Sequel: Fairy Tale, Chapter One
“Uncle, tell me another story.”
Clinging to his leg was his little niece. His cousin had come to T City on vacation, bringing her two children. The older boy was in his rebellious phase; the younger girl was in her clingy phase. She wanted to hear countless fairy tales every day, from morning to night, without rest.
Ren Ningyuan, slightly tired, picked her up and set her on his lap, then opened a fairy-tale book.
But before he could get past the beginning, the little imp said, “Uncle, I’ve heard this one already.”
Children’s memories were too good; their thirst for knowledge too strong—it wasn’t always a blessing.
“Uncle, tell me a story I haven’t heard before, okay?”
That really wasn’t easy. For the first time, Ren Ningyuan felt the fatigue of trying to show off before an expert. He rubbed his temples and opened another book. He wasn’t in very good spirits today.
“Uncle, I don’t want book stories. I’ve heard them all. I want one from the radio.”
Ren Ningyuan closed the book and looked toward the desk for a moment. “Then let me tell you a story about a clownfish.”
Once upon a time, there was a little clownfish. One day, at the bottom of the sea, it met a big shark. Clearly, it was a ferocious shark—many fish were afraid of it. But for some reason, the clownfish took it for a good creature, thought it was vegetarian, thought it was very handsome, and followed it wholeheartedly, becoming its little lackey, swimming up and down every day to clean for it.
At first, the shark wasn’t used to it. It wasn’t a sea anemone at all—certainly not a suitable symbiotic partner for a clownfish.
But the clownfish treated it far too well. Perhaps its eyesight was poor; it mistook the shark for a gentle, beautiful sea anemone. Every day it brought food to share, and helped clean the waste from the shark’s body.
Gradually, the shark learned to draw back its teeth, making itself look a little gentler, a little more kind.
When the clownfish swam into its mouth to clean it with all its heart, the shark had to be extremely careful, so that it would not swallow it by accident in a moment of carelessness. The affection the clownfish showed was worth the shark doing something in return, so that it could live safely and steadily in its own tiny world.
The shark did not need to do much, because the clownfish asked for very little. So the shark marked out a small coral reef far from the seabed and found a sea anemone, letting the clownfish swim back and forth inside it, safe and fulfilled.
After that, no fish ever came to do for the shark what the clownfish once did. No fish followed happily behind it anymore. The shark felt a bit lonely, a bit missing the clownfish. But life over there was already not easy for the clownfish, and the real seabed world where the shark lived was even more cruel and ugly than it knew.
Yet one day, the clownfish suddenly left the coral reef, bringing all its belongings to find the shark.
It was far too foolish, far too unsafe. Its bright colors would attract countless dangers; it could easily become prey, swallowed casually by other fish.
It was too weak, and not easy to hide. The shark did not know where to keep it safe. Perhaps only inside the shark’s mouth would be secure—but the shark itself was, after all, a carnivore. Every meal, it had to eat many, many fish.
“And then?” Ren Ningyuan paused, lowered his head and gently stroked the little girl’s soft, faintly yellow hair. “It’s late. You should go to sleep.”
“But Uncle, the story isn’t finished yet,” she protested. “The shark didn’t eat the clownfish, right? They stayed friends, didn’t they?”
Ren Ningyuan gave a noncommittal “Mm,” and said gently, with an adult’s patience, “Go to sleep. If not, Mom will scold you when she comes back.”
The four-year-old still refused to let it go. “So what happened to the clownfish in the end?”
Ren Ningyuan fell silent for a moment, glanced at the table, and said, “It was washed ashore and died.”
The child went quiet, then after a while said loudly, “Uncle, you’re lying. The radio would never tell a fairy tale like that.”
Ren Ningyuan touched her head. “Go to sleep.”
Life, after all, is not a fairy tale.
The man in the photo frame on the table was smiling shyly, with a look of flustered happiness, his face very young. That was many years ago. Ren Ningyuan still remembered standing beside him then, the faint scent on his body.
He also remembered—it had already been a full year since he was gone.
After coaxing his little niece into bed and pulling the curtains closed, his cousin came back. Seeing she was alone, Ren Ningyuan knew her son had misbehaved again.
“Xiao Fei still won’t listen to me,” sighed his cousin Li Ruo. Even past forty, her complaints were spoken with elegance.
