SES Chapter 106 Part 2

She explained that around eight o’clock every night, an old woman in her sixties or seventies came to set up a street stall selling homemade skewers—both meat and vegetarian, spicy. Whether she sold out or not, she always packed up by ten.

Her description painted the woman as sharp-tongued, stingy, and argumentative. Once, when a shop owner complained she was blocking the entrance, the old woman snapped, “I’ve lived here since I was a kid. I’ve stepped all over this ground. Who says it’s yours?”

“If you want to know about twenty years ago, she might be the one to ask,” the shopkeeper suggested.

At last, a glimmer of hope.

Mu Dai found a payphone and called Zheng Li, telling her she might not make it back for the dinner shift.

After hanging up, she found a nearby teahouse, ordered coffee and ice cream. Small county or not, Nantan wasn’t cheap—those two items cost her nearly a hundred yuan.

She remembered Zheng Shuiyu’s words. She really hadn’t been planning for herself. She was pouring all her passion into living in the “now,” but ignoring the future.

Why? Maybe because she’d never felt any hope or confidence in the future.

She sat by the window, sipping coffee, letting the afternoon pass. Her mind was blank, eyes unfocused, watching cars and people drift by like a movie screen.

At quarter past six, she finally spotted an old woman across the street pushing a glass food cart.

Mu Dai hurried out, carefully dodging cars, and stopped at the cart.

Instead of asking right away, she picked a bunch of skewers of all kinds. When she paid, she saw the old woman was in a decent mood, so she asked, “Grandma, can I ask—wasn’t there an old square-shaped apartment building here before?”

The old woman was bagging the skewers, her thin fingers rattling the plastic. “Mm.”

Mu Dai’s heart jumped. She tried to keep her voice calm.

“And the people who used to live there… do you remember them?”

The old woman rasped as she handed over the bag. “Hard to say. Eighteen yuan.”

Mu Dai handed her a hundred.

The old woman held it up to the light, then frowned in suspicion.

“No need for change,” Mu Dai said quickly. “I just want to ask you about someone.”

The old woman gave her a strange look, torn between disbelief at the generosity and suspicion that the bill was fake. She licked her finger and rubbed at the edge of the note.

“There was a woman. Back then, in her twenties, not yet thirty. Well dressed, wore makeup, high heels—often red ones…”

The old woman gave a phlegmy laugh. “Her.”

Mu Dai’s heart leapt. “You know her?”

“She was sleeping around. One day, another man’s wife came looking for her and made a scene. She got her head split open.”

She pointed toward the new commercial building, as if it were still the dark, shabby old apartments. “Back then, no women dressed like that. And makeup? A proper woman doesn’t wear makeup!”

Mu Dai could hardly believe she had actually found a lead.

Emotions surged—relief, confusion, dread. She didn’t know what to say. The noisy street around her faded, leaving only her, standing alone in the cold wind that cut straight through her.

Her nose stung.

“Do you know where she went afterward?”

The old woman’s face twisted, spiteful. “She died! That woman was rotten to the core!”

She spat the words. “I heard she caught Aizi. That disease—nobody survives it.”

Aizi? AIDS? A chill shot through Mu Dai.

“They said she was so wicked, after she got sick, she drew her own blood with a syringe and dripped it into the neighbors’ cooking pots…”

Mu Dai’s head buzzed.

She faintly remembered how, back then, all the stoves were in the hallways. At lunchtime, the whole corridor smelled of food. Neighbors would walk by, lift each other’s pot lids, and ask, “What’s for lunch?”

“She was caught and beaten half to death. They said that the disease could hide in you for ten years or more. Scary. I remember she had a little girl, too. That child must’ve carried the sickness as well. But then the girl disappeared…”

The old woman leaned closer, lowering her raspy voice. “People said, after she found out she was sick, she smothered the girl and threw her in the river…”

Mu Dai’s lips parted, but no words came. Her ears rang, her world in chaos.

She suddenly spun around and walked away quickly.

The old woman called after her, “Girl, your skewers—!”

Mu Dai didn’t hear. She walked faster and faster, sticking to the darker parts of the street, finally breaking into a run.

She had no idea where she stopped, only that there were still lights, people, and noise around her. She looked down at her pale hands, veins showing faintly beneath the skin.

—She caught AIDS. Nobody survives it.
—With AIDS, even the blood is filthy.
—That disease can lie hidden for many years.
—She had a little girl.

Her little girl.

Mu Dai’s vision blurred. She saw a phone booth and staggered toward it. She shoved coins in with shaking hands, one after another, and dialed a number she still remembered.

Nighttime was always the busiest at the bar.

Huo Zihong had been reading upstairs. She came down for a drink and found Pingting leaning on the counter, chin in her hands, watching Yi Wan San mix cocktails.

Huo Zihong walked over to order something, but before she could speak, Pingting grabbed her arm and hushed her. “Shh! Brother Xiaodao is working!”

As if Yi Wan San were doing something monumental.

Huo Zihong teased, “Brother Xiaodao, huh?”

Pingting puffed up proudly. “He is!”

Then, blushing, she pointed across the room. “He looks like him too.”

Following her finger, Huo Zihong was surprised.

Luo Ren was there, probably waiting to take Pingting home later.

She started toward him, but her phone rang. An unfamiliar number.

She answered, “Hello?”

There was only silence at first, heavy breathing.

“Aunt Hong?”

Huo Zihong’s heart skipped. She blurted, “Mu Dai?”

Her voice was loud enough that Luo Ren glanced over.

Huo Zihong retreated to a quiet corner by the stairs.

She didn’t understand what Mu Dai was asking, but the question filled her with dread. She tried to stay calm as she answered: “Dr. He did arrange full health checks for you. Everything was normal. Even your bloodwork. But what you’re asking about… regular tests wouldn’t show it. Mu Dai?”

The call disconnected.

Huo Zihong’s mind went blank. She staggered forward, only realizing she was headed straight into a wall after two steps.

She braced herself against it, trembling.

Behind her, a voice spoke.

“It was Mu Dai, wasn’t it?”

She turned and stared at Luo Ren. She tried to walk toward him, but her legs gave out.

He caught her and eased her down.

She whispered, “I can’t stand… let me sit.”

He crouched, supporting her as she sat on the floor.

Huo Zihong muttered, “She asked me if she has AIDS. She asked if her past medical tests would have shown it…”

Her mind was spinning. She remembered Mu Dai’s broken voice on the call, asking through sobs: ‘Aunt Hong, do I have AIDS?’

Breathing was hard.

Luo Ren left and returned quickly with a glass of water.

“She probably went back home,” he said.

Huo Zihong looked up at him.

“If even she isn’t sure,” Luo Ren explained, “then it’s not from recent blood transfusions or sex. The most likely source is maternal transmission. She must’ve been investigating her mother… What number did she call from? Did it show an area code?”

Unthinkingly, Huo Zihong handed him her phone.

He tried calling back—no answer. Then he entered the digits into his own phone. As soon as he typed the first few, the system flagged a similar number.

Had he called it before? Or had that number called him? He couldn’t recall. He checked the call log.

Then, suddenly, he remembered that call.