In 2002, Shenzhen was already a hot spot in China. A significant portion of the information influencing China's reform and opening-up spread nationwide from Shenzhen.
Guizhou remained a province with slow development and a backward economy. At universities like "Guizhou Normal University," when students discussed their post-graduation plans back then, they often talked about Shenzhen rather than major cities like Beijing, Shanghai, or Nanjing. While everyone yearned for those big cities, they also knew the barriers were high and establishing oneself there was extremely difficult. Shenzhen, on the other hand, offered promising prospects and abundant opportunities, making it the first choice for many graduates.
However, if I hadn’t faced various upheavals in my life, I wouldn’t have gone to Shenzhen. I was someone who cherished home and sought stability. If life had continued smoothly and satisfactorily as before, why would I have ventured far from home? But once changes occurred, I only wished to escape to a distant, vibrant land.
On my first morning in Shenzhen, I did five things—first, I deposited over a hundred thousand yuan in cash, keeping only a small amount for living expenses, and sewed the bankbook into the front of my shirt. I wrote a letter to the university administration, declaring my withdrawal from school, with the reason being "dislike of studying." This reason clearly tarnished my image, but it spared me the trouble of fabricating a "story" to justify myself. I wrote a letter to one of my roommates, asking her to forward my mail to me. I went downtown and checked into a cheap, small hotel.
The last task was more difficult—informing my adoptive father of my whereabouts. I made a long-distance call to him.
I had originally intended to write him a letter too, but I was afraid he might not receive it and instead get an inquiry call from the university first, which would worry him.
"Why, Wan Zhi? Why? Why did you take this step? Am I not your father anymore? Does twenty years of closeness mean nothing to you?..."
That day was a Sunday. When I called home, my adoptive father actually cried on the other end of the line.
How could anyone be unmoved?
Tears streamed down my face as well. I said things like asking for his forgiveness, urging him not to worry, expressing gratitude for his upbringing, explaining that I simply wanted to start a completely new life, assuring him that I could take good care of myself, and hoping he wouldn’t fret too much...
After hanging up, singing suddenly echoed from outside the small hotel:
Wipe away your tears, don’t be afraid,
In the wind and rain, what’s a little pain?
The weather outside was beautiful—clear skies, bright sunshine, and a gentle breeze. Fortunately, there were gusts of sea breeze, making Shenzhen’s heat not too unbearable for someone like me from Guizhou.
My first impression of Shenzhen was that songs from audio systems often played unexpectedly. The tape players were mostly "smuggled goods," much cheaper than those inland, and they mostly played songs by Hong Kong and Taiwanese singers. Even small hair salons would set up speakers outside. If several shops on a street had speakers outside, they would all consciously lower the volume, each listening to their own music without disturbing others. If only one shop had a speaker, they would play it quite loudly.
Back then, Shenzhen’s population wasn’t too large. There were many construction sites, and workers were mostly concentrated at or around these sites during the day, making the city itself seem quiet with very few pedestrians. The heat was another reason for the sparse foot traffic. The songs served as a lure to attract passersby. Following the sound of the music, no matter what kind of shop it was, you would inevitably find one—and inside, the air conditioning was sure to be on.
At that time, Shenzhen’s population was mainly composed of young and middle-aged people, with youth predominating. They came from all corners of the country, and the songs helped ease their homesickness.At night, the city center would come alive, with food stalls everywhere, a scene that could be described as "bright lights and vibrant colors." By then, the singers' voices had faded, and the new residents of Shenzhen from all corners of the country took the stage. Without makeup or elaborate costumes, they wore their work uniforms from various professions, each holding a microphone and singing at the top of their lungs, often competing with one another, singing until "the world was turned upside down with passion and fervor."
The hotel I stayed in was located in such a lively area. "Alone in a foreign land as a stranger," I feared quiet nights. Besides, compared to others, that hotel was the cheapest. My understanding of money was rather vague. Although I knew that over a hundred thousand yuan was a significant sum, the thought of the long and unpredictable road ahead, with unforeseen "hurdles" possibly appearing unexpectedly, led me to adopt a frugal spending principle: save wherever possible.