Ren Ningyuan smiled. “Let him be. Le Fei has grown up. Young people—let him do what he wants.”
It was late. Ren Ningyuan returned to his room, sat on the bed, and looked at the photo by the headboard.
The pillow was old. The man’s clothes were still there too, but with time passing, he had to press them hard to his nose to catch even the faintest trace of a scent—so light it was almost imperceptible.
Ren Ningyuan lay down on that pillow and turned off the light.
He did not know whether he would dream of him that night.
Often, in his dreams, he could hear that man and know he was just outside the door. But when he hurried to open it, the dream would break.
Even now, he still refused to enter his dreams.
That man had died, silently.
Zhuang Wei and Chu Mo had both gone to the United States. They kept in occasional contact, and by unspoken agreement, no one ever mentioned that man. It was as if, as time passed and his blurred shadow faded away, he would become someone who had never existed at all—each of them living on in peace, as though nothing had happened.
Indeed, no matter what kind of wound it is, it will stop bleeding and heal.
But it leaves a scar.
Because it was the anniversary of that man’s death, Qu Ke came home from school over the weekend. She had grown taller over the year, more mature, becoming a big girl. After that man passed away, it was as if she had grown up overnight.
She had once been merely a child of exceptional intelligence, but with a very innocent heart—more childish than her peers, fond of acting spoiled. Her father had taken such good care of her. Only children who are truly happy can afford to be naive. Even in that not-so-wealthy home, she had lived like a carefree little princess.
After that man left, Ren Ningyuan gave her a far more privileged life—lacking nothing, worrying about nothing, chauffeured by luxury cars, no longer needing to squeeze onto buses or walk on foot as she did when her father was alive.
Yet she could no longer live like a child. In this splendid palace, she instead resembled Cinderella, carrying a world-weariness far beyond her years.
Ren Ningyuan looked at the girl who now even cut her own hair. “The things I had delivered to your school last time—did you receive them?”
“Yes. Thank you, Uncle Ren.”
“That’s good. If you need anything, just tell me.”
“Uncle Ren, you don’t need to send me money anymore. I can manage on my own.”
Ren Ningyuan paused. “Don’t be polite with me. I promised your father I would take care of you.”
“I invested the money my dad left me,” Qu Ke said, now a little boyish. “These past few years, expenses haven’t been a problem. I think my dad would be happier seeing me independent.”
Ren Ningyuan looked at her for a while, then nodded.
When Qu Ke said she wanted to live on campus, he did not stop her. It was not that he did not care for her—but being alone together had become difficult for them, and they could no longer return to the indulgent closeness of before.
He could sense that Qu Ke even harbored resentment toward him, though no one had told her anything.
That subtle resentment and estrangement existed on both sides.
Once only the two of them were left facing each other, the fact of that man’s death became painfully vivid.
Every day he was not in this world, they felt incomplete—yet they could not comfort each other. Facing one another only made the void larger.
Ren Ningyuan came out of the pool to find Ye Xiutuo and Rong Liu already eating breakfast.
Rong Liu exclaimed, “Swimming this long—your stamina is way too good.”
Ye Xiutuo said solemnly, “My stamina has always been good. I just used it all up last night.”
Lin Han was still asleep upstairs.
“Shameless!” Rong Liu shouted. “Why won’t Xiao Teng come on vacation with me? Doesn’t he need to relax?”
“He’s the father of four kids. Give him a break.”
“Sigh,” Rong Liu slumped onto the table. “But it’s been so long since I’ve done it. If you don’t use that function for too long, it might degenerate.”
Ye Xiutuo said, “Shut up. Saying things like that—how do you expect Ningyuan to feel?”
Ren Ningyuan sat down to eat, smiling faintly as he stabbed his fork into the bowl of mango.
Ye Xiutuo smoothly took the fork and ate the mango pieces, looking at him. “Ningyuan, not to meddle, but do you really have no needs at all? That can’t be good for your health.”
Rong Liu, still courting death, added, “Relax. He’s already married his right hand, hahaha.”
After laughing, he was left with no breakfast and could only slump back onto the table again, flipping through his phone while staring at the upright cutlery. “I sent so many messages, and Xiao Teng hasn’t replied to a single one… Ah, I’m so lonely…”
Rong Liu indulged in his own infatuation. Ren Ningyuan ate calmly. Compared to Rong Liu’s flamboyant good looks, Ren Ningyuan’s quiet, handsome features held the steadiness and restraint of a successful man in his thirties. That such a person was single was something Ye Xiutuo simply could not understand.
