Mu Yingying’s footsteps slowed as she approached the store.
The shop looked too normal, so normal that it was strange.
The neon sign for Guifang Shop was half-lit. The glass door was spotless, reflecting the ruins of the entire street.
A yellowed sticker was pasted on the door, red background with white lettering in brush script: “This shop sells beverages, snacks, cigarettes, ham sausages, and stationery.”
The characters were neat, but a cigarette burn had left a small hole in the lower right corner, the edges charred black.
Little Frost stopped in front of the glass door. She didn’t push it open. Instead, she turned to look at White Peace.
“Go in,” White Peace said. “Don’t be nervous. She’s not a threat.”
Little Frost had seen White Peace’s strength, so she was quite reassured. She prepared to push the cart inside.
Mu Yingying pushed the door open first.
A small bell hanging on the door chimed, ding—a crisp, normal sound.
The kind of bell you’d find at a small convenience store, the kind that hung at every alleyway entrance in the urban villages before the apocalypse.
Mu Yingying froze. She hadn’t heard that sound in years.
The lights inside were on. Not neon, but a round fluorescent ceiling light. The milky white light was even, not flickering. The shop was about ten square meters.
Shelves lined both side walls: one side was snacks, bagged snacks neatly arranged; the other was drinks, with mineral water, cola, soda, etc., all facing outward, labels clear.
The aisle in the middle was very narrow, only enough for one person.
At the far end was a counter, an old-fashioned glass counter. Beneath it were small items with high profit margins: pack of gum, candy, lighters.
Behind the counter stood a short cigarette cabinet, with various brands of cigarettes neatly arranged inside.
Behind the counter, an old woman was lying down.
She wore a dark gray cotton jacket.
Her hair was snow-white, coiled into a simple bun. Her face was deeply wrinkled but clean, not like someone who hadn’t bathed in years.
She lay on the counter, chin resting on crossed arms, eyes closed.
She was dozing. The bell had rung, but she didn’t wake up.
Mu Yingying stopped at the entrance. Little Frost pushed the cart in and brought the basket with White Peace over to Mu Yingying.
“A… living person?” Mu Yingying asked in a low voice. She turned to look at White Peace.
White Peace stood at the shop entrance, not entering. She glanced inside and said, “No.”
Mu Yingying frowned. “Then she—”
“Is she a Weirdness too?” Little Frost asked.
“Yes, but harmless. Her only obsession is to guard this convenience store and wait for customers.”
Mu Yingying made a chopping gesture. “Then should we—”
“No need. She doesn’t harm people. Let her keep thinking she’s alive.”
The old woman woke up at that moment. She lifted her head, squinted at the shop, and saw Mu Yingying and Little Frost. Immediately, she smiled.
It was a very natural smile, the kind a shop owner who had run a small store for decades would give when seeing a customer walk in—a conditioned reflex, very amiable.
As she smiled, she reached up and rubbed her neck.
“Aiya, sorry, sorry. I just nodded off for a bit leaning here. I’m old, get sleepy in the afternoon. What do you girls want to buy?”
Her voice was a little hoarse, but her tone was strong, her words clear.
Mu Yingying turned to look at White Peace. White Peace gave her a slight nod.
“…Grandma, I’ll just take a look.”
Mu Yingying pretended to browse in front of the snack rack. She didn’t actually know what to pick. She reached out and grabbed a random bag of chips, original flavor.
She turned the bag over, looking at the production date on the back.
The production date on this bag of chips was blurred, impossible to read clearly.
Mu Yingying’s breath caught. She reached up again and took a bottle of soda from the drink rack, orange flavor, glass bottle.
The bottle’s label was clean, the cap wasn’t rusty, the color was orange-yellow.
She walked to the counter and placed the chips and soda on it.
The old woman said, “Ah, good.” She put on the reading glasses that hung around her neck. They were plastic-framed, black, with the left arm repaired with transparent tape. She picked up the chips, glanced at the barcode on the back, squinted, and did a mental calculation.
“Potato chips, three twenty. Soda, two dollars. Total, five twenty.”
She pushed the chips and soda back and pointed at the glass counter below.
“Want a pack of sunflower seeds? Fresh stock today, five-spice flavor. I’ve been eating some myself.” She laughed and patted her stomach.