The first job I found was at a construction site far from the city center. Without a university degree, I couldn’t find a "white-collar" job that involved working in office buildings. I also didn’t want to be a "shop assistant," as that kind of work required wearing uniforms as demanded by the shop owner and applying makeup, which was something I couldn’t accept. Smiling at customers and seeing them off with a smile was also something I was simply not good at...
I signed my first-ever labor contract with the canteen of a construction site—my job was to be a kitchen assistant. "Kitchen assistant" meant doing whatever you were told without question, with a monthly salary of 2,500 yuan, reportedly over a thousand yuan more than the average manual laborer in inland areas. If you performed well, there was a bonus at the end of the year.
The thought of earning 2,500 yuan a month from then on made my heart race and my hands tremble with excitement as I signed the contract.
The head chef was a man from Henan surnamed Liu, around sixty years old. The three of us girls all called him "Uncle Liu." He was from a rural area and had once been the head cook in the canteen of a state-owned factory. When the factory fell into decline and delayed wages became common, he angrily took early retirement. He had been in Shenzhen for many years, still working in the same field, often calling himself an "old hand who had ventured into Shenzhen." The assistant chef was his younger son, Liu Zhu, whom we all called Brother Zhuzi. He was short and stocky, with a strong build, the type you’d call a "barrel-chested man." He had followed his father to Shenzhen many years ago and was quite skilled in large-scale cooking, calling himself the "King of Pastries."In those days in Shenzhen, contracting was popular when it came to labor relations. The father and son had contracted a canteen at a large construction site, responsible for three meals a day for a construction team of about 120 to 130 people. There were two other girls—one from a rural area in Northeast China, named Li Juan, a year older than me, down-to-earth, sharp-tongued with a strong sense of justice, unafraid of trouble, and daring to take responsibility. The other, from an unknown province, was named Hao Qianqian, petite with naturally curly hair, delicate eyebrows and pretty eyes, carrying a certain charm. Sometimes she claimed to be a Sichuan girl, other times she said she was from Hubei, and occasionally mentioned spending her childhood in her grandmother’s village in Zhejiang, becoming a city dweller after the age of fifteen when she followed her parents. When asked which city, she would dodge the question, evading and changing the subject. Among the three of us, she was the oldest, a year older than Li Juan. But when it came to who was the backbone of the trio, it wasn’t her. She was quite calculating, always afraid of getting involved in trouble or suffering losses. If something didn’t concern her, she would avoid it at all costs. I couldn’t be the backbone either, not to mention I was the youngest, and at that time, I had no courage or insight to speak of. But I understood that I needed friends, so I quickly became friends with Li Juan. Her kind of person was easy to befriend—as long as you expressed a desire to be friends with her, she would consider you a friend and even feel touched that you thought highly of her.
Thus, Li Juan naturally became the backbone of our trio. Whenever something involved our common interests, once she decided what to do, Qianqian and I would follow her lead. She wasn’t a reckless “hothead”; she was bold yet careful, courageous yet strategic.
The Liu father and son had signed a contracting agreement with the site’s general logistics department, and we had also signed labor contracts with them, making us their employees in terms of labor relations. There were several canteens of this nature on the site, competing in service quality. When it came to feeding so many people, with multiple canteens coexisting, competition was inevitable. The Liu father and son were ambitious, and the hundred or so people we served were quite satisfied. The general logistics department often praised us and even awarded us a commendation flag. Of course, such praise also burdened the Liu father and son, and we shared that burden. But it was still better than being frequently criticized, especially since there were year-end bonuses, which everyone received.
The laborers on the site lived in two-story prefabricated houses, one-third of whom were engineering soldiers, with the majority being migrant youth from rural areas across the country. Dozens of rows of prefabricated houses were a distinctive sight on the site, and the presence of five or six hundred young men kept the place lively from morning till night. When the prefabricated houses couldn’t accommodate everyone, dozens of tents appeared.