“Ningyuan, you should find a girlfriend,” Ye Xiutuo paused, then added, “or a boyfriend.”
Ren Ningyuan only smiled.
“Don’t take it lightly. Everyone needs a companion—male or female.”
Ren Ningyuan pressed his lips together, said nothing, and poured himself another cup of tea.
He did not trust love. So he never fell in love, and had no interest in such topics at all.
Feelings made people suffer, lose their bearings, lose control. He had seen Ye Xiutuo and Rong Liu lose themselves when trapped in emotions, and he thought it looked ugly. Besides, love was too fickle, far too unstable, so he never longed for it.
What he liked, and was used to, was the feeling of having things firmly in hand. Only relationships that could be controlled made him feel at ease.
By instinct, he wanted to clutch everything important to him tightly in his palm.
What love tasted like, he did not know. He had heard many people describe it, had vaguely imagined it, forming a faint outline—but in the end, he still did not understand it. In fact, he did not want to understand it either. To him, it was something like a drug.
Yet he often thought of that inconspicuous man. Once he recalled those brief moments they shared across decades of long acquaintance, he could no longer fall asleep.
He felt as though he was about to have a heart attack.
Ye Xiutuo placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know you can’t let go. But it’s all in the past now. No matter how you think about it, it won’t change anything.”
Ren Ningyuan raised his eyes. “I’m not thinking about anything. The new store opens next week—how are the preparations?”
Ye Xiutuo seemed to want to say something, then finally just sighed. “Fine. It’s good that you’re willing to talk about work.”
Near the subway exit, once the time came, vendors would show up with bundles or push carts to set up stalls. There were crowds coming and going, and everything sold here—so everything was sold. Clothes, bags, accessories, jianbing, even live rabbits.
By weekend noon, the fat, bulky man was already sitting there in the gray haze. He always arrived the earliest, always at the same spot, bringing his own little stool, spreading out his cloth, laying out his goods. He did not shout or hawk, just waited quietly for customers to come.
He was unremarkable and silent, but his goods were colorful and neatly arranged, still able to catch passersby’s eyes. His prices were fair, the quality good. After doing this for a long time, his business was not bad.
After sitting for a while, the man sold two items. The flow of people on the street increased, stalls blooming everywhere, and the busiest period of the day had begun.
“Hey, Uncle Fatty.”
The man nodded to him, and the youth dropped a big bag beside him and began setting up his things. This youth was a recent newcomer, about eighteen or nineteen, named Phillip.
Phillip was tall and handsome, full of that relaxed vitality unique to young people. He wore only a simple graffiti T-shirt, a hooded jacket, ripped jeans at the knees, and slightly dirty sneakers. He stood out easily in the crowd, always making passing women stop to look, and even boosting the business of the stalls around him.
“Little P, you’re setting up next to Uncle Fatty again?”
Phillip grinned. “It’s warmer next to him—and blocks the wind.”
Everyone called Phillip Little P. The vendors in this area all knew each other; real names were rarely used. All that was needed was a nickname. Fatty was simply called “Fatty”—nothing more vivid or easier to say. As for his real name, no one knew, and no one cared.
Fatty sold all kinds of bags. Phillip sold T-shirts he painted himself, with heavy colors and very distinctive designs. Some were honestly too strange—but they still sold. Being handsome was a clear advantage.
In one afternoon, Phillip sold dozens of T-shirts, mostly to regular customers, and incidentally helped Fatty sell several more items as well. When business slowed down, Phillip glanced at the pile of extra change in his sports waist pack. Fatty was still carefully flattening every bill and stacking them neatly.
“Fatty, what are you having for dinner?”
“I brought a lunchbox…”
“It must be cold by now.”
“It’s… still okay.”
“Don’t be so stingy. I’ll treat you to dinner. I want seafood hotpot—crab, marbled beef, oysters…”
Fatty looked at him. “That’s expensive.”
“I earned enough this afternoon for both of us. Come on, come on. Eating alone is boring.”
Phillip gave off the impression of a rich kid. Setting up a stall was just for fun, so he did not really know how to calculate costs. He spent money freely, and when he brought too much stock, he would take a taxi from far away—enough to make those who had to haul goods on their backs furious.
