Seeing that Nan Jiu had almost finished eating, Nan Jiu’s Grandfather spoke up, asking her to tally the day’s earnings. Song Ting knew exactly how many pots of tea had been served, and as long as Nan Jiu’s collected money matched the tea served, the accounts would be fine.
The payments received on the phone were clear at a glance; the only thing left was the cash on hand. Nan Jiu nestled behind the cash register and took out all the change collected today to count it.
Nan Jiu’s Grandfather leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on Song Ting, speaking quietly, “How much did you spend on Nan Jiu’s computer? I’ll give you the money.”
“No need, that’s all in the past.”
Song Ting didn’t lift his head, emptying the leftovers into a container.
“If her own uncle had your tolerance, he wouldn’t have sulked with the eldest brother over a few thousand yuan back then.”
Nan Jiu’s Grandfather rarely mentioned his children. Years ago, when Nan Jiu’s biological uncle had urgent matters and came to borrow money from Nan Zhendong’s family, he was not only refused but also met with disdain.
Since then, the two brothers had a rift. Although both settled in Fengdu, they seldom contacted each other. Even when Nan Zhendong remarried, Nan Jiu’s uncle did not attend.
Back then, Nan Jiu’s Grandfather tried to mediate the brothers’ conflict by giving money to his youngest son to help him through difficult times. When Nan Zhendong and Nan Jiu’s Aunt found out, they blamed the old man heavily.
Disputes among children are often blamed on the elder’s lack of virtue—this saying had become a thorn in Nan Jiu’s Grandfather’s heart. In his youth, he and his wife ran the tea house, so busy that their three children were essentially left to raise themselves.
By the time he wanted to discipline them properly, the children had all grown up and gradually left Hat Alley.
What brought some comfort was the bond with Song Ting. Though not his biological child, Song Ting was someone Nan Jiu’s Grandfather had watched grow up. Now, living together day and night, it at least made the old man’s later years less lonely.
***
Nan Jiu counted the money twice but couldn’t match Song Ting’s reported total. She asked doubtfully, “Did you count wrong? Did you add an extra pot of Fuding Shoumei and the Tea Platter?”
Nan Jiu’s Grandfather took over the conversation: “Since your Uncle Song took over this job, there hasn’t been a single mistake. Think carefully about where the problem might be.”
Song Ting and Nan Jiu’s Grandfather exchanged knowing glances, silently staring at Nan Jiu.
Nan Jiu furrowed her brow, rummaging left and right, then suddenly looked up.
“I know! Around three o’clock this afternoon, there was an old man who didn’t pay. He wore a black hat, had a mole on his chin, and when he left, he turned left but didn’t leave the alley—he must live inside. I’ll go find him tomorrow.”
Nan Jiu’s Grandfather and Song Ting exchanged a surprised look. The old man she mentioned was Uncle Qian, who lived behind the slope and was a regular at the tea house. Uncle Qian had a poor memory and often forgot to pay; Song Ting never asked him for money.
They spent most of their time in the tea house, so they naturally knew where the shortfall was. Nan Jiu’s first day coincided with the weekend, when all eight tea tables were full by the afternoon, with several waves of customers.
The tea menu categorized various teas, each priced differently. For Nan Jiu to recall who hadn’t paid, their appearance and whereabouts in such a chaotic environment, and to quickly match the missing money with the tea types, showed that though she wasn’t interested in tea, she had a natural sensitivity to money and a knack for managing accounts without formal training.
Nan Jiu’s Grandfather didn’t say much but looked at her with much gentleness: “Just find out for sure. Don’t worry about the money; just record it.”
“How can I not worry about it?”
Nan Jiu immediately replied.
“Business is done with open doors and clear prices. If you let him off today, tomorrow he’ll skip out again. How can we make money like that?”
“Think about it—how did your Uncle Song not stop that grown man from leaving the shop?”
Nan Jiu turned to Song Ting: “Is he your relative?”
“His son manages investment promotion on Old Street.”
Song Ting told her.
Nan Jiu didn’t understand what investment promotion had to do with them. Nan Jiu’s Grandfather took over: “Collecting money is a skill. Some money you must collect; some you’re better off letting go. When several people come to drink tea, when you collect, who you collect from—that’s a skill. If you master it, you learn how to handle people.”
“I’m pretty good at handling people.”
Nan Jiu put away the change.
Seeing her indifferent attitude, Nan Jiu’s Grandfather said to her, “Go wash the dishes.”
“Give me five minutes to rest, my back hurts.”