The three of us sisters and the Liu father and son didn’t live in the prefabricated houses or the tents but in an abandoned two-compartment truck. The general logistics department said it was mainly for the safety of us three girls. If we lived too close to so many young, vigorous single men, they couldn’t bear the consequences in case of any accidents. Moreover, it would be inconvenient for us and for the young men as well.
Although the truck was abandoned, it had been fitted with a new canvas canopy and small mesh windows on both sides. The curtain at the rear could be tied open during the day and securely fastened from the inside at night.
The Liu father and son were quite considerate. Before I arrived, they let Li Juan and Qianqian sleep in the front compartment, while they slept in the rear one. The front compartment was longer, and the rear one shorter.
On the day I reported for duty, Qianqian was somewhat reluctant to make room, saying, “How can three people possibly fit in there?”Li Juan, however, said, "Do we really have to sleep lengthwise?! Isn't the carriage long enough to sleep sideways? Everyone who’s away from home has it tough—we should look out for each other. Get up and rearrange your bedding. If you don’t move, I’ll kick you!"
Hao Qianqian initially lay still with her eyes closed, but upon hearing the last sentence, she scrambled up. Though her expression was sour, she silently turned her bedding sideways.
Right then, I thought, I want to be friends with this Li Juan—she’s someone worth befriending!
Putting myself in Qianqian’s shoes, her reluctance was somewhat understandable. When the two of them slept lengthwise, with their belongings neatly arranged at the head and foot, the space seemed quite ample. My arrival disrupted the orderly layout of the limited space.
Li Juan didn’t say anything more. After I laid my bedding sideways at the back of the carriage, she gathered my things and theirs into one corner, restoring a sense of order to the space. I slept at the back of the carriage, which only meant a bit more hassle for me compared to them—I had to roll up my bedding during the day and spread it out whenever I wanted to lie down. Otherwise, they’d have to step over it when getting in and out, turning it into a carpet. Before the three of us went to sleep, it was my responsibility to tie the curtain from the inside to prevent bad people from sneaking in or snakes from crawling in.
Although Qianqian wasn’t exactly welcoming of my arrival, after a few days of getting to know each other, the awkwardness quickly faded, and soon we were calling each other sisters. At heart, she wasn’t a bad person, and she had qualities that both Li Juan and I appreciated—she sang beautifully and had a sharp, witty tongue. All the songs she knew were sweet tunes about brothers and sisters; her wit was dry and often laced with innuendo. Not too explicit, just mildly suggestive. Li Juan and I loved listening to her sing—the work was exhausting, and her songs helped us unwind. As for her risqué jokes, we didn’t mind them either; laughter could dissolve a thousand worries.
The young men on the construction site all did heavy, sweaty labor, so they had big appetites. Because the food at our canteen was relatively good, young men from other work areas often bought meal tickets from us and came to eat here. So, the number of people we actually served was far more than 120 or 130—sometimes as many as 200.
The Liu father and son didn’t complain about this; on the contrary, they considered it an honor. As their employees, we three sisters naturally couldn’t have any complaints. More young men enjoying our food also brought us a share of happiness.
Master Liu often encouraged us, saying, "No matter what you do, if you want to stand firm, you have to do it well."
I felt his words were also wisdom for life. What I learned from him and Li Juan were things even my "Principal Mother" had never taught me. Of course, if she were still alive, I wouldn’t have ended up in such a situation, getting involved with people like this!
To sustainably "do it well," if the main course was rice, Uncle Liu insisted on having three dishes and a soup, with an extra dish added on Sundays. If the main course required steaming, then just having steamed buns was absolutely not enough—there had to be flower rolls, bean paste buns, and sugar buns as well.