It was exactly this carefree, clueless attitude that made him annoying at first. Everyone else was worn down by making a living, yet had to deal with a young master who was “just playing around.” After a hard day, when they were too thirsty to even buy iced tea, watching him gulp down freshly squeezed juice became a blatant display.
So it was inevitable that Phillip was initially ostracized. Only Fatty was never cold to him, and Phillip ended up befriending him. Fatty was actually a bit slow; he did not have strong negative emotions. It was as if he had been worn smooth—always mild, never hating anyone, never feeling much even when taken advantage of.
In the hot season, some vendors could not take it and asked him to watch their stalls while they went off to cool down. He would do it seriously, and when the owner returned, he handed over the exact change from selling one or two items, without complaint.
Life was hard, so people naturally had grievances. When they got talkative, they cursed the heavens, the earth, the police—anyone to vent. They found fault with everything. Only Fatty was quiet. No one had ever heard him complain, and no one knew how he had cultivated that “having food to eat is enough” kind of openness.
No matter how Phillip pestered him to go eat seafood hotpot, Fatty only shook his head. “Making money isn’t easy. Don’t spend carelessly. Save it.”
Phillip liked pestering Fatty, but never once succeeded. Fatty was the least willing to accept favors. Even the smallest benefit made him uneasy; he had to return it. He was afraid of owing people.
Evening was the best time for business. Everyone used their own tricks to attract customers. Nearby stalls put up “Big Clearance Sale” signs that they had been using for half a year, with no shame at all.
All stall vendors had their own ways of pulling in customers and dealing with them. Only Fatty was the worst with words.
He did not hawk his goods, and when faced with difficult customers who bargained too hard, he was bad at haggling.
All he could say was, “I really can’t sell at that price. Life isn’t easy for anyone—I still have a daughter to support.”
Afterward, other vendors would tease him. “Where did you get a daughter?” “Maybe back in some rural hometown?”
In truth, this was probably just a stock phrase to deal with customers. Everyone knew Fatty was single. He lived the frugal life of a bachelor, but very carefully—his goods always neatly arranged, his change always flattened, bringing his own home-cooked meals every day, earnestly poor and lonely.
As for women who took an interest in him—there were some.
Fatty was fat, but not ugly. His slightly drooping eyes made his face look gentle and kind. He was honest, steady, mild-tempered, and reliable. Among the vendors, there was a woman who liked chatting with him.
She sold accessories and had a daughter. Her husband was a gambling addict who only came home when he needed money. Raising a child alone was hard, with no one at home to help, so she brought her little daughter along when she set up her stall.
The little girl was very cute, only four years old, with two braids like a lamb’s little horns. Like her mother, she was fond of this big-bodied Fatty, always climbing onto his back. Fatty did not talk much, but he always kept two candies in his pocket, giving her a small surprise.
The woman was virtuous, and Fatty was gentle, attentive, and good with children—far better than that gambler. Everyone thought they were a good match and often joked about them.
That day, after the little girl finished the candy she found, she boldly reached out and poked Fatty’s belly. It was soft and squishy.
After being poked twice, Fatty panicked a little and covered his stomach.
The woman quickly said, “Beibei, don’t be rude.”
Fatty said softly, “It’s okay…” a bit shy, then started eating his lunch.
The lunchbox held very ordinary dishes—shredded tofu, cabbage stems stir-fried with meat. The little girl stared with wide eyes. Fatty separated the tofu, picked out the meat slices, and gave them to her. After eating, she still would not leave, clinging to his knee and looking up at him.
The woman felt embarrassed. “You child—it’s not like you don’t have food at home.”
Fatty lowered his head and picked out the remaining meat as well. “It’s fine. If she likes it, let her eat more.”
The woman smiled. “Food from someone else always smells better—that’s how it is. She just loves yours. If it’s convenient, why don’t you make two extra portions tomorrow? I’ll pay you at market price.”
The next day, Fatty really did bring two extra lunchboxes. But when it came time to take the money, he felt awkward and refused again and again.
“If you don’t take it,” she said, “we won’t feel right eating your food. There’s no such thing as eating for free.”
In the end, Fatty still didn’t take any money. He only took one of the sparkling teddy-bear keychains from the woman’s stall—the kind all the young girls like these days.
