Famine 184: Lamb Soup

Half an hour later, the owners of the donkey sandwich shop stood rooted to the spot, stunned, gazing upwards in disbelief.

In front of them was a vast, open floor.

This was far more than two hundred square meters.
It already had a basic interior fit-out. Comfortable, clean tables and chairs were arrayed in neat groups—not luxurious, but dignified, tidy, and pleasingly affordable.

The kitchen in the back was designed as an open “show kitchen”—gleaming with beautiful metallic white, and not at all cramped. There was space for a huge pot to simmer braised donkey meat, a big pot for lamb soup, their prep counter, and oven—with plenty of room to move.

It looked just like the restaurant he had once dreamed of, the year he left home after high school—

Clean, spacious, bright.

Back then, as a young man with all his skills, he’d dared to voice great ambitions: hoping to save enough in ten years to open a restaurant in this big city that would truly be his own.
He’d thought he was easy to please, drawing up plans with enthusiasm—even if it wasn’t as large as a big dining hall, as long as he had his little space and diners who loved his sandwiches, that would be enough… Of course he could do it, his donkey sandwiches were delicious, the result of generations’ worth of refinement—everyone back home said they were the best!

Not ten years. Not twenty, nor thirty. After the world perished, after a thousand centuries, time still passed.

In an expensive city, the greasy, cramped doorfront he’d found and could still afford to rent was already the best he could dream of.

“This… this shop…” stammered the owner. “…Only three thousand a month?!”

Si Zhiyan nodded slightly, smiling as he said, “Yes, that’s right. This is one of our farm’s apartment buildings.”

“This restaurant space is three thousand yuan a month, three months’ rent as deposit, pay every four months. Aside from that, as an equity partner, you’ll pay me 5% of your daily revenue.”
“After you take the lease, you can open the entrance just where your old shopfront was.”

“This… this…”
The owner was still in shock.

Even with the revenue sharing, the offer was exceptionally generous.

Bian Xu poked his head cheerfully out from behind Si Zhiyan, resting his chin on Si’s shoulder, and said with a grin, “Well, what do you say, Old Qian? If you’re not interested, we can always ask Old Zhao next door.”

Still gaping, the owner was completely dumbfounded. His wife, however, was quick and decisive; she stepped forward, grabbed Si Zhiyan’s hand, and said excitedly,

“We’ll take it! We’ll rent it right now!”
“Sir, please have a seat, just wait for us a moment!”

Her name was Feng Yu, a strong, capable woman whose hands were trembling. She rushed home in a flurry of urgency.

Bian Xu snickered, “Old Qian, Sister Feng is way more decisive than you.”

It tickled. Si Zhiyan leaned back, pushing the tousled golden head off his shoulder. Bian Xu just chuckled and stood up properly.

Was it just his imagination, or was this kid getting more and more cocky?

Boss Qian, the donkey sandwich man, grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “Ah… ah, she’s always been more decisive than I am.”

It wasn’t long before the boss’s wife, Feng Yu, came trotting back. She cradled a small cloth pouch, which she opened layer by layer—first came sewing cloth and thread, then, deep inside, a money wallet. She opened it, revealing a tidy stack of hundred-yuan bills—some previously creased and greasy, now straightened with loving care.

Feng Yu called her husband over, and together they counted out twelve thousand yuan, double-checked it, and respectfully handed it, with both hands, to Si Zhiyan.

“Sir, please count it.”

Si Zhiyan accepted, counted the sum carefully, and nodded in satisfaction with a smile.

Good.
Now, only twenty thousand to go.

“Quick, quick! Go check the lamb soup, I’ll get the flatbreads in the oven!”

Feng Yu, full of zest, pulled Old Qian along as they hurried off.

“Today’s business will be great, we have to prepare extra. Chop the donkey meat in advance, and wash the peppers… Customers will come for lunch at eleven, let’s get started!”

The couple bustled about, in high spirits.