Uncle Liu said, "This is the bare minimum. For a large canteen, this is just how it’s done. If there’s too little variety, we’d be letting down the praise we receive."Our hands, the three of us sisters, rarely stayed dry except when we slept—you washed vegetables, I rinsed rice, and we still had to scrub pots, basins, bowls, and plates. About half of the young men didn’t have lunchboxes, so the communal utensils had to be washed twice according to regulations and then sterilized. The logistics department often came to inspect hygiene conditions. Steaming a pot of dry rice required rinsing seventy or eighty pounds of rice, which couldn’t be done by hand—we had to use a short-handled shovel. The first time I rinsed rice, after just a few minutes of stirring with the shovel, I was panting heavily, my arms aching.
The most exhausting task was making steamed buns. Normally, each of them could eat six or seven, and eating just five was considered a small appetite. Doing the math, we had to make over a thousand buns. We had to wash several types of vegetables by noon and chop them up before the men finished work. Some of the young men would collapse into bed as soon as they got off work, skipping dinner altogether to sleep. If we chopped vegetables then, it would disturb them—something we had to consider.
The sound of the three of us sisters chopping vegetables at the three-meter-long table carried quite a distance. Li Juan and I each held a knife in one hand; Qian Qian’s arms were too thin and her hands too small, so she had to grip a knife with both hands. Five knives danced up and down. To finish in time, we didn’t speak to each other—that task took two hours. Uncle Liu was in charge of mixing the filling; only he could blend the flavors just right. Then, all five of us would get up together in the middle of the night to wrap the buns. The first time I wrapped them, my arms were so sore from chopping during the day that I couldn’t even pinch the pleats properly. And I was also sleepy, nodding off as I worked.
Liu Zhu was truly skilled at handling dough on the table. Even though we bought flour from the same supplier as other work areas, the food steamed in our canteen just tasted better. First, Uncle Liu fermented the dough perfectly, and Liu Zhu’s technique of kneading it was also crucial. On one side of the dough table was a large iron ring, with a two-meter-long pole inserted into it, allowing it to rise and fall flexibly. When the pole came down on the large dough lump, Liu Zhu would lift his body, half-sitting on the pole as he pressed down again and again. With dough kneaded so evenly, how could the steamed buns not be dense? The young men didn’t like fluffy buns, thinking they didn’t fill them up. After kneading several lumps of dough like this, he’d often be drenched in sweat, so he’d take off his shirt and continue bare-chested. Whenever I saw him then, I’d laugh, thinking he looked like he was putting on a performance; he’d smile back at me, as if to say, “This is nothing for your brother, I can finish it like playing around.”
One day, after finally chopping several large baskets of vegetables, the three of us sisters climbed exhaustedly into the truck bed, able to rest for over half an hour. As we lay flat on our backs, Qian Qian said with infinite longing, “How wonderful it would be to be held by a handsome guy and sleep for a while.”
Li Juan chimed in, “It seems a fondness for beauty isn’t just men’s nature.”
Qian Qian immediately retorted, “How shallow. How do you write the ‘hao’ in ‘haose’? It’s ‘woman’! It’s only natural for women to appreciate beauty too. ‘A woman adorns herself for the one who appreciates her’ means that women not only appreciate beauty themselves but also influence men to do the same. If men could treat appreciating beauty as the most important thing in life, wouldn’t that make us women happy? The world would surely be much more peaceful…”
She propped herself up, ready to enlighten Li Juan and me again. She was always like that—once a topic interested her, she’d get excited, no matter how tired she was, spouting endless nonsense and flawed arguments, one set after another, as if they formed a complete system in her mind.Li Juan turned over, her back facing Qian Qian as she said angrily, "Shut up! Either get lost, no one wants to hear your indecent talk."
When Qian Qian spoke that way, I never chimed in, just listened quietly. It wasn’t that I was too embarrassed to respond—ever since coming to Shenzhen and becoming a kitchen helper at the construction site, I had overcome the habit of feeling "embarrassed" in many ways. I simply couldn’t keep up with the conversation because I had never been in that kind of context before, never heard that kind of talk. Though Li Juan had a fiery personality, she didn’t often speak "indecently." In fact, I preferred listening to Qian Qian’s "indecent" talk—it amazed me that there were people in the world who harbored such thoughts, making me feel both ignorant and grateful that others could fill in the gaps for me. Moreover, I believed Qian Qian’s words contained practical experience, which could only benefit me in quickly becoming an "experienced self." But regarding Qian Qian’s talk, I wisely adhered to the "three no’s" principle: never actively join in, never refuse to listen, and never take a stance.
