Chapter 29: Xiao Xiao Arrives

By the time Mo Ran finally returned to his rented room, it was already eleven at night. The howling winter wind swept through, rushing at him relentlessly. He couldn’t help but shiver—he was truly cold. Even the old cotton jacket he’d worn for three years couldn’t keep out the chill; the wind burrowed in with stubborn persistence.

He quickly backed his tricycle into the courtyard, plugged in the charger, then unloaded everything from the vehicle. Next, he took the plastic bottles from the foam box and stuffed them into the freezer of his second-hand refrigerator. This was the most crucial step for keeping things fresh—even though the weather was getting colder, proper preparation was still indispensable.

Mo Ran then produced the only decent appliance in the room, an electric kettle left by the landlord, and started boiling water for a bath. On a night this cold, bathing in cold water would almost certainly result in catching a chill.

The shower in his rental wasn’t even inside the living space but built outside with hollow bricks—a makeshift hut that hardly deserved the name. It was more like a small storeroom: three walls, a pair of warped wooden doors reaching just from belly to knee, a drainage pipe buried in the floor, and a U-shaped energy-saving bulb hanging overhead—his so-called bathroom.

To save time, Mo Ran didn’t wait for the water to fully boil. As soon as he heard the kettle bubbling, he poured out most of it, left a bit at the bottom, refilled with cold water, and set it to boil again. After fifteen minutes, he’d filled a large bucket and a basin with hot water. Five minutes later, he’d washed his hair and bathed.

When midnight came, Mo Ran collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. He didn’t even bother with his phone; as soon as his head touched the pillow, he was asleep.

At five in the morning, with the sky still hazy, he dressed, washed up, and rode his fully charged tricycle to the market. After buying lamb, he paid quickly and left. Passing a wholesale shop selling bottled water, he bought two barrels—his rental’s pipes were so old the water tasted strongly of rust.

Back home, he parked the tricycle and began preparing the meat for marinating. Once everything was ready, he took up a cold bun and some plain water for breakfast, chewing absentmindedly.

With everything in place, Mo Ran planned to rest a bit before later returning the money he owed Zhang Lei and the others. Yesterday’s revenue was four thousand, plus the day before’s, minus what he spent on meat today—he still had over three thousand left. He needed to send it over quickly. Just because they weren’t pressing him didn’t mean he could ignore it; one must act with integrity.

As he was calculating all this, his phone rang. Swiping the screen, he saw over ninety-nine unread messages from Su Qingxue, the same from Mo Ya, and the rest from Xiao Xiao, who’d heard he’d moved and was now asking for his new address.

“This place is too tucked away for you. Why don’t you pick somewhere, and I’ll come find you? I’m free all afternoon anyway.” Mo Ran glanced around the dilapidated courtyard, the gloomy rooms, the uneven ground, and decided to politely refuse. This place was really not fit to be shown—after all, she was the princess of Shanghai.

(1/3)

“What’s the problem? Send your location, or I’ll have to use my secret weapon. In Shanghai, it’s easy enough for me to look up anyone.” Xiao Xiao’s reply came almost immediately after Mo Ran sent his message.

Seeing this, Mo Ran had no choice but to send his location honestly. The princess of Shanghai wasn’t joking—she really had the power. If she was offering him dignity, he might as well accept it; otherwise, she’d force it on him, and that would be awkward.

Nearly an hour passed. Mo Ran had already basked in the sun in the courtyard for a while, when Xiao Xiao’s message arrived. He hurried outside to greet her. His old rental allowed the tricycle in and out freely, but cars would have a harder time—not that they couldn’t enter, but there was no need.

“Mo Ran, my uncle’s place is perfectly fine—why are you living here? Look at this house: the sun is blazing outside, and not a single ray reaches inside.” As soon as she entered the courtyard and saw the environment, Xiao Xiao’s expression froze, then gradually grew more serious, her tone full of confusion.

“It’s not convenient, Xiao Xiao. Uncle Zhang has already helped me so much. If I shamelessly stay there any longer, isn’t that moral blackmail?” Mo Ran calmly explained, his face unchanged, feeling the faint anger in her words.

