Chapter 2

Daylight came. Xiaochi was dazed when she first woke, which made her look even dimmer.

She only came properly awake while washing up, smiling at me around her toothbrush.

The weather was clear. I meowed and jumped onto her shoulder for a nap.

She carried me into the kitchen like that to cook noodles.

Noodles with greens and egg. Most of the greens and egg went into the old woman’s bowl.

Whenever Xiaochi wasn’t looking, the old woman slipped the egg back into hers.

Fortunately, the girl was slow to react. Breakfast was over before she had time to wonder why the more egg she ate, the more there was.

“Grandma, I’m off to work! Leave the dishes. I’ll wash them when I get back.”

While she tied her shoes, I jumped into her canvas bag. Delighted, she asked, “Are you coming to work with me?”

I didn’t answer. That was the good thing about being a cat: if you didn’t feel like talking, you didn’t have to.

Xiaochi had two jobs today.

The first was stocking shelves at a supermarket.

She arrived early, before opening time. Once inside, she greeted the others, then picked up a mop and started cleaning.

A kind female coworker told her not to be so silly. It wasn’t even her job.

She smiled shyly. “I’m not tired.”

“Think you’re made of iron?”

But the woman didn’t push. Everyone knew why she worked so hard: she was afraid of being fired.

Preparations finished, the supermarket opened. Customers trickled in to shop.

Xiaochi patrolled the shelves, replenishing anything that ran out and rushing to straighten anything messy, busy every moment.

She’d done it long enough for practice to make a difference. She looked not only like anyone else, but even rather quick-witted.

After carrying another load, she wiped sweat from her forehead and caught her breath. Someone happened to be checking out. The scanner beeped away, and she couldn’t help watching the cashier’s deft movements with envy.

The woman beside her teased, “Give it another two years. You’ll get promoted to the checkout too.”

Xiaochi’s eyes brightened, then dimmed.

“I could never do that.”

She worked slowly. Even with a machine, customers would never have the patience to wait for her.

The women who worked so quickly still got yelled at for being slow.

She looked down at me in her bag, scratched my head, and murmured to herself, “I’ll never have a chance to get promoted.”

Xiaochi’s second job was washing dishes at an open-air food stall.

It served late-night meals and opened at nine, leaving her time to go home and cook for her grandmother.

She was a busy little spinning top, neither fast nor steady, but never stopping.

She couldn’t stop.

Life wouldn’t pause for anyone to overcome poverty, illness, or pain.

“Grandma, I’m going! Go to bed early tonight. You don’t need to come and meet me.”

The old woman gave no answer. Leaning on her stick, she followed slowly behind Xiaochi, walking her out of the alley to where there were streetlights and security cameras.

She understood that her frail body couldn’t stop a single bad person. Insisting on seeing Xiaochi off and meeting her was simply a way of putting her own life on the line as a warning.

No one wanted to trade their life for an old woman’s with one foot in the grave. It wasn’t worth it.

I jumped onto Xiaochi’s shoulder. She turned her head, happiness and contentment shining in her clear eyes.

I couldn’t understand.

I still measured happiness by achievement and recognition. She had nothing. What gave her the right to be happy?

Suddenly, I badly wanted a cigarette.

In the moment I’d drifted off, Xiaochi had reached the food stall.

The owner’s wife was sharp-tongued. Without looking up, she handed Xiaochi an apron. “It’s Friday. We’ll be busy. Work faster.”

Business was good here. Xiaochi wasn’t their only dishwasher.

Strictly speaking, washing dishes was casual work. She only came when the owner’s wife messaged her.

The sinks were in a courtyard outside the kitchen. The others arrived one after another, put on their aprons, and got to work.

Amid the cooking fumes, beneath the lights, sweat beaded on Xiaochi’s forehead. She concentrated on the dishes in her hands, carefully washing away every dirty spot.

I briefly resumed my own form, sat on the courtyard wall, and lit a cigarette.

Black mist rose. Mingling sat down beside me.

He fished a cigarette out of my pocket, put it between his lips, and turned his head. “Got a light?”

Humans couldn’t see us, or the red glow.

Mingling followed my gaze. “She’s why you’ve been putting off going back to the underworld?”

“None of your business.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Serious about her?”

I bit down on my cigarette, impatient. “What exactly do you want?”

“Oh, you’ve slipped in the performance rankings. The boys sent me to see what could possibly make the king of overwork stop overworking.”

“Piss off.”

“Right you are!”