Suddenly, Li Juan sprang up as if launched by a spring mattress—a large rat had somehow snuck into the carriage. Yes, just as Lu Xun once described, the rat was indeed big enough to be called "a head."
After the three of us sisters united to chase the rat away, Uncle Liu called us to work.
As Li Juan got out of the carriage, she said, "We should get a cat."
A few days later, we had a little "tiger cat," which we called "Little Friend." Li Juan said she had originally planned to buy one but found it on the road and brought it back. At a glance, it was clearly a little stray.
I said, "It’s like the three of us sisters—not originally wild, but turned wild later."
Li Juan said, "When you’re in a strange place without a home, what else can you do but become wild?"
Qian Qian said, "Being wild is right. What does ‘survival of the fittest’ mean? It’s about competing to see who’s wilder. The tame get eliminated, the wildest survive."
Li Juan retorted, "You’re wild in words, I’m wild in action. If only the two of us were left on Earth, I’d be the survivor, and you’d disappear."
Qian Qian looked at me and asked, "Is she saying she’d eat me?"
I smiled without answering.
"You think she wouldn’t?"
Li Juan "bared her claws" at Qian Qian.
Both of them laughed.
I enjoyed listening to their bickering—it was fun.
The three of us sisters all adored "Little Friend"—our fates were similar, and loving it was like loving ourselves. Deep down, all three of us kitchen helpers at the construction site canteen longed to be cherished.
A few nights before National Day, Qian Qian tentatively asked Li Juan and me if we wanted to earn some "extra money" during the holiday. Li Juan asked her what brilliant idea she had. Qian Qian said that during those days, the streets in the city were lined with bustling food stalls, one after another. Most of the customers at these stalls were young men from various construction sites. If we went to sing, they’d be extremely generous with their money—at least ten yuan per song. After singing one song, we could easily earn forty or fifty yuan.
"Nowadays, there are hundred-yuan bills, right? If someone’s drunk, they might even hand over a hundred yuan without a second thought—no regrets, no asking for it back."
Qian Qian’s words were very tempting.
"But... you could pull it off, but I don’t sing well," Li Juan was tempted.
"I’ve heard you sing before. You have a naturally loud voice, perfect for powerful songs..." Qian Qian encouraged her.Li Juan said, "I just sing random Northeastern folk songs, that's all I know. Some of the lyrics in Errenzhuan are quite racy. Not like you, always singing sweet love songs..."
"Nowadays the whole world's gone racy, it's better to know how to sing something a bit spicy. Young guys love hearing that kind of stuff—they go wild, pounding tables and stomping their feet. Actually, even sweet love songs are racy at their core. Aren't those soft, sentimental tunes racy too? It's just that the words aren't explicit but the melody is suggestive. Go on, go on..."
Qian Qian persistently urged Li Juan.
Li Juan glanced at me.
I immediately said, "I really don't know how to sing much, and I've never sung loudly in public before. You two go ahead. I'd rather stay in the car and read a novel or catch up on sleep."
Li Juan said, "Earning extra money is a good thing, but if Wan Zhi doesn't go, I won't go either. If we're going to earn, we should all earn."
Qian Qian quickly tried to persuade me too: "You have to come as well. The three of us sisters should stick together. If you're too shy to sing, I won't force you. You can just be in charge of collecting the money. Let me ask you: if after I finish singing, there are a few dozen yuan on the table, how would you collect it?"
I said, "I'd pick them up one by one, calmly, not grab them all at once. That would be too embarrassing."
Saying this was almost equivalent to agreeing.
