The two men sat facing each other in silence.
A few bottles of 56-proof Niulanshan liquor and a small plate of spiced peanuts lay on the table between them.
Neither spoke as they drank, one cup after another.
The small restaurant’s owner leaned against the counter, pretending to watch TV but stealing glances their way, keeping an eye on the two men drinking in silence.
The one sitting further inside was familiar—a regular who always came alone, ordering only side dishes like marinated kelp or fried peanuts to go with his drinks. Whether beer or liquor, he’d pour for himself and drink late into the night.
The man across from him, though, was a stranger. His face was covered in scars—was it a birth defect or an injury? Burns or scalds? The owner couldn’t tell, but it was unsettling, though he couldn’t help staring.
For nearly an hour, the two just sat there, not speaking, not urging each other to drink—just matching each other cup for cup, wordlessly in sync. Just as the owner was pondering this, another table’s patrons started causing a drunken scene, grabbing the lady boss and refusing to let go. He hurried over to mediate, temporarily forgetting the silent pair in the corner.
Cao Xiaojun drank steadily, his mind racing.
This man in front of him was also called Ni Xiangdong—was it a coincidence or a test? If it was a test, how much did he know? Were there other witnesses to what happened back then? Why was he approaching him? And those scars—were they real or a disguise? What was his connection to the real Ni Xiangdong?
He had to be careful. Though his breath reeked of alcohol, his mind was sharp.
This man had only recently arrived at the construction site, but Cao had noticed him before. When Sun Xiaofei fell from the building a while back, it was this man who carried him to the hospital. But why was he talking to him today? Just out of kindness? And the name—just a coincidence?
Cao Xiaojun couldn’t figure it out, so he kept drinking in silence.
Xu Qingli held his cup, lost in thought.
He didn’t know what had come over him today—what kind of madness had made him follow Cao Xiaojun to this restaurant after work. He didn’t dare drink too much, but he couldn’t refuse either. Every time Cao downed a cup, he matched him, out of courtesy.
His instincts screamed at him—don’t get drunk, don’t say a word more than necessary. Like a game of chess, he waited for the other man to speak first.
But this man, Cao Xiaojun, hadn’t even looked at him properly since they sat down. He just drank quietly. Slowly, under the influence of alcohol, Xu Qingli relaxed too, pouring and drinking at his own pace.
The bottles of Niulanshan were soon empty, and Cao’s head began to sway slightly.
“More?”
Xu Qingli’s face burned from the liquor, and he quickly waved his hand.
“No.”
Cao nodded, paid the bill, and pushed the door open without a word. Xu Qingli didn’t mind. He picked up the last peanut from the plate, chewed it slowly, then staggered out after him.
The next week, and the week after that, the two still arrived at the restaurant on time—same table, same drinks, same silence.
This quiet routine lasted over a month, and even the owner grew used to it, no longer bothering to pay them any mind.The first rain of autumn fell, and the temperature plummeted. The plane trees by the roadside aged overnight, their once plump, emerald-green leaves now withered and yellow, curling at the edges, layer upon layer spread across the damp asphalt road.
On that gloomy evening, the two men entered, carrying the chill with them.
Xu Qingli started cursing as soon as he sat down.
That day at the construction site, Cao Xiaojun had been given trouble—not only did he work for nothing, but money was also deducted from his pay.
Such things happened often. The foreman always had bad moods, and when he got angry from above, he took it out on those below.
"My treat today," Xu Qingli shouted toward the counter. "Waiter, bring all your signature dishes and a crate of beer."
Cao Xiaojun sat wooden-faced, offering no response.
But alcohol reddens a man’s face. After a few cups, his blood surged, and he joined in the cursing. Once the two had vented their anger, the air grew quiet again.
Xu Qingli lowered his head, pretending to pick at the now-cold eggplant and fish.
"There’s something... maybe I shouldn’t ask—"
For some reason, today’s rain reminded him of Cao Xiaojun’s tears that day, of him squatting on the ground, his shoulders trembling.
"Xiaojun, are you in some kind of trouble?"
Cao Xiaojun took a sip of liquor, smacked his lips, and after a long pause, spoke.
"My son’s sick."
"Is it serious?"
Cao Xiaojun sniffled. "Hard to say. If a rich man gets it, he won’t die. But if a poor man gets it—"
His eyes reddened, and he downed the cup in one gulp.
