chapter 2

“Uncle Zhou,” Qiu Rongrong called out dully.

The man nodded.

He looked very kind.

“I should’ve come to pick you up. Then you wouldn’t have run into bad people…”

“Uncle Zhou,” Qiu Rongrong cut him off. “It’s okay. I’m not hurt.”

Soft classical music played in the car. Uncle Zhou didn’t say anything else, and Qiu Rongrong’s tight, nervous heart slowly relaxed along with the music.

The black car stopped in front of a three-story villa.

Qiu Rongrong was drawn to the yard. The flowers and trees were lush and well layered, arranged with a natural sense of order. It was obvious someone had put real care into it.

“Your Aunt Zhou likes tending flowers and plants.”

Qiu Rongrong’s gaze lingered on the orchids. Her mother had loved orchids too.

Uncle Zhou led her inside.

Compared to the life and color outside, the house felt much quieter. The living room lights were off. The doors on the second floor were shut tight, yet light leaked out through the cracks beneath them.

Uncle Zhou glanced upstairs, worry settling between his brows. “Your brother is ill. If you don’t want to have contact with him, you don’t have to greet him.”

“I’ll get along with my brother.”

“Rongrong, I’ll have to trouble you to bring your brother his meals every day. You can order takeout. I’ll transfer the takeout money to you separately.”

“It’s not a bother. I can cook.” Since she was living in someone else’s home, Qiu Rongrong felt she should be as polite and considerate as possible.

Uncle Zhou nodded and took her up to a room on the second floor.

The villa was big, but there were no maids or helpers.

Uncle Zhou and Aunt Zhou were busy with work and often away on business trips, rarely coming back to stay.

He asked Qiu Rongrong to help take care of the garden.

Qiu Rongrong had already turned eighteen, so there was no need to go through adoption paperwork.

The Zhou Family would support her for five years, giving her five thousand a month for living expenses.

Four years to finish university, and one year to find a job.

After Qiu Rongrong had lived in Guixu City for a full five years, she would qualify for permanent residency and could move out on her own.

Their generosity left Qiu Rongrong deeply grateful.

Uncle Zhou handed her all the keys to the villa.

And then, the very next day after bringing her back, he had to go abroad for a month.

The next day, after seeing Uncle Zhou off,

Qiu Rongrong opened the fridge. For dinner, she planned to cook herself a bowl of noodles.

At the very back of the fridge sat a huge empty glass jar, and she had no idea what it was for.

This villa was fairly old.

Several lightbulbs were acting up, flickering on and off.

Qiu Rongrong lit the stove and boiled a pot of green pepper and egg noodles.

The porcelain bowl was hot enough to sting. She put a damp towel under the bowl as a pad, went upstairs, and knocked on that door.

The door wasn’t locked.

Inside, she could hear the gunfire and shouting from a shooter game.

“Brother, I cooked green pepper and egg noodles. Do you want some?”

Her hand had only just touched the door when takeout trash boxes spilled outward like they could no longer be contained. The door chain was poorly lubricated and let out a harsh, creaking squeal.

A man like a mountain of flesh squatted at the computer. His thick belly folded over itself in heavy layers, pressing against the edge of the desk.

He turned his head. His chin and neck were almost fused together. He opened his mouth, showing yellow teeth. “Hungry.”

His stomach made a booming sound.

That mass of flesh heaved and shuddered as if someone were ringing a bell inside his belly.

Reality couldn’t possibly be this exaggerated. Qiu Rongrong closed her eyes for a moment. She must be having another episode. Uncle Zhou’s son was probably just a little overweight and a little unkempt.

Being fat wasn’t a crime. She shouldn’t be biased.

Qiu Rongrong stepped over the trash and set the green pepper and egg noodles on his computer desk.

“I just made it. Eat it while it’s hot. If it’s not enough, there’s more.”

He lifted the bowl. He didn’t use chopsticks. He simply opened his mouth and poured the noodles in all at once. Broth streamed down past his thick lips and into the folds of his neck.

It was scorching, but he swallowed it down.

“Still hungry.”

“There’s more downstairs. I’ll bring it up.” Qiu Rongrong went downstairs to carry up more noodles.

The man ate bowl after bowl.

His stomach was a bottomless pit.

His throat was thicker than a water pipe-anything could be swallowed whole.

In the end, Qiu Rongrong brought up the pot as well.

“Not enough.”

“I’ll make another batch.” Qiu Rongrong wanted to repay Uncle Zhou for taking her in. She was willing to care for this sick, overweight older brother.

But when she turned to leave, a takeout container flew from behind and struck her on the head.

Greasy, spicy soup dripped down her hair.

It ran into her eyes, burning the sensitive membranes until they throbbed with pain.

The culprit laughed, the folds of fat on his face jiggling.

“How about I eat you?”

Qiu Rongrong’s pupils contracted.

No.

In the bathroom, steam rose in thick clouds. Qiu Rongrong soaked in the tub, scrubbing up foam as she washed the filthy soup off her body.

Wrapped in a bath towel, she stepped out.

From the kitchen came the clink and clatter of bowls and plates.

“Who’s there?” Qiu Rongrong went on tiptoe to reach for the pajamas she’d left on the sofa.

A boy about her age stood there. He was very thin. His pale, delicate fingers were long and slender. He wore a khaki shirt that looked expensive and well made, and he tilted his head to look at her.

He smiled shyly. “I smelled the noodles and came out to see.”

“You are…?”

“Zhou Jingxing.” His skin was almost translucent, like egg white. When he smiled, a gentle light seemed to gather at the corners of his eyes.

“Sorry. I thought Uncle Zhou only had one son.”

Qiu Rongrong put another pot of noodles on to boil.

“I’ll cut the vegetables,” Zhou Jingxing said.

He stayed by her side, took out the green peppers, and sliced them into thin, even strips. His knife work was far beyond what an ordinary person would have.

“Pretty good, right?”

Qiu Rongrong smiled, relaxed, and answered with an easy hum.

They made the meal together.

Zhou Jingxing ate neatly and politely. After he’d had his fill, he dabbed the corner of his lips with a tissue and said, “I live on the second floor too, right next door to your room. Do you want to watch a movie with me tonight?”

He was a little too forward.

“Okay.” Qiu Rongrong found herself drawn in by his voice. He smiled so easily, like a fish with shining scales that stole her attention.

It didn’t fit at all with the gloomy atmosphere of Guixu City.

“Oh, right,” Zhou Jingxing added. “Zhou Huaiyuan is sick. When you brought him food, did he hurt you?”

Qiu Rongrong remembered the stench of sweat and that mound of flesh, the greasy leftovers in the takeout boxes mixing with his bloated body. The smile at her lips faded. She shook her head. “He’s sick.”

There was no point arguing with someone who was ill.

“Zhou Huaiyuan has binge-eating disorder and pica. He hasn’t left his room for years.” Zhou Jingxing sighed, worried. “Making you bring him meals… it really puts you in a difficult position.”