Qian Qian said, "That's the way to do it, but you missed the key point. What about those who haven't taken out their wallets yet? You can't just let them off easily. You have to pressure them to take money out of their wallets and put it on the table. Use your smile to pressure them, call them 'brother' with every word, smile in a way that makes them feel awkward, compliment them on their good looks, great temperament, nice figure, or whatever—in short, make them feel so embarrassed that they have no choice but to take out their money! Anyway, how much the three of us earn depends a lot on your skills too!..."
"Enough, what kind of nonsense are you talking? Are you trying to lead Wan Zhi astray?"
Li Juan pushed Qian Qian aside, pulling me to one side and whispering, "That's all nonsense she's spouting, don't be fooled by her. You make the decision—if you go, I'll go; if you don't, I won't either. Let her go earn that extra money herself."
Qian Qian kept winking at me, and her winks had an even stronger hold over me than her words.
The word that slipped out of my mouth was: "Go."
But my reason was saying: "No."
In truth, my desire and reason were at war with each other at that moment.
I desperately wanted to learn how to earn "extra money," and I desperately wanted to prove whether I had the "talent" Qian Qian claimed I did—at least prove it once.
Over the next few days, Li Juan and Qian Qian practiced singing whenever they had time; while I practiced smiling, and memorized some lines or so-called "scripts" like reciting poems in elementary school.
Li Juan was also too embarrassed to sing "improper" lyrics, just as she didn't like saying "improper" things—she focused on practicing songs like "Big Girl," "Returning to Mother's Home," the theme song from the TV series "Wheel, Woman, and Well," as well as folk songs with a northwestern flair like "Loess Plateau," "Xintianyou," and "Going West."
When Li Juan and Qian Qian showcased their singing voices at the night food stalls, many young men were captivated by them. Qian Qian's sweet singing softened them up, and Li Juan's bold singing style immediately had them howling with excitement.
Afterward, she said she never expected she could create such a powerful "aura."
Whether I managed to smile as Qian Qian had demanded, I couldn't say for sure. Neither could they, as they were too engrossed in singing to pay any attention to me. But the lines I had memorized did come in handy—they weren't wasted, and I delivered them as if they were genuine. I proved to myself that, under the temptation of money, people can master certain things without being taught.
I collected money until my hands grew weak.
Our earnings on the first night were over seven hundred yuan. Aside from a few hundred-yuan bills, the rest were all ten-yuan notes.
Just think—how many times did I have to reach out my hand!
Wouldn't it be strange if my hands didn't grow weak?
The three of us didn't return until the early hours of the morning. We climbed into the truck bed and immediately fell asleep, each of us sleeping like a dead dog.
On the last day of the holiday, we left those streets in the evening and started heading back. We felt grateful to those streets—they had allowed us to earn quite a bit of extra money for several days in a row. Of course, we were even more grateful to the young men—to be honest, there were surely countless girls in China who could sing as well as Li Juan and Qian Qian. The young men's welcome had a "favoring" quality to it—as fellow travelers far from home, a single man might harbor ill intentions toward a single woman, waiting for an opportunity to harass her. But in places like the food stalls, a group of them would collectively display gentlemanly manners and consideration toward women. In such moments, hormones played a "positive" role. Besides, many of them were demobilized or active-duty soldiers, well-disciplined. Since work resumed the next day, they didn't need anyone to remind them to return to their dormitories early.
As the three of us walked along the road, Qian Qian asked me how much I thought we had earned.
I said I hadn't counted, but even though we had ended early, it couldn't be less than the first day.
Qian Qian took the money pouch from me and counted as we walked.
She had drunk two glasses of wine offered by the young men and was a bit tipsy.
"Wow! There are so many hundred-yuan bills today."
Li Juan was also slightly drunk and eagerly counted the hundred-yuan notes.On the last day of the holiday, some young men had grown more fond of the two girls, and the hundred-yuan bills also carried a sense of gratitude—thanks for the joy they had brought them.
As the one collecting the money, I hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol; no one offered me a drink, and I didn’t feel like drinking anyway.
