and novelty, she felt the restaurant’s life was just a rusty old frame, boxing her in with horizontal and vertical bars, always with that greasy smell clinging to it.

More than once, she asked Mu Dai in frustration, “Mumu-jie, how can you stand it here?”

One man’s meat, another man’s poison. For Mu Dai, this life was exactly what she needed right now.

If she’d stayed with Aunt Hong, stayed around Luo Ren, she would never escape the weight of the past. Even the air around them would’ve been suffocating.

Here, nobody knew her. The pace was slow instead of intense. Eat when hungry, sleep when tired, do what she wants, leave what she didn’t. She could finally sit still and think things through.

Dr. He had told her plenty: Mu Dai, you’re sick. You have dissociative identity disorder, three personalities. You’re in chaos right now. You need treatment, new methods, and therapy.

But Mu Dai didn’t believe she was sick. She even resisted the very idea, refusing to read all the analyses and explanations about personalities.

She thought the real problem was simply that there were three versions of herself inside—and she hadn’t kept them under control.

Like three little demons running wild, blurring her real face, until over time, even family, friends, and lovers couldn’t recognize who she was anymore.

Why hadn’t she reined them in? Probably because she was timid, cowardly,and  evasive. She just let things slide, burying her head in the sand, as if shutting her eyes could stop the world from turning.

Like a grand mansion without a master—the servants running wild, accounts and affairs in chaos, everything collapsing into disarray, just like in the novels: showing signs of decay.

Well, now she was ready to step in, restore order, and reassert authority. If need be, kill a chicken to scare the monkeys.

It felt new, almost exhilarating, as if she had climbed onto a throne, issuing commands to the vague shadows of herself in the dark.

Whether three personalities or thirty, they all had to obey her.

A sick heart was nothing more than a tangle of knots. Each one twisted her life out of shape.

No matter. She would undo them one by one, return herself to her true self.

She didn’t need Dr. He. She didn’t need modern therapies or endless prescriptions.

I am my own medicine. I am my own best doctor.

Zheng Shuiyu slowly grew fond of Mu Dai. Bosses always liked hardworking employees: Mu Dai was quick, efficient, never lazy, never dragged her feet. When there was nothing to do, she sat quietly at the table near the door, sunlight streaming through the glass onto her face.

Shuiyu chatted with her, asking, “How old are you? Do you have a boyfriend?”

Mu Dai said, “Yeah.”

That yeah, stunned Shuiyu. Like all nosy middle-aged women, she’d been ready to say, Want me to introduce you to someone?

But—“Yeah.”

“What’s he like? Handsome?”

Mu Dai lowered her head, wiping the same spot on the table again and again, a faint smile on her lips. “Handsome.”

“Is his family rich?”

Mu Dai thought about it. “Probably.”

“Does he treat you well?”

“Yes.”

Shuiyu was puzzled. “Then why would he let you, a young girl, come out here to work in a little place like this?”

Mu Dai replied matter-of-factly, “He’s busy.”

So confident that Shuiyu didn’t know what to make of her.

A moment later, Mu Dai stepped into the kitchen. Shuiyu’s husband, He Qiang, was the head chef. His knife skills weren’t bad—he was dicing potatoes into strips.

He taught her, “Keep your fingers bent, knuckles against the blade. That way you won’t cut yourself. And when you’re fast enough, the knife becomes a blur of steel…”

Truth be told, He Qiang wasn’t nearly at that level. He was just showing off in front of the young girl.

Mu Dai said, “Let me try.”

She gave it a few tentative chops, then grew quicker. Clang, clang, clang—the blade striking the board like fast-paced music.

One potato, then another, until the cutting board was piled with fine, pale-yellow shreds—an elegant little work of art.

He Qiang stared, jaw dropping. Shuiyu and Zheng Li peeked in from the kitchen door, drawn by the sound.

By the time they looked, the bowl was empty. All the potatoes had been shredded.

Mu Dai lifted the knife and, with a sharp motion, drove it into the board, leaving it standing upright with a metallic clang—like the final note of a song cut short.

Then she turned, bowed slightly with her apron in hand, like a ballerina taking a curtain call.

She giggled as she walked out, light and carefree.

Shuiyu thought, Hiring this waitress was really worth it.

Maybe next month she’d give Mu Dai a raise—otherwise, with her talent and spirit, someone else might snatch her away.

That evening, after the dinner rush but before the late-night crowd, the restaurant was in a lull.

Mu Dai sat by the door, looking at the red public phone booth across the street.

Then she pulled out paper and pen, leaned over the table, and began to write. When she was done, she looked up at Zheng Li and waved her over.

Zheng Li liked her for no reason at all—liked following her around, skipping over like a puppy.

Mu Dai asked, “Got any money? Help me out.”

She wanted to make a call, but she’d only just started working and hadn’t gotten her wages yet. All she had in her pocket was two ten-cent coins.

Zheng Li nodded quickly. “I do!”

They squeezed into the phone booth. Mu Dai closed the door behind them. After Zheng Li fed in the coins, she slowly dialed a cell number. While waiting, she slipped Zheng Li a note. “Read this out loud.”

Under the streetlights and neon glows of the alley, Zheng Li squinted at the words. She didn’t understand, glanced at Mu Dai as if to ask Why?

Mu Dai leaned back against the glass wall, head tilted, sleeves rolled up to show her pale arms. She put a finger to her lips, signaling silence.

Her gaze was calm, gentle. Long hair brushed her shoulders, haloed by the glow from behind.

Zheng Li thought, If I were a guy, I’d probably be falling for her right now.

The line connected. A man’s deep voice answered: “Hello?”

Zheng Li froze, then hurriedly read from the note in clumsy Mandarin:

“Hello, our company specializes in real estate. Low commission, reliable service—your best choice for property investment…”

The line clicked off.

Still holding the note, Zheng Li looked lost. Mu Dai kept her head down, smiling the whole time.

After a while, she murmured, “No patience at all.”

She pushed the door open and walked back toward the restaurant, light on her feet.

Zheng Li hurried after her, asking, “Mumu-jie, was that your enemy? You called just to mess with him?”

From the end of the alley came the sound of loud shouts. Mu Dai turned her head. A group of street punks was hauling cases of beer toward the restaurant, shouting and laughing, shirts hanging loose, some bare-chested—none of them older than nineteen.

Mu Dai said, “Come on. The late-night crowd’s about to start.”