Nan Jiu moved over to a lounge chair and slowly lay back, holding her waist.
She wasn’t exaggerating—her back did hurt, though she might have been slightly overplaying it.
Song Ting got up and gathered the dishes. Nan Jiu’s Grandfather raised a hand, “Leave them, let her collect them. The wages aren’t for nothing.”
Song Ting kept working, “Rest your back first, then do it.”
Once he left, Nan Jiu turned sideways and told Nan Jiu’s Grandfather about Song Ting not giving her tea in the afternoon.
“I checked online. I did it right, everything was in place. I even stood up—I was just about to bow ninety degrees.”
Nan Jiu’s Grandfather fetched a Fairness Cup.
“Let me see how you received it.”
Nan Jiu sat up straight and reached for the cup, but as soon as her hand touched it, Nan Jiu’s Grandfather smacked her hand away.
“Nails can’t touch the rim. Why didn’t you curl your fingers inward?”
Nan Jiu withdrew her hand and glanced sideways.
“My nails are long, it wasn’t on purpose to touch the rim. You really care about that?”
“Think it’s a small thing? Avoiding contact with the cup rim is a rule. If a particular customer is picky, the tea might have to be poured again. Some customers don’t say it but feel uncomfortable inside. When receiving tea, support the bottom of the cup with your hand; this is a habit you should develop.”
“When busy, you won’t make mistakes or give others reasons to complain. It’s all experience.”
What could be explained in a sentence left Nan Jiu doubting herself all afternoon. You can’t teach people to be people, but you can teach them to do things—and she’d learned well.
From then on, even when drinking plain water, she subconsciously held the bottom of the cup.
Song Ting finished tidying the dishes and came out of the kitchen.
Nan Jiu’s Grandfather asked, “Do you still have that topical medicine Old Yang brought last time?”
“There’s still a bottle upstairs.”
“Bring it down for Nan Jiu to use.”
After saying this, Nan Jiu’s Grandfather turned to Nan Jiu, “Try using that after your bath. It works better than the plaster from the big hospital.”
That night, Nan Jiu held the dark brown Glass Medicine Bottle, trying to find usage instructions on it but found none. She opened the bottle, and a pungent smell hit her, making her cough.
***
After his shower today, Song Ting put on his shirt before opening the bathroom door. Just as he lay down in the room, someone knocked on the door from outside. He got up again to open it.
Nan Jiu stood in the doorway holding the medicine bottle.
“There are no instructions on how to use it.”
The door was half open; Song Ting held the handle, his broad chest blocking the room’s light.
“Rub it on your waist in clockwise circles to promote absorption.”
“…You mean I have to twist my arm behind my back and massage myself?” The method of applying the medicine successfully discouraged Nan Jiu. “Did Grandpa find it this troublesome last time?”
“I did it for him,” Song Ting replied.
Nan Jiu handed him the bottle.
“Then I’ll trouble you.”
She stepped inside. Song Ting hesitated slightly.
“Here in my room?”
“Where else? Yours or mine?”
Her tone was straightforward. If Song Ting stopped her, it would seem awkward, so he opened the door wide and let her in.
Nan Jiu entered and her eyes brightened. The tea house’s loft had once been a secret base for her and her cousins, where they liked sneaking upstairs to play behind the adults’ backs.
She remembered the loft was always cluttered with old items that Nan Jiu’s Grandfather couldn’t bear to throw away. Years of dust had settled. When she grew older, she never came back up.
After all these years, it was no longer as she remembered.
Now the walls were freshly painted, the floor fitted with wood panels matching those in her room. There was a wardrobe, a one-and-a-half-meter bed, and a desk. The air conditioner on the wall blew cold air; the room was cool and spacious, faintly scented with tea—the same scent as Song Ting’s body.
She pulled out the chair at the desk, turned around to sit, lifted her pajamas slightly, revealing a small stretch of pale waist, then looked back at Song Ting.
“Is this okay?”
Song Ting gave a short glance, opened the medicine bottle, and the pungent smell immediately filled the air, overpowering the tea fragrance.
There was a book propped on the table. Nan Jiu caught a glimpse of the title: Market Strategy and Innovation Practice.
“You read books like this?”
Nan Jiu flipped the book over, skimming it quickly.
Song Ting bent down slightly, replying, “I browse it when I have free time.”
“I studied economics, you know. If you want to read books like this, I have plenty. I can send some to you next time.”
“Okay.”