Watching their excited expressions, I felt a sense of accomplishment. Their satisfaction and happiness proved I still had some of the ability Qian Qian had mentioned.
Suddenly, a whirlwind swept through. Without any of us three sisters noticing, a gust of wind, formed out of nowhere, swirled right in front of us.
Four or five hundred-yuan bills in Li Juan and Qian Qian’s hands “flew” into the air.
All three of us were stunned.
“Our money!”
Qian Qian’s cry was tinged with tears.
“Chase it!”
Li Juan looked up at the bills and was the first to run after them.
We splashed through puddles and trampled through grass, retrieving three bills, but two had flown higher and farther away.
Qian Qian, exhausted from the chase, was panting so hard she had snot bubbles, her hands braced on her knees as she said, “I really can’t run anymore. Let’s not chase them. Just count the loss on me.”
But Li Juan insisted, “Hundred-yuan bills are nothing to take lightly. It’s a loss no matter who takes the blame!”
She kept chasing, as if determined not to give up until she succeeded.
I followed her.
Whether I ended up with a few dozen yuan more or less didn’t matter to me; I just couldn’t bear to watch her chase alone. Besides, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal for Li Juan either. I felt she was just being stubborn.
The whirlwind seemed to lose its energy, suddenly vanishing. We saw clearly as the two hundred-yuan bills drifted down and landed on a truck.
Only when we caught up did we realize it was two trucks parked side by side, working overtime—one with an enclosed cement mixer slowly pouring cement into the bed of the other truck. Our money had landed in the truck bed.
Before I could say anything, Li Juan had already climbed onto the truck and jumped into the bed.
After a moment’s hesitation, I did the same.
“The power of example is boundless”—that phrase perfectly described me at the time. For me, it was entirely an impulsive act of friendship, almost like risking my life to keep her company.
Qian Qian caught up too, panting heavily as she shouted, “Didn’t I already say to count the loss on me? Please, don’t do this! Come down quickly!...”
Neither of us paid her any attention.
To seal the oil well as quickly as possible, wasn’t there that almost universally known photo of “Iron Man Wang”?—What Li Juan and I were doing at that moment was exactly like that.
Li Juan let out a cry of surprise: “I found one!” A few minutes later, I also fished one out of the cement. Just then, a worker appeared out of nowhere and gave the three of us a good scolding.
Watching the two of us three sisters looking like mud-covered monkeys while the other wore a guilty expression, Uncle Liu, who was drinking alone, choked on his wine.
Our canteen had one particularly considerate feature: it was equipped with a boiler, so we could take showers every day.
But Uncle Liu said he thought we’d be back late, so he had used up all the hot water washing his and his son’s clothes, and the tank had just been refilled with cold water.
Still, we had to wash immediately—we couldn’t wait!
Normally, in Shenzhen’s October, unheated tap water shouldn’t be too cold; many people even enjoy cold showers. But the water in the canteen wasn’t piped-in tap water—it was groundwater pumped up by the construction site, as the pipes hadn’t been connected yet.
That groundwater was freezing cold. We usually used heated water for washing vegetables and dishes, otherwise, it would chill our hands.When the three of us sisters took turns standing under the showerhead, drenched by that icy water, each of us trembled all over, our teeth chattering audibly.
What Li Juan had found on the cement truck was indeed a hundred-yuan bill.
The "money" I clutched in my hand revealed its true form after being soaked—it turned out to be an admission ticket to some place.
Qian Qian burst into tears.
She cried, "It's so hard for migrant workers to earn a little extra money!"
Then she cursed, "Damn you, heaven!"
Li Juan and I couldn't help but hold her close, tears streaming down our faces as well.
At that moment, drenched in cold water, the three of us sisters trembled together.
Our sorrow was no longer just about the hundred yuan slipping through our fingers, but about the unspoken, complicated relationship between migrant workers everywhere and money.
From then on, the bond between us sisters grew even deeper. Qian Qian began to see me in a new light—she thought I was "sisterly enough" too.
We each ended up with over a thousand yuan on average...
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