Mu Yingying said instinctively, “No thanks, Grandma.”
“Alright, just these two. Five twenty.”
Mu Yingying reached into her pocket, then froze. She didn’t have any money.
The old woman looked at the empty space on the counter, her expression a little dazed. She looked up at Mu Yingying.
“Girl? Where’s your money?”
Mu Yingying scratched her head awkwardly. “Don’t have any…”
She dug deeper into her pocket and found a crumpled bill.
“You can scan it, girl. Still using cash? Young people all scan these days. My shop accepts scanning too. But if you’re giving cash, I’ll take it too.”
“Don’t have a phone…”
Mu Yingying started to put the items back.
“Forget it. I won’t charge you. It’s been a long time since anyone came to buy anything.”
The old woman sat back down on the small stool behind the counter, stretched, and prepared to doze off again.
“Grandma.”
“Hm?”
“Your son?”
The old woman paused. “My son?”
She laughed. It was a different kind of laugh from the one she used to greet customers.
It was the kind of laugh a mother has when talking about her son—tinged with a little pride, a little complaint, a little longing.
“My son works out of town. In Shanghai. Does engineering projects. Lots of business trips. Comes back once a year, during Chinese New Year.”
She paused, then added, “He’s been busy lately. Hasn’t been home for months. Last time he called, he said… the project is urgent. He’ll come back once he’s done. I told him it’s fine. Mom’s doing well here. The shop’s still open. The neighbors are all familiar. I’m not lonely.”
She smiled to herself as she spoke.
“He promised me. He’ll come back once he’s done.”
“This shop was named after my husband’s family name. I raised Xiang Yang all by myself.” She paused.
“He’s thirty-six this year. Still not married.”
She sighed. “I’ve urged him a few times. He says he’s busy with work. I said work is work, marriage is marriage. You’re thirty-six. Mom can’t wait forever.”
She laughed again. “Ah, he always says, Mom, wait till I’m done. Wait till I’m done.”
Mu Yingying stood at the counter, not knowing what to say. She watched the old woman. The old woman laughed and sighed, then lay back down on the counter.
That posture of waiting for her son to finish—it was the posture shared by millions of mothers before the apocalypse.
Every one of them was waiting.
Every one of them had been told they’d come back when they were done. Every one of them believed it.
Mu Yingying hesitated. “Grandma, he will definitely come back. He promised you. Once he’s done, he’ll come back to see you.”
The old woman opened one eye.
“Yeah, he promised me. That kid always kept his promises since he was little. He promised to get a hundred on his test, and he did. He promised to get into Beijing University, and he did. He promised to make money and let me enjoy life, and he’s been sending money ever since.”
She pointed a finger behind the counter.
On the wall, a small photo frame was nailed up. Inside was a family portrait, a very old photo.
The old woman stood in the middle when she was young. Beside her was a tall, thin man—probably her husband who had passed away early.
In front of them sat a boy of about seven or eight, wearing a red sweater, his hair very short, grinning widely, revealing a missing front tooth. That photo must have been over thirty years old.
Mu Yingying looked at the photo, unable to speak.
“Girl, why aren’t you leaving? Is there something else?”
Mu Yingying snapped back to reality and smiled. “Nothing, Grandma. I’m leaving. I’ll come by if I pass this way again.”
“Alright, take care. Watch your step.”
Mu Yingying turned and walked to the glass door.
She pushed it open.
The bell rang again, ding.
She stepped out. Little Frost and White Night followed behind. As Little Frost came out, she turned her head and gave a slight nod to the old woman behind the counter.
The old woman had already lain back down on the counter, eyes closed, starting to doze again.
White Peace was the last one out. As she left, the ceiling light in the shop flickered once. It didn’t go out. It stayed on.
The group walked out of the shop and continued along the original path for about thirty or forty meters. Mu Yingying couldn’t help but look back.
Guifang Shop was gone.
In its place was a pile of rubble, the same kind of rubble as all the other collapsed shops on the street. Steel and concrete were piled messily.
The sign for Guifang Shop had fallen, half-buried in the debris, with only the characters “Guifang” visible.
The neon lights were completely dead.
Mu Yingying stood still. She was still holding the bag of chips in her hand.
She looked down at what she was holding.