"No wonder you’ve been working like your life depends on it," Xu Qingli said, refilling his cup. "The wages aren’t enough?"
"Far from it. Today, I went to ask if I could get an advance on my pay. But that Chicken Giblets not only refused but also found an excuse to dock my wages."
Xu Qingli froze. This was the first time he’d heard Cao Xiaojun speak the dialect of Nan Yang Province—they were actually from the same hometown. But he suppressed his curiosity and didn’t press further. What if Cao Xiaojun turned around and asked about his own past?
His index finger tapped incessantly against the cup. "Could you borrow from someone?"
"Damn it, who’d lend me anything? Everyone here breaking their backs is desperate for money. Besides, I’m a stranger here, no roots, no connections—" Cao Xiaojun let out a drunken hiccup. "Forget it, let’s not talk about this misery. Drink up."
Xu Qingli opened his mouth but ultimately clinked cups, washing down the words at the tip of his tongue with liquor.
That night, Cao Xiaojun woke up stifled from his dreams. Just as he was about to relieve himself, he suddenly heard the person on the upper bunk tossing and turning, seemingly still awake.
Workers at the construction site usually lived in two-story sheet-metal dorms, eight to a room with bunk beds. Xu Qingli happened to sleep right above Cao Xiaojun. The beds were flimsy and unsteady—the slightest movement kept both men awake. So, Cao Xiaojun instantly lost all drowsiness, his eyes widening as his hand reached beneath the pillow—where he always kept a knife.
There was movement from the upper bunk, as if someone was climbing down.
He feigned sleep, eyes closed, sensing the person above descending the ladder and standing by his bed, looking around.
In the darkness, the cramped dormitory echoed with thunderous snores, yet he could still hear the other man’s breathing, close enough to feel. The sour stench of sweat wafted over him as the figure leaned closer.
What the hell is this guy doing?
Just as he was about to open his eyes, he felt a hand slip something beneath his pillow, then heard a long exhale before the person climbed back up.
Cao Xiaojun lay frozen, unmoving, until faint snores came from the upper bunk. Only then did he reach beneath the pillow to feel around.He felt a thick stack of paper and knew exactly what it was.
He said nothing, turned over, and lay awake all night.
As if by unspoken agreement, when dawn came, neither of them mentioned it.
Life went on as usual. The days on the construction site were dull and monotonous—work from the moment they opened their eyes, collapse into sleep at night, with no days off.
Outsiders always assumed they were all equally burdened with hardship, but that wasn’t the case. The industry had its own unwritten rules, with hierarchies already firmly in place. As the saying went: Yellow hardhats work, white hardhats stroll, red hardhats watch, blue hardhats call the shots.
The yellow hardhats were the lowest-tier laborers—doing the hardest work for the least pay. Blue hardhats were skilled workers—welders, electricians, crane operators, excavator drivers—who earned slightly better wages. Red hardhats were project managers or clients, while the white hardhats were the bosses or site supervisors—the kind of people you had to offer a cigarette to and nod respectfully at.
Even among the yellow hardhats, there were tiers.
Those related to the foreman or part of the core team got easier jobs and better pay.
Those who knew how to flatter and suck up might not get much extra, but at least they weren’t given a hard time.
Then there were people like Cao Xiaojun and Xu Qingli—workers who kept their heads down, had no special skills, and never bothered with bootlicking or networking. They were the "outsiders," always assigned the dirtiest, most exhausting jobs for the lowest pay.
Neither of them ever complained. They worked side by side—hauling rebar, delivering cement, one handing bricks while the other laid them. When they got tired, they’d slip away from the others, squat by a wall, smoke a cigarette, curse a bit, and somehow, they got along just fine.
Construction usually halted in winter, and with November already here, the shutdown period was approaching.
As the weather turned colder, entertainment options dwindled. The workers grew restless waiting for their pay, their pent-up energy with no outlet. Stuck together day in and day out, conflicts were inevitable.
Even someone as low-key and avoidant as Xu Qingli had gotten into a fight recently—with a man named Wang Cheng.
Wang Cheng was a relative of the foreman, idling around the site all day. In his free time, he loved gambling, and when he lost, he’d borrow money left and right—never paying it back. Over time, no one wanted anything to do with him, so he resorted to half-stealing, half-extorting.
The night Xu Qingli slipped money to Cao Xiaojun, Wang Cheng saw it all clearly and secretly noted where the money was hidden.
