Volume 1 / Chapter 44: Buying Two Jin of Bulk Liquor

By the time they got downstairs from the hospital, Mo Xuěyáo spotted her father waiting by the flowerbed, puffing away on a cigarette. Judging by the three or four cigarette butts scattered nearby, he had clearly gone through several while waiting.

"How'd it go?" he asked, taking a deep drag with one hand holding the cigarette. "Anything wrong?"

"Not a thing." Mo Xuěyáo walked over to him, only to be hit by a thick wave of cigarette smoke. She coughed sharply. "Cough, cough—Dad... could you maybe smoke a little less? My throat’s already scratchy."

"I’ll try, I’ll try."

"Can’t you just quit altogether?"

"No way. A man who doesn’t smoke—can he even call himself a man?" her father chuckled, clearly joking.

"Ugh, classic false equivalence. So all those boys at school who don’t smoke aren’t real men, huh?" she shot back.

"Exactly. They’re not adults yet, how could they be ‘men’?"

"Tsk, tsk." Mo Xuěyáo clicked her tongue. "I seriously don’t get what’s so good about smoking. Anyway, we’re done with the checkup, right? Let’s head home."

"Hold on. Let’s stop by the fruit shop at the hospital gate first," her father said, flicking the cigarette butt to the ground and crushing it underfoot with practiced ease as he strolled toward the exit.

"Could you at least try to be civilized?" Mo Xuěyáo, freshly indoctrinated with civic responsibility from school, couldn’t stand it anymore. She crouched down, picked up the scattered cigarette butts, and walked over to toss them into a nearby trash bin. "Seriously, the bin’s like ten meters away, and you can’t even be bothered to walk that far. Unbelievable."

"Well, I didn’t read as many books as you did, so I guess I’m just not as cultured," her father said with a teasing tone, mostly to mask his embarrassment.

"Oh, come on. Culture and manners aren't the same thing." Mo Xuěyáo clapped the cigarette dust off her hands and followed her father out of the hospital's main gate.

Just a little ways from the entrance was a modest fruit store that barely had any décor. The lighting inside was poor, so even during the day, the shop kept its fluorescent lights on.

Business seemed decent—there were always one or two customers browsing the fruits.

Because it was the only fruit shop near the hospital, the prices were noticeably higher than elsewhere.

Her father pointed at a few bunches of under-ripe, greenish bananas displayed at the entrance and asked, “How much are these bananas per jin?”

[ note : jin = 0.5 kilos/1.1pounds ]

“Three yuan,” the shopkeeper replied without looking up, his attention focused on a different customer.

“Three yuan for bananas?” her father muttered in surprise. The shopkeeper didn’t bother responding—he was busy chatting with someone who appeared to be buying more expensive fruits.

The man in question was holding a fruit that looked like a burning red heart and asked curiously, “What’s this?”

“Dragon fruit,” the shopkeeper replied.

“How much?”

“Fifteen yuan each.”

“I’ll take one. Put it in a gift basket, please.”

Though the man’s clothes were quite plain—he didn’t look like someone well-off—he still chose to buy such an expensive fruit. Maybe he was visiting an important friend? Or maybe it was just for appearances?

“Boss, these bruised ones are still one-fifty a jin?” her father asked, pointing to a box full of loose bananas stacked in a cardboard tray. A sign above it clearly listed the price.

“They’re not bruised—just ripened from a few bumps! Already selling them cheap!” the shopkeeper replied.

Mo Xuěyáo raised an eyebrow. She spotted one banana that clearly wasn’t just bumped—it was going bad. The skin was nearly splitting, and a faint sour smell lingered in the air.

Her father glanced at her and threw up his hands in silent resignation. He wandered into the shop to examine the other fruits more closely, checking for freshness.

For items without price tags, he asked directly. After a few such inquiries, the shopkeeper’s patience began to wear thin.

“You ask so much—are you buying anything or not?”

“Oh, just checking,” her father said breezily, returning to the banana section and picking up a small, chubby bunch. “How much are these dwarf bananas?”

“Fifteen yuan per jin.”

“Can I just buy three bananas?”

“Nope,” the shopkeeper snapped, clearly at the edge of irritation. “These are imported—gotta buy the whole bunch.”

“Alright then, give me one bunch of the regular ones.” Her father picked up a still-slightly-green bunch and placed it on the scale.

“Three yuan fifty,” the shopkeeper said tersely. He grabbed a plastic bag and tossed it carelessly on the counter, then flung the bananas in and shoved them aside.