“You… Ah, never mind. I should’ve expected this. ‘A drop of kindness repaid with a spring.’” Xiao Xiao recalled Mo Ran’s willingness to become a live-in son-in-law for a million yuan of repair funds and could only shake her head helplessly.

“Could you transfer the money for me to Uncle Zhang? I earned some from two days of barbecue sales and need to pay him back. Dragging it out just doesn’t feel right.” Mo Ran scratched his head sheepishly, his voice hesitant.

“Why not transfer it yourself?” Xiao Xiao was puzzled. It was such a simple thing—why make her do it?

“I don’t have Uncle Zhang’s or Lei’s account numbers. Yesterday I wanted to give cash, but Uncle Zhang absolutely refused to take it.” Mo Ran explained, embarrassed.

“All right then, send the money to me, and I’ll pass it on to my uncle.” Listening quietly, Xiao Xiao looked at Mo Ran, instantly understanding. He wanted things settled, had no intention of relying on the so-called debt of gratitude to ask for more, afraid of causing trouble. No wonder he never contacted her unless she reached out first. With that, Xiao Xiao nodded calmly and agreed.

“But, since I’m helping you with this, won’t you help me with something?” As Mo Ran was transferring the money, Xiao Xiao’s eyes flickered to his faded old clothes, and she suddenly had an idea.

“Want some lamb skewers? That’ll have to wait—the meat isn’t done marinating yet.” Mo Ran, ever the straightforward sort, replied without thinking; after all, that was all he could offer.

“Do you have time this afternoon to go shopping with me?” Xiao Xiao rolled her eyes at his response. Was she really so much of a foodie? She shook her head and explained.

(2/3)

“Shopping? Is that really appropriate?” Mo Ran looked at Xiao Xiao, then down at himself, hesitant and uncertain.

“Then I won’t transfer the money for you—go talk to Uncle Zhang yourself.” Xiao Xiao smiled, waving her phone in a little show of force.

“Fine, fine. Wait for me—I’ll change clothes.” Mo Ran sighed in resignation. He’d been caught out again and could only accept it, hurrying inside to change. Fortunately, he had one set left; otherwise, he really wouldn’t be fit to be seen.

“Mo Ran, are you crazy? Why are you giving so much at once—five thousand yuan!” When he came out, Xiao Xiao was standing in the doorway, completely stunned, her lips parted in disbelief.

“I stayed at Uncle Zhang’s for a few days; he even bought lamb for me, lent me his tricycle and the whole setup. Five thousand is what he asked.” Mo Ran explained with a smile.

“You—serves you right to suffer.” Xiao Xiao was speechless. For her uncle, five thousand more or less made no difference, but for Mo Ran, once he handed over the money, he’d be left with almost nothing—he’d have to wait until evening for new earnings.

“A man should act with a clear conscience. ‘A debt of gratitude lasts a thousand years,’ doesn’t it?” Mo Ran grinned foolishly.

“Then how should I repay you? You risked your life to save me from that exploding electric scooter.” Xiao Xiao’s eyes reddened slightly.

“I’ve already been repaid. Didn’t I leverage your and Uncle Xiao’s influence to make Su Qingcheng and the Su family take a heavy fall? That helped vent my anger—that’s much more important than any debt of gratitude. Oh, and tell Uncle Zhang and Lei not to worry about these things. I’ve learned the craft of cooking, after all.” Mo Ran pointed to the marinating lamb skewers, mentioning them in passing. To him, mastering a skill to earn a living was as valuable as any debt of gratitude.

Xiao Xiao didn’t reply, simply looked quietly at Mo Ran, her thoughts churning. Raised beside her father, absorbing the intricacies of politics, she’d grown used to scheming and maneuvering, viewing the pursuit of profit as the foundation of existence. Yet Mo Ran’s way of dealing with people, so seemingly foolish, struck her as refreshing—a clear stream in the muddiness of the world.

(3/3)