Song Ting warmed the medicine in his palms before pressing it onto her waist. Nan Jiu flinched slightly at the first contact. Song Ting withdrew his hand and looked up at her.
Nan Jiu buried her face in her arm, hunching her shoulders.
“I’m ticklish. Keep going.”
Song Ting switched to using his palm. His wide, warm palm touched her skin, and an indescribable sensation quietly stirred—a tickling feeling that seemed to nibble on the tips of her heart. She resisted the urge to squirm and tried to distract herself by talking.
“Did you keep in touch with Zhou Yan afterward?”
The rough lines of his fingertip pressed on her skin.
“No.”
“No relationships in all these years?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Song Ting shut down the topic.
That incident years ago had involved Nan Jiu unknowingly interfering with Song Ting’s blind date. Looking back, Song Ting, though parentless and living quietly with Nan Jiu’s Grandfather, was a man of spirit deep down. Perhaps he had no intention of marrying into the family and let Nan Jiu blabber freely.
Though Nan Jiu eventually understood, it remained a thorn she couldn’t ignore—every time she met Song Ting, she was reminded of it.
“You think I want to worry about you? Are you planning to stay single forever? I just think people need to move forward and not punish themselves for their parents’ affairs. When you look back, it’s not worth it.”
Song Ting’s family history was a taboo no one in the alley dared to broach. Though everyone knew, no one ever brought it up to him—not even Nan Jiu’s Grandfather.
Everyone could joke and chat with Song Ting but would avoid mentioning the bloody past.
After all these years, it was surprising that Nan Jiu was the first to advise him to let go of his parents.
Song Ting said nothing more. Nan Jiu remained silent, lost in her thoughts.
Silky skin slid over Song Ting’s fingertips. Years of dance training had left Nan Jiu’s waist slender and supple, with no excess flesh—a narrow, flexible line that looked as if a slight squeeze could snap it.
Her slender arms stretched out, her head resting on them; her platinum hair spilled over her shoulders. Her curled eyelashes blinked slowly, a mixture of purity and wild abandon.
Nan Jiu’s gaze landed on the bed, covered with a Light Blue Ice Silk Mat like the one in the side room. Song Ting’s was gray, probably bought by him since Nan Jiu’s Grandfather wasn’t one for trends.
The night in Hat Alley was as quiet as a lone lamp; the tea house loft existed in a forgotten space-time. The air conditioner blew cold air; breath and silence flowed between inhales and exhales.
Nan Jiu shifted uncomfortably and twisted slightly. Her waist curved in Song Ting’s palm, a roaming line like a dangerous key. Song Ting immediately withdrew his hand and stood, saying, “That’s enough. You can massage it yourself.”
Nan Jiu had just gotten used to the sensation when Song Ting let go. She turned back in confusion as he turned away to wipe his hands.
Nan Jiu had spent years in the Dance Studio. To help beginners see every muscle group working, she often wore crop tops, exposing her waist and abdomen. Students or teachers stretching muscles or pulling clothes to perform lifts was commonplace; she never saw it as something to be embarrassed about.
She straightened her pajamas and stood from the chair, a smile playing on her lips.
“I’m not embarrassed at all. Hey, Uncle Song, you’re not feeling shy now, are you?”
Song Ting wiped his hands clean and faced her, his gaze calm. “You’re not a kid anymore. Take care of it yourself.”
On the surface, his words meant she was old enough to apply the medicine herself. But it also seemed like a subtle reprimand about something else.
Nan Jiu took the medicine, waved, and went downstairs. Song Ting closed the door behind her, his palm still warm.
***
On the first floor, Nan Jiu casually set the medicine bottle on the cash register, poured a glass of water, and sat by the bay window, lost in thought for a moment.
The skin on her waist where he had pressed still burned like fire. The warmth and soothing touch of Song Ting’s palm lingered on her skin, replacing the dull ache.
The next morning, Nan Jiu’s Grandfather asked if she had applied the medicine last night. Nan Jiu nodded. Seeing her vague reply, he asked, “Why did I see the medicine bottle on the counter this morning? Didn’t you go back to your room to apply it?”
Song Ting, washing tea utensils behind Nan Jiu’s Grandfather, slowed his movements at the question.
Nan Jiu glanced at Song Ting from the corner of her eye and replied nonchalantly, “The smell was too strong. I took it out after applying.”
Nan Jiu’s Grandfather reminded her to keep applying it regularly for a quick recovery. Nan Jiu gave a few perfunctory replies, and neither she nor Song Ting mentioned the matter of last night again.