Her father didn’t say anything—he just paid calmly, picked up the bag, and walked out.

The bananas went into the bike’s basket, and Mo Xuěyáo climbed onto the back seat.

The bicycle wobbled a little as it started moving.

“Dad,” she said, once they were well away from the shop, “that shopkeeper’s attitude really sucked. So gross.”

“Haha, don’t worry about it. Guys like that won’t last in business.”

“Really?”

“Sure. No patience, and too greedy,” her father said as he rang the bell, gently reminding some pedestrians to move back onto the sidewalk.

“Then why’d you still buy from him?”

“Just wanted to try the taste. We haven’t had fruit in a while, have we?”

“I’m fine, not that into fruit,” Mo Xuěyáo replied, though she didn’t quite mean it.

“Oh? That so?”

“Of course.”

“Then I guess the bananas are for your mom.”

“Eh?”

“You said you don’t want them.”

“...But can she finish the whole bunch by herself? Wouldn’t want to waste it.” Mo Xuěyáo muttered, quickly changing the subject. “Say, can cats eat bananas?”

“No idea. But back in the countryside, folks fed their cats whatever. If the humans ate it, the cats did too. Leftovers, rotten apples, bananas…”

“I heard people feed cats proper cat food nowadays.”

“Yeah, that’s city folk. Cat food’s expensive. Scraps are fine.”

“But they still need meat, right?” Mo Xuěyáo thought of their kitten, Sūtáng. “Seems like Sūtáng only gets fed once a day. Look how skinny she is.”

“All kittens are skinny. She’ll fill out when she grows.” Her father said this while veering slightly off course, turning toward the market near home. “Let’s check out the veggie prices today.”

“You go ahead. I’ll watch the bike.” Mo Xuěyáo pinched her nose. “Can’t stand the smell in there. It’s awful.”

“Alright, I won’t lock it then. Just don’t wander off.”

“Yeah, yeah—” she responded lazily, not even bothering to hop off the rear seat.

Outside the market, a few locals had set up small produce stalls. Their veggies tended to be cheaper and fresher—mostly grown themselves, unlike the wholesale stuff inside.

Her dad was much faster than Mom at grocery shopping. In just over ten minutes, he came out carrying a big bag loaded with several smaller ones.

“Whoa, big haul today. What’d you get?” she asked.

“Chicken legs, pork belly, pig intestines, and a bunch of veggies,” he said, hanging the smaller bags off the handlebars before stuffing the big one into the basket.

“Heading home now?” she asked. “Need me to help carry some?”

“Wait, I’m grabbing some liquor.” He wiped his hands on his shirt and headed toward the grain and oil shop at the market entrance.

These stores were a staple of 90s markets—selling rice, oil, salt, vinegar, soy sauce... everything but firewood, since city folk used gas now.

They sold both pre-packaged and bulk goods. Most people preferred the latter—buy what you need, avoid waste.

Back in elementary school, Mo Xuěyáo often got sent by her mom to fetch a bit of cooking oil or soy sauce.

“Boss! Two jin of buckwheat liquor!” her father called out before even entering. He was a familiar face, and the shopkeeper greeted him with a smile.

“Two jin today? Got guests at home?”

“No, just stocking up. Saves me a trip later.”

“You bring your own bottle?”

“Nope. Using yours. How much?”

“Pfft, you’re a regular—bottle’s on the house.” The boss waved him off, then lifted the lid of a waist-high ceramic jar and fetched a clean, label-peeled plastic bottle, a long red ladle, and a matching red funnel.

He placed the funnel into the bottle and smoothly ladled in the clear liquor, as steady and practiced as a running tap.

After three or four scoops, the bottle was nearly full. He placed it on the scale, glanced at the weight, then added just a little more.

“Exactly two jin.”

Actually, it was a touch over, but that’s how good business worked—better to give a little extra than come up short.

The shopkeeper’s pouring technique was something honed over years: precise, fluid, and oddly satisfying to watch.

Mo Wénlì paid, then shoved the warm bottle into Mo Xuěyáo’s arms. “Here, hold this.”

“You sure I don’t need to carry anything else? You’re barely holding onto the handlebar.”

“Tch, don’t underestimate your old man. If I can’t even manage this, am I still a man?” He lit another cigarette before getting back on the bike, riding leisurely home with a smug smile, much to his daughter’s dismay...