Chapter Eighty-Two: You Are the Most Suitable

He completely forgot about his appointment with Han Xue; his mind was consumed by thoughts of roofs, walls, floors, doorways, water pipes, drainpipes, electrical wires, sockets...

“Oh dear! Beauty, I’m so sorry! I ran into something, I’m late, I’m late! I deserve a penalty! Come on, from here to Dongdan, you pick any place you like! My treat!” Panting, Hong Tao dashed to the entrance of Yonghe Temple and spotted Han Xue from afar, standing by a tree, waving a handkerchief to cool herself.

“You little brat! Quite the big talker, aren’t you? I don’t need your meal, so what’s the rush? Tell me straight!” Han Xue rolled her eyes in her signature way, hands planted firmly on her hips.

“Don’t get worked up, don’t get worked up! I haven’t eaten either, and there’s a tavern right across the street. Let’s eat and talk, come on!” Hong Tao grasped her hand, regardless of her willingness, and pulled her across the road into the tavern.

At noon, the place wasn’t crowded. Hong Tao led Han Xue to the cleanest table in the back, ordered four small dishes—two meat, two vegetable—and a pitcher of draft beer. He poured beers for Han Xue and himself, took a hearty gulp, and finally got down to business.

“Beauty, do you want an easy job? One yuan a day, paid daily, and a bonus at the end of the month.”

“Hah! If I wanted a job, I could get one in a snap. I don’t need you worrying about me! Is that why you called me here?” Han Xue paused, then rolled her eyes again, utterly unimpressed.

“Don’t be so quick to refuse—you haven’t even heard what the job is. Let me finish, then decide.” Hong Tao popped a peanut into his mouth. He was confident Han Xue wouldn’t turn down this job, even if the pay was lower; no girl could resist the allure of true beauty.

“Fine, for the sake of the beer, spit it out.” Han Xue, likely hungry herself, had already demolished most of the lamb’s head meat.

“My aunt wants to open a tailor shop specializing in the trendiest fashions. You’ve seen ‘Manhunt’ and ‘The Man from Atlantis,’ right? How about a pair of those flared pants? Or a batwing top like the woman scientist wore? The job is simple: just wear these clothes in the shop every day, stroll around the entrance, get paid daily, and the outfits are yours. My aunt will tailor them just for you—snug where they should be, loose where they need to be. With your looks, if a man doesn’t stop and stare, he’s either blind or a eunuch!” To bolster his pitch, Hong Tao pulled two fashion sketches from his pocket and handed them to Han Xue.

“... Is all this true? I warn you, just because you’ve treated me a few times and we get along doesn’t mean you can mess with me! If you rile me up, the three guys at the gate of No. 143 Middle School—that’ll be your fate. Don’t think I won’t hit a kid!” Han Xue glanced at the sketches and couldn’t tear her eyes away. She’d watched those movies, loved the clothes the foreigners wore, but no one could make them.

“Hey, do I look like the type who’d drag you all this way, treat you, just to play a prank? Do I have money to burn? Or food to waste? We’ve known each other over two years, right? Have I ever lied to you? What good would it do me?” Hong Tao understood girls like her well; their vigilance stemmed from a deep lack of security.

“Can I see those pants today?” Han Xue was still hesitating, her gaze shifting from the sketches to Hong Tao, then back again, unable to resist the temptation.

“Flared pants, batwing top! Eat first, then I’ll take you to see them. You’re a bit taller than my aunt, and she’s got some finished pieces. Try them on—if they fit, you can wear them out today. Deal?” Hong Tao knew he had won her over; her resistance was just for show.

“Forget eating, let’s go now!” Han Xue was more impatient than him, knocked back her beer, and reached to grab Hong Tao.

“Hey... wait, don’t waste all this food—cost a few yuan! Let’s eat quickly, then go. It’s only a few minutes’ walk. Come on, dig in!” Hong Tao, though he had some money, didn’t want to squander it. Besides, now that Han Xue had given in, he could afford to draw things out—a little patience now would make her listen to him later.