“What do you want that for?” the woman asked.
Fatty slipped the keychain into his waist pouch. “My daughter likes it…”
Every time he said that, people couldn’t help but almost believe that he really did have a daughter.
But in truth, that “daughter” could only be a figment of his imagination. Everyone thought he was pitiful, and no one had the heart to expose him.
The little girl was still very young. She refused to sit still and eat properly, always needing coaxing and persuading. The woman held the lunchbox and chased her all over the place. In the end, more than half the rice still went to waste.
Fatty kept saying “It’s fine, it’s fine” to the apologetic woman. The next day, he still brought two lunchboxes as usual.
One was given to the woman. When the other was opened, the little girl immediately squealed with delight, full of joy.
The rice had been shaped into a little white rabbit, with carrot eyes and a mouth. It looked very cute. The little girl happily ate it all.
“You’re really thoughtful. You’re great at coaxing kids,” the woman said.
Praised like that, Fatty became a little embarrassed. “My daughter used to be like this too.”
Phillip leaned his face over. He liked sticking close to Fatty; Fatty’s arm was nice and squishy to pinch. “I want some too. I didn’t eat enough lunch.”
Fatty shared a small portion of the food with him. It was just homestyle cooking, ingredients bought cheaply from the market, but the taste was really good. Phillip had only meant to join in for fun, but the savory sauce made the rice go down easily. Before he realized it, he had finished everything. Then, as if struck by inspiration, he said, “Fat Man, with your skills, instead of running a street stall, you could do food delivery. That’d be pretty good.”
Fatty felt shy hearing this and lowered his head, looking at his stall.
Phillip, however, became serious. “You really don’t want to do something else? You can’t run a stall for your whole life, right? You could consider delivery food—it has more of a future.”
“How would I do that…?”
“I can partner with you. I’ll handle the investment and planning. You just focus on the quality of the lunchboxes.”
“Don’t joke around…”
“I’m serious. I have money, you know, Fat Man.”
“Watch your stall properly. You’ve got customers.”
Fatty had no grand ambitions. It was as if he had already passed the age of dreaming about starting a business and getting rich. Running his small stall honestly was, to him, a solid, worthwhile livelihood.
But Phillip pestered him every day, urging him again and again. When Fatty didn’t believe him, Phillip swore to the heavens, practically wanting to show him his bank account to prove he really had savings.
A handsome guy like Phillip was extremely persuasive when he tried to talk someone into something. If he became a con artist, he’d probably have a bright future too. He kept clinging so much that Fatty grew dizzy. In the end, Fatty had no choice but to agree. He made several sample bento boxes for Phillip to take and try.
Phillip carried the heavy package full of lunchboxes and grinned at him. “Wait for my good news tomorrow.”
But the next day, Phillip didn’t come. Fatty helped him hold the stall space next door, but even by evening, Phillip still hadn’t appeared, so the spot had to be given to someone else. Fatty felt a little worried.
A Bentley Arnage slowly drove over. People who made their living on this street saw traffic every day and had seen plenty of nice cars, but when that one appeared, even a few men who usually flipped through car magazines in their spare time couldn’t help staring.
“Damn, if I could drive that car once, I’d die happy.”
“In your dreams.”
“Hey, it’s not going to stop here, is it? What kind of person would come here—buying stuff from street stalls?”
The car really did stop not far from them. The door opened, and a tall man stepped out. He glanced in their direction, as if searching for something. The noisy group fell silent without realizing it, their eyes drawn to him.
Only Fatty kept his head down, saying nothing, looking at the items on his stall. The little girl was lying on his knee, dozing off. The woman was braiding her hair gently so as not to wake her. It was a warm, harmonious scene.
Under everyone’s gaze, the man walked over and stopped in front of Fatty, looking down at his hunched, broad back.
“You’re Phillip’s friend, right?”
Fatty nodded. Even without lifting his head to meet his eyes, he could feel the oppressive aura.
“He sprained his ankle. He’ll be resting for a few days and won’t be coming anymore. He asked me to return these to you. This is his phone number.”
Fatty accepted the slip of paper and the neatly folded wrapping.
“On his behalf, thank you for taking care of him these days.” The man paused, then handed over a business card. “If you need anything, you can contact us.”
Fatty took the card, still without lifting his head. In his field of vision, the legs wrapped in suit pants strode away.