The chip packaging was real. The plastic bag rustled in her hand—new, still a little elastic.
The soda bottle was in her other pocket, held by her clothes—a heavy glass bottle, cold. The coin was real.
She closed her eyes.
She tore open the chip bag.
Rip.
The sound of tearing plastic was crisp, exactly the same as every bag of chips torn open before the apocalypse.
Inside the bag were yellow, round chips, sprinkled with salt. It looked like it could actually be eaten.
She took one chip and handed it to Little Frost.
“You want me to test it for poison?”
Little Frost was a bit speechless, but she still reached out and took it. She looked at the chip for a few seconds.
“It’s edible. Non-toxic.”
White Peace glanced at it and said.
Little Frost had also developed a lot of trust in White Peace. She put the chip in her mouth and chewed very slowly.
When she finished, she closed her eyes. “It tastes like before the apocalypse.”
Mu Yingying said, “Really not poisonous.”
She also took a bite. She chewed a few times. It was real salty. It was real chips. She swallowed. Her eyes felt hot, but she didn’t let the tears fall.
She crouched down, pulled a clean plastic bag from her backpack, poured the remaining chips in, and tied it shut. Then she folded the empty chip bag and stuffed it into her backpack.
She stood up, pulled the soda out of her pocket.
The cap was still on.
She wiped the bottle mouth with the hem of her clothes, twisted it open.
Pop.
A crisp sound, exactly the same pop as every soda bottle opened before the apocalypse.
She handed it to Little Frost. Little Frost took it, took a small sip, and after swallowing, her throat moved.
“It’s orange soda.” She didn’t say more. She handed the soda back to Mu Yingying.
Mu Yingying took it and also took a small sip. It really did have fizz. The bubbles danced on her tongue.
She handed it to White Night. White Night was in the bike basket. She was a soul body and couldn’t drink, but she reached out a tiny finger and touched the bottle.
“It’s cold.”
Mu Yingying said, “Yeah, it’s cold.”
White Night touched the bottle. “An’an.”
“Hm?”
“That old grandma… will she be able to wait for her son…”
White Peace stood beside the group, glanced in the direction of the Guifang Shop rubble pile. There was nothing in the rubble except that sign buried in the debris. The two characters “Guifang” were half-exposed.
“Probably won’t be able to wait…”
“But I think she’ll keep waiting, just like I kept searching for you,” White Peace replied.
The wind blew, stirring up a little dust. In the dust, the edge of the Guifang sign showed a little more. Something else was pinned under the sign.
Mu Yingying crouched down to look. It was that tin cookie box, the Golden Throat Lozenges one. It was crushed by the rubble, but the lid was still on.
She hesitated, then reached out and dug the cookie box out. The lid fit tightly. She opened it.
Inside was some money—one-dollar, five-dollar, ten-dollar bills, all tattered.
At the very bottom was a photo. That family portrait.
The old woman’s younger self, her husband who passed away early, and the little boy in the red sweater sitting in the middle.
The edges of the photo were worn white. On the back was a line of writing, written by the old woman with a fountain pen, the handwriting very careful: “Xiang Yang, seventh birthday.”
Mu Yingying looked at that line of writing and was silent for a long time.
She carefully placed the photo back in the tin box, closed the lid, put it back in its original spot, and lightly covered it with rubble.
Then she stood up.
“Let’s go.”
Little Frost didn’t say anything. She pushed the cart and followed.
White Peace took one last look at that rubble pile and said nothing. She turned around.
The group set off again.
After they had gone much farther, the Guifang Shop rubble pile was no longer visible on the street.
One pile of rubble was indistinguishable from another.
If someone didn’t know that street had once had that little shop, they would think the street had always been just rubble.
The chips in Mu Yingying’s backpack were really edible. It was truly bizarre.
The next stretch of road turned east. The buildings eastward were noticeably taller than the residential area they had just passed through.
They were office buildings with gray tempered glass curtain walls, most of which were shattered.
But one twelve-story building near the intersection had most of its windows intact.
Little Frost pushed the cart to the intersection and looked up at the building.
Some windows were dark. Behind some glass, empty interiors could be seen. In the easternmost room, a light was on.
Little Frost turned to ask White Peace, “Another Weirdness?”