Han Xue was truly anxious. Staring at the watercolor sketches, even the usually delicious pork and lamb head meat tasted bland. She’d had a rough couple of months: the local boss she used to hang around with had been taken out by a group of returning youths and was still in the hospital—no one to back her up. Meanwhile, two new girls had joined the gang, prettier and younger, and had caught the eye of the former second-in-command, who now ignored Han Xue.

If things kept on, she’d lose her position to those girls. Then she’d either have to cozy up to other key members or find another gang. Girls like her couldn’t return to normal society—they could only drift among these gangs, living well for a few years if lucky, or becoming playthings if not, mere castoffs.

Beautiful clothes were a woman’s second skin. Even if she wasn’t born as pretty, dressing well could make all the difference. Han Xue firmly believed she was better at handling men than those two high school girls; her recent cold shoulder was only because the men had grown bored and wanted something new.

“All right, let’s go.” Hong Tao sensed Han Xue’s urgent energy. He knew it wasn’t just about wanting new clothes, but something deeper. He didn’t ask—he didn’t want to get too involved in her life yet. For now, it was mutual benefit; only after more encounters would he know what kind of person she truly was.

“This is my grandma. Grandma, this is an upperclassman from my school—she’s here to see Auntie’s clothes.” When they arrived at his grandmother’s home, she was washing dishes. Hong Tao quickly introduced Han Xue and his grandma. People often came by to have clothes made or altered, so Grandma didn’t pay Han Xue much attention.

“Auntie, this is my classmate, Han Xue. We’ve talked it over—she’ll be the model for your new clothes in the shop. Bring out those flared pants and batwing tops for her to try. If they fit, let her wear them out; if not, adjust them or make new ones. I’ll step out now—call me when she’s dressed. Right, this is my aunt; you two chat.” Hong Tao brought Han Xue into Auntie’s room, which was almost a tailor shop now, with finished and unfinished garments hanging everywhere. The bedding was pulled back to reveal the bedboard serving as a cutting table, and scraps covered the floor. Auntie was busy at her sewing machine.

After the brief introductions, Hong Tao didn’t wait for his aunt’s reply; he closed the door and left. He still had to check on his crickets and see if they liked the herbal food. The old man really knew his stuff—he hadn’t tricked him. When Hong Tao opened each of the five cricket jars, the pile of millet on the feeding board was gone, and the water level had dropped.

Once the lids were off, the crickets darted into the cricket cage, clearly treating it as their cool, dry new home. None were climbing the walls—a sign they were unhappy with their environment. If they were, they’d rear up against the jar walls, which meant a change of bedding was needed.

“Sigh, you like to eat, but I’m unlucky. No fridge, so I have to cook potatoes for you every day. People who know say it’s for the crickets, but those who don’t might think someone here has a serious illness—the house smells like herbal medicine every day!” Hong Tao grumbled, but kept busy, pulling out the small milk pot he used for boiling milk, adding the herbs and water, and setting it to cook. Soon, the scent of medicinal herbs wafted through the house and courtyard.

Hong Tao was shrewd, too. The old man’s recipe was probably meant for a tableful, even several tables of crickets. He only had a few, so he divided the herbs and potatoes by ten and cooked accordingly. Potatoes kept well once cut, so he’d cook a little each day—still a bit much, but it saved waste.

“Hey! How do I look?” Hong Tao was crouching in the kitchen, mashing potatoes, when someone slapped his lower back so hard he almost fell flat.

“Honestly, aren’t we a bit old for horsing around?... Hey, but I’ll admit, you look utterly transformed in those clothes! Come on, give me a spin—look at those pants, they’re tailor-made for you. That little behind is so tight, snap!” Hong Tao dusted his hands, rising from the floor, ready to give Han Xue a word about startling him like that.