When Xu Qingli went to the post office to send the money, he discovered that the stash under his bedding had been swapped out. Suddenly, he remembered how Wang Cheng had been sneaking back to the dorm during the day lately, so he confronted him.
Wang Cheng, of course, denied it. They argued back and forth, but nothing came of it.
The next day, Wang Cheng went straight to the foreman with a twisted version of events, exaggerating and lying through his teeth. For the next two weeks, the foreman made Xu Qingli’s life miserable.
That night, snow drifted outside as Wang Cheng set up a pot in the middle of the site, excitedly cooking something and loudly inviting his buddies over for a feast.
Xu Qingli knew he wasn’t included and had no interest in joining. He kept his distance, two meat buns tucked in his coat.
Stray dogs often wandered the construction site in packs.
Xu Qingli might have been guarded around people, but he had a soft spot for animals. Knowing they struggled to find food in winter, he always brought back scraps when he could.
There was one scruffy yellow mutt with a black nose—hit by a car at some point, so it always hobbled on three legs, one hind limb lifted awkwardly.
Too slow to compete with the other strays, it was painfully thin, its belly oddly swollen, as if it might be pregnant.Xu Qingli took pity on it and always gave it special treatment. After feeding it a few times, they became familiar. Whenever the puppy heard his movements, it would emerge from the shadows from afar, grinning happily with its little white teeth, wagging its tail, and bouncing over with a wriggle.
But tonight, no matter how much he called, the dog didn’t appear.
Just then, a coworker walked by with a bowl. "Dongzi, aren’t you coming?"
"What’s the good stuff?"
"Wang Cheng’s treating us to meat today. Said he caught a fat dog, got it cleaned up at the night market, and it’s boiling now."
Seeing Xu Qingli’s grim expression, the man kept urging him.
"Dog meat’s good for you. Cold weather—great nourishment. Warms you right up."
Xu Qingli grew frantic, calling out repeatedly.
The sky darkened, the surroundings pitch black, the cold wind howling. There was no sign of it. Behind him came hushed, suppressed laughter. He turned to see Wang Cheng gnawing on meat, glaring at him sidelong.
A sudden sense of foreboding struck him.
Xu Qingli strode over, his voice trembling.
"What are you eating?"
Wang Cheng didn’t even look up. "None of your damn business."
"Was it a little yellow dog? The one with a big belly?"
"Damn, dogs all look the same. It’s not my wife—who the hell cares if it’s got a big belly?"
The crowd around the pot burst into laughter.
"I’m asking you," Xu Qingli’s face flushed as he raised his voice, "where’d the dog come from?"
"Wagged its tail and came right to me. What, you two got something going on?"
Wang Cheng snorted, holding his bowl.
"No wonder, with a face like yours—only a bitch would—"
Before he could finish, the iron pot was overturned. Xu Qingli kicked him down, pinned him, and started pummeling him.
The others froze for a second before rushing in to help—naturally, most sided with Wang.
Xu Qingli’s arms were restrained by those pulling him off, leaving him powerless, thrashing uselessly. Wang Cheng seized the chance to scramble up, wiping scraps from his face, then picked up a dog leg from the ground and forced it into Xu Qingli’s mouth.
"Eat it, you bastard!"
Xu Qingli bit down hard on his finger, refusing to let go. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.
The others tried to pry his jaws apart.
Humiliated, Wang Cheng raised his fist to strike—but then spotted Cao Xiaojun approaching with a dark expression.
Wang Cheng feared this man, knowing how ruthless he was in a fight, but he still blustered:
"Cao, what the hell do you want? This has nothing to do with you—stay out of it!"
Cao Xiaojun ignored him. He stopped, picked up a brick, and weighed it in his hand.
"You wanna keep your job? My uncle’ll fire your ass!"
Cao Xiaojun tossed the brick aside and picked up a nail-studded plank instead.
"Goddammit, I’m talking to you—you hear—"
Before he could finish, Cao Xiaojun swung the plank at him.
The crowd froze. Seizing the moment, Xu Qingli broke free, grabbed a steel pipe, and brought it down.
Wang Cheng’s allies joined the brawl. The scene descended into chaos—shouting, cursing, pleading, screaming—a deafening mess. Xu Qingli couldn’t tell if he was taking more hits than he was dealing, if the blood on him was his or someone else’s.
But he didn’t care.
For the first time, he felt exhilarated.
It felt good.
Finally, in this godforsaken world, he had a brother.
Finally, he was no longer alone.
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