Feeling Down

Qin Baike turned around and saw Tang Yiyi standing there in a daze. He walked over and asked, “Want some noodles?”

She shook her head. “I’ve walked a long way. I just want to rest a bit.”

Qin Baike nodded. “If you feel like eating, let me know. It's on me.” With that, he turned and went into the shop.

Tang Yiyi watched his upright figure and muttered, “For a noodle shop owner, does he really have to be so cool?”

At this hour, only five or six people were eating noodles inside and outside the shop. Qin Baike walked to the table near the kitchen door, sat down, and took a sip from a large tea mug.

Along the wall, the shop had six rectangular wooden tables. The outer dining area and kitchen were separated by a wall; on the left side was a door draped with half a cloth curtain, printed with a steaming bowl of noodles and a pair of chopsticks stuck in at an angle.

On the right side, the upper half of the wall had a window, making the kitchen half-open to the customers. Inside, a middle-aged man stood before an enormous noodle pot, fishing out noodles, while a young girl washed dishes.

They all wore white shirts, black half-length aprons tied twice around their waists with gray sashes and knotted in the back, the aprons also printed with a steaming bowl of noodles.

New customers entered as others finished eating and called for the bill. Qin Baike stood up, walked over, glanced at the table, “Seven yuan,” then collected payment and made change. The new customers found seats for themselves.

The girl called loudly from the kitchen window, “Hey handsome, what kind of noodles do you want?”

The customer looked at the price list on the wall. “A bowl of braised pork intestine noodles.”

The girl called again, “We have marinated pig’s trotters! Want a serving? They're delicious!”

“Alright, give me one.”

Qin Baike took the used bowls and chopsticks from the recently settled bill into the kitchen, then brought out a plate of pig’s trotters and set it before the new customer. “Your noodles will be ready soon. Please wait.” The customer nodded, grunted in agreement, and immediately picked up a pig’s trotter to gnaw.

Qin Baike returned to the kitchen door to sit and drink his tea.

After a while, the middle-aged man placed the finished noodles on the kitchen windowsill. Qin Baike was about to get up, but the girl suddenly jumped out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Let me do it,” she said.

So Qin Baike remained seated, while the girl carried the noodles from the windowsill to the customer’s table.

She turned and spotted Tang Yiyi, immediately grinning as she walked over. “Sister, what would you like to eat?”

“I’m not hungry right now, can’t eat.”

“Brother Xiaobin didn’t bring you back?”

“No, I wanted to walk by myself.”

“But it’s nighttime. Even if he wants to go sing, he should have brought you home.”

“Singing?”

“Mm… who knows, maybe dancing, too. The kind of dance like a robot.” She raised her hands and gestured.

Tang Yiyi, seeing her innocent face, asked curiously, “How old are you?”

“I’ll be seventeen next month.”

“You don’t go to school?”

“I don’t like school,” the girl said quietly, lowering her head.

“Are your parents okay with you working?”

“What’s there to worry about? Here at Uncle Qin’s, they’re fine with it.”

“What’s your name?”

“Xie Tifen. It’s a generational name with ‘Ti,’ but I don’t like the ‘Ti’ at all.”

“It’s a nice name.”

“Your name’s even prettier, Sister—Yiyi, such a lovely sound.”

Another group of three customers entered the shop. Xiao Xie hurried over to greet them, and Qin Baike went back into the kitchen to help.

Warm lights and steaming noodles—the loneliness and emptiness Tang Yiyi felt on her walk had vanished completely.

She stood up to leave just as she saw the young man she’d noticed earlier, his face marked with acne, speeding in on an electric scooter from the alley’s entrance.

He parked, picked up a food container from the scooter, smiled at Tang Yiyi in a friendly way, and went into the kitchen.

Tang Yiyi sat back down. Now, everyone was here.

The acne-faced youth didn’t stay in the kitchen long; he soon came out with the food container, smiled at Tang Yiyi as he passed, then hopped onto his scooter and sped away.

Tang Yiyi noticed a pair of blue artistic letters, “Qin’s,” marked on the left chest of his shirt—seemingly drawn with a ballpoint pen.

“What are you looking at?” Qin Baike was suddenly standing across from Tang Yiyi.

“Is he delivering food?” Tang Yiyi pointed in the direction the acne-faced youth had disappeared.

“Yes, just in the nearby neighborhoods, within a kilometer. We don’t deliver farther than that.” Qin Baike placed a glass of water in front of her.

“The medical clinic is within a kilometer. Maybe I’ll order delivery someday?”

Qin Baike looked at her expressionlessly. “We deliver.”

Tang Yiyi contentedly cupped the glass in both hands and took a sip. The temperature was perfect—not lukewarm, but just hot enough to feel it on her lips, yet still easy to swallow.

Looking at the water, she smiled. For some reason, a mischievous thought surfaced—she wanted to tease this handsome yet stoic man before her. “Brother Xiaobin said you’re most afraid of women hovering around you. But the water you pour is always just right—aren’t you afraid I’ll hover around you?”

Qin Baike was noticeably startled. “Feeling better now?”

“…How did you know I wasn’t feeling well?” Tang Yiyi retorted.

“When you’re feeling better, go home and rest early. Isn’t traditional medicine all about health and balance?” With that, he got up and walked away.

She saw, just at the base of his collar on the back of his neck, the same blue artistic letters, “Qin’s,” much smaller and arranged vertically.

Tang Yiyi waved at Xiao Xie, knocked on the clinic door, and returned to her room in high spirits.

Wang Yufeng still hadn’t called. She set down her phone, took a shower, and made sure her mood was calm before sitting at her desk, taking Xu Mingtang’s and her own formulas, opening her newly purchased notebook, and carefully comparing and recording them.