Chapter 13: Perilla

Evening came, and the sky cleared again.

The sunset, as if freshly washed, sank slowly.

It was still early for full darkness—summer nights didn’t fall until past seven.

Yin Xing was asleep, leaving the house quiet.

Even when awake, she barely spoke, but her presence added a human touch.

Sang Shen had just cleaned the fridge. Plugging it in brought an odd satisfaction. Empty now, but he believed one day it’d be stuffed with food, enough for lavish meals…

The only pity was—fresh from a bath, he was already sweaty from work.

“Alright, next… oh, the mint sweet water Qing Qing taught me. I’ll make some for the fridge, for when we’re thirsty. First… wash the mint…”

The kitchen window was half-open, the evening breeze brushing Sang Shen’s face.

For some reason, he felt calm, like no task could bore him.

Qing Qing’s voice echoed in his mind, making him smile.

“She taught me so carefully, every step so clear, hard to forget…”

He stuffed the washed mint into the kettle—not by choice, but it was the only thing usable on the small wood stove.

The enamel mug was too small. For a bigger batch, the kettle was better.

He carried it to the door, poking the stove’s ashes with a fresh branch. A few lingering embers sparked.

“Some embers left… dry leaves should get it going…”

No matches at home, just a lighter bought with mosquito coils.

For starting fires, it was less handy than matches. Tilt it too long, and it’d burn your hand.

The stove flared up again. Sang Shen set the kettle with water and mint on it.

Next was boiling water.

Simple, but with a wood stove, he had to watch it. If the fire died before the water boiled, he’d have to restart—wasted effort.

The wood stove’s perk was saving money. Dry branches and leaves were everywhere in the village.

The downside was the hassle.

“Cooking’s fine, but boiling water… I really want an electric kettle.”

Sang Shen muttered, adding more wood.

“After the mint water, I’ll boil another pot. This big log should burn a while…”

In the firelight, the water slowly boiled.

The stove’s heat was intense.

It reminded him of his indulgence in the bathroom.

“Not my fault…”

He scratched his cheek, justifying himself.

“Facing a face that pretty, it’d be weird not to have thoughts… Even if it’s just a doll, any guy would imagine something—ahem!”

He glanced nervously toward the stairs, as if scared Yin Xing might hear his muttering.

The stairwell was silent. She was still asleep.

“No idea if she’s having good dreams… probably nightmares.”

Sang Shen mumbled, peeking under the kettle lid.

“Looks about done. Time to pour it out…”

The kettle’s spout filtered out most mint leaves, letting only tiny bits through. Qing Qing said a few bits made the flavor better.

The mint water filled a large enamel mug and a soup bowl. He squeezed the leaves’ juice, turning the water a tender green.

“Like Yin Xing’s eyes…”

He muttered, grabbing a small bag of rock sugar from Qing Qing. He tossed in a handful, stirring with chopsticks.

Once mixed, he put both in the fridge.

The mug had a lid; the bowl got a pot lid to keep dust out.

“OK, done. Now another pot of water, in case we need it tonight… Then… what? Cook some rice…”

***

Six-thirty, evening by the mountains, sunlight still strong.

Sang Shen was picking wild perilla on a hillside.

He hadn’t noticed before, but this patch was full of thriving perilla.

Perilla leaves had a unique texture, chewy, with a meaty flavor.

Wrapped around grilled meat, they turned ordinary into gourmet.

But he wasn’t grilling. He wanted them as a seaweed substitute.

Yes, he planned to make rice balls, lacking seaweed.

He’d considered lotus leaves, but perilla was a better find.

“Alright… this should be enough. Rice balls for the fridge, so we’ve got something when starving…”

He pounded his back, stumbling down the slope, then exhaled.

“Rice should be steamed by now. Once it cools, I’ll wrap it with perilla. Oh… gotta wash and drain the leaves. Add salt to the rice…”

If it was just him, he’d cook when hungry.

But he’d promised Yin Xing food ready when she woke.

Rice balls were simple, instant eats. In the fridge, they’d last a day or two, good heated or cold.

“Maybe grill them? Get the outside crispy like pot crust…”

His mind wandered. Human adaptability was strong—scarce ingredients still sparked ideas.

He even found joy in making the most of things.

“Am I an optimist? Even someone like me gets crushed by life in the end?”

He thought of Yin Xing.

“Maybe… it’s not just what happened. The future itself might be despairing…”

***

Nearly eight o’clock.

Night had just fallen.

Light footsteps came from the corridor. As if sensing it, Sang Shen turned.

Yin Xing, in loose school clothes—his from junior high, oversized on her—swayed toward the door.

“Awake?”

“…What’re you doing.”

“Wiping the floor, getting ready for bed.”

Sang Shen stood, rag in hand, and hurried to the door.

He pulled her in, shutting it with a bang.

“Don’t leave the door open too long, mosquitoes’ll get in.”

“…”

“How’d you sleep?”

“…Dizzy.”

“Sit and rest?”

He pointed to a wooden chair by the table.

“Wait a sec, I’ll finish mopping, then get you water downstairs. Oh, take off your slippers—uh, I’m sleeping on the floor later.”

“…Oh.”

Yin Xing casually kicked off her slippers by the door. Sang Shen bent to arrange them neatly.

He knelt to keep wiping, but Yin Xing stayed still. Her pale, delicate feet kept catching his eye as he moved.

Though really, he was the one moving.

Her arched feet, snow-white insteps, and tiny toes with gem-like pink nails were almost sweet, like candy, up close.

Sang Shen stopped his thoughts, afraid they’d spiral. Still, he couldn’t help sneaking glances.

Even after finishing, he lingered, pretending to clean a corner, before reluctantly standing and opening the door.

“Want something cold? Your body’s better with warm, but… cold’s more refreshing, right?”

Yin Xing seemed indifferent, as if she hadn’t heard. She sat, propping her cheek with her right hand, tilting to stare out at the village’s dark night.

For some reason, Sang Shen felt her mood wasn’t bad.

“Wait here, I’ll be right up.”

The door opened and closed, followed by hurried steps.

Soon, he pushed it open again.

“Phew, so many bugs out there at night…”

He shut the door tightly, relieved, and set the enamel mug on the table, removing its lid thoughtfully.

“Here, hold the mug to drink. I’ll take leftovers or put them back in the fridge—uh, we don’t have proper cups. A bowl’s awkward…”

Yin Xing stared at the mug’s inscription, silent for a long time. Then she leaned forward, sipping from the edge.

“You can’t taste sweet, but you can taste mint, right? Cool, yeah? Pretty good, huh?”

“…Yeah.”

“Feel less dizzy after drinking? Maybe you were too hot. This cools you down, haha…”

Yin Xing didn’t respond. She put the lid back on and looked out the window, showing no sign of leaving.

The room fell silent again. With nothing to do, Sang Shen read old newspapers on the wall.

They were ancient, their “news” long outdated.

Did the person who bought them read every story?

Maybe not as closely as Sang Shen did now…