Love for You

Chapter 1: Ten-Minute Lockpicking

Tengcheng.

As remembered - sweltering, humid, densely shaded. The air hung thick and sticky, mingling with the sour pungence unique to midsummer and the fresh bitterness of lush vegetation.

The door remained that same old iron door, the lock still the mechanical one installed years ago.

After knocking repeatedly with no response, Miao Jing's gaze fixed on the wall advertisement - Ten-Minute Lockpicking.

The elderly locksmith charged one hundred yuan. A wire inserted into the keyhole, a casual twist, and the iron door clicked open.

"Need to see my ID?"

"You said it's your own home. No need."

Dragging two oversized suitcases, having spent the night on the train staring awake with dark circles under her eyes, still carrying the sour scent of instant noodles, her accent not quite local - the locksmith glanced at her pretty face, noted the simple furnishings inside, then packed his tools and left.

This 1990s-era apartment building showed spiderweb-like grime on exterior walls and stairwells. The staircase was crammed with residents' clutter, a cracked drainpipe creating a sewage trench on the floor - dirty, stifling, garbage piled high. This dilapidated old community housed no wealthy residents.

Miao Jing pushed her luggage inside. The two-bedroom apartment spanned over eighty square meters, layout unchanged though some furniture had been replaced. Not clean, but not excessively dirty either. The kitchen and refrigerator showed no signs of habitation, yet the ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts, a crushed beer can on the tea table still half-full.

Surveying the space, she finally approached the right-side room. The rusted lock resisted turning, requiring great effort to force open. As the door swung, dormant dust stirred by the airflow rose in choking clouds. Faded curtains hung half-detached, grayish light filtering through the window. The old wooden bed stood disassembled to its frame, the room crammed with chaotic old furniture leaving no space to step.

Pushing open the left bedroom door revealed half-drawn curtains, the room bright and quiet. A semi-new mattress, single wardrobe, and cluttered desk stood inside. A plastic lighter rested conveniently beside the desk, alongside a semi-new steel-band mechanical watch. A pillow lay tossed on the bed, draped with a man's white undershirt and gray sweatpants.

Retreating from the room, she sat in the living room eating biscuits, washed her face hastily, then went to catch up on sleep.

The pillow carried masculine scents - cheap tobacco, sweat, skin - like potent liquor, fermented and steaming, pungently invasive.

Shifting position, she turned her head. Cool, sharp eyes suddenly focused beside the pillow - a long hair lay on the bedsheet, black at the root, wine-red through the middle, yellowish at the tip. A woman's.

Calmly rising from bed, she opened the wardrobe, changed to fresh bedding, then lay down and closed her eyes.

Miao Jing slept deeply, not waking until two in the afternoon.Both suitcases were packed to the brim, containing all her worldly possessions. Placed on the floor to be unpacked, Miao Jing found herself at a loss for where to begin. After staring blankly for a long while, she wandered through the kitchen, bathroom, living room, and bedroom a few times, then opened a shopping app to order—curtains, a mattress, pillows, quilts, bedding sets, an air conditioner, a fan, and various other small odds and ends.

She then headed out to the supermarket for a mop, rags, cleaning supplies, shampoo, body wash, toilet paper, and sanitary pads, returning with bulging shopping bags.

At the breezy corner of the alley, a group of elderly men and women sat chatting. Their dim, aging eyes followed her intently as she made trip after trip, carrying things back.

Miao Jing recognized one of them and called out, "Grandma Zhang."

"You... you're from the Chen family on the second floor..."

"Miao Jing, Chen Yi's former sister."

Grandma Zhang was taken aback. "You... how come you're back?"

"Yeah." Miao Jing set down her shopping bags. "Chen Yi isn't home. How has he been these years?"

When it came to Chen Yi, there was plenty to talk about. He hadn't changed much over the years—still the kind of person everyone expected would end up behind bars sooner or later. Yet he had managed to scrape by, enduring the neighbors' gossip all this time.

"Same as ever, no sense of responsibility at his age, still unmarried and hanging out with the wrong crowd..."

Miao Jing knew Chen Yi had accomplished nothing in the past six years. He had spent two years away in another city before returning to start a business with friends. He kept company with trashy friends and disreputable women. His most recent job was as the owner of a billiards hall near a vocational high school, but he seemed to have gone out of town and hadn't been back for almost half a month.

She had never expected much from him—a vocational school graduate and small-time troublemaker involved in extortion, brawls, and causing trouble. If he managed to stay out of prison and live a normal life, that was already an achievement in itself.

There was so much to say about Chen Yi, and Miao Jing had her own share of stories too. Before Grandma Zhang could steer the conversation toward her, Miao Jing excused herself, saying she had things to do, and carried her bags upstairs.

She started cleaning the house, beginning with the kitchen and bathroom—throwing out what needed to go and buying what was missing. When hungry, she ate instant noodles and crackers; when tired, she slept on the Simmons mattress. Once the items she bought online arrived, she set about tackling the rooms—scrubbing, washing, assembling furniture, and airing out bedsheets and clothes.

From dusty, cobweb-covered cabinets, she dug out many old belongings—her clothes and miscellaneous items from back in the day, along with stacks of high school test papers and textbooks, all tied up in large burlap sacks. Miao Jing spent a long time sorting through them, packing everything into storage boxes and sealing them away under the bed. She then unpacked her luggage piece by piece, finally making the room somewhat livable.

She also gave Chen Yi's room a thorough cleaning—dusting the tops of cabinets, washing curtains that hadn't been touched in years, laundering clothes and bedding, mopping the floor, and wiping the windows. From under the bed, she swept out dried-up cigarette butts, a woman's colorful hair tie, and an unopened contraceptive—all of which she tossed out as trash.