…………
……

【AM 12:30】

He Ming, a somewhat chubby young woman, sat at her desk in a conference room, so exhausted that her head kept nodding as she struggled to stay awake, sinking ever lower in her seat.

It was lunchtime.

But, quite evidently, none of the “leaders” here cared about that.
The boss was up at the PPT podium, spittle flying as he spoke; the team leader was clapping vigorously in support, oblivious to the heavy-lidded, weary eyes of everyone below.

Any question and it was always, “Everyone, just put in a little extra effort.”

He Ming bowed her head and sighed quietly.

It was only a tiny, homegrown advertising workshop operating out of a residential building, but sometimes she felt she’d accidentally joined ByteDance.

The boss always scheduled meetings just before meal breaks and after work—the two times that could most easily drag on. When it was time to finally get to work, connections with all parties had to be made; being five minutes late to your desk earned you a scolding.

An hour and a half, wasted.

When it was finally over, the boss finished doling out a ton of miscellaneous tasks before being satisfied enough to let them leave.

The employees filed out one by one, and by the time He Ming checked her watch, it was already past one o’clock.

No time! She bolted out of the office.

At this hour, the only option left was the canteen on the third floor.
He Ming pounded the elevator button and silently cursed her fate.

Her company was in a mixed-use building—a dense apartment structure with lots of small businesses like theirs and also lots of residents.
Nobody quite knew what connections the rental agent had, but somehow, a whole cluster of unlicensed eateries had sprouted up on the third floor. The food was good, the portions large and affordable, tailored to workers like He Ming—noontime came and everyone flocked there.

But the problem was, the space was just too small.

The entire building served thousands of people, but every shopfront had room for no more than twenty or thirty diners, and everyone else had to take food to go.

But office space was also tight, and the boss wouldn’t let them eat at their desks—too much “leftover smells.” So He Ming could only buy food like donkey sandwiches or jianbing, the sort of meal one could carry, then eat downstairs on a plaza bench, dashing through her lunch hour before rushing back up.

But this time, there just wasn’t enough time!

She could only buy her food, sit on the stair landing, and eat a few hurried bites before running upstairs.

Summer heat, too many people, no air conditioning in the stairwell—many others sat there too, eating silently.
He Ming remembered the mix of sweat and mildew smells in the humid air, and her stomach churned, every instinct wanting to shrink away.

It felt less like humans enjoying a meal and more like livestock grabbing a bite at the trough, just to keep alive before slogging back.

All this food was supposed to be delicious—how had things come to this?

…But what else could she do?

Head downstairs? There wasn’t time. Go back to her desk? Not allowed. Go home? Her shared apartment was out in the suburbs, commuting took almost an hour…
She could only pray that maybe just one more chair could be crammed into the packed little diners.
But the shop owners were old hands, and the chairs had already been packed in as tightly as they possibly could. He Ming, with her long limbs and big frame, would scrunch up in her seat, earning stares from those on either side.

She hated that—she might as well sit in the stairwell.

In this bustling city, there never really was a place for her.
Even to find a clean table and chair for a quiet meal, there was never truly a spot for her.

Standing in the elevator, head down, He Ming closed her eyes and wiped away the sweat.

If only there were a place she could just sit and eat.

Ding!

The elevator arrived on the third floor.

Hm? Why are there so few people in the hallway today?

He Ming stepped out, puzzled, weaving her way skillfully through the narrow corridor…

Suddenly, her eyes widened in disbelief.

At the door of a familiar shop, a brand-new sign hung, bearing a bold inscription in plain white on a red background—

[Donkey Sandwiches (Dine-in Flagship)]

People were coming out in a steady flow, excitement sparkling in their conversation.

He Ming, dazed, walked to the entrance, and was instantly met by a vision of open, well-lit space.

Inside was a wide-open dining hall—people moving everywhere, but the air conditioning strong and the space expansive, not a hint of stuffiness. The glazed floor tiles were spotless, rows of brand-new dark wooden four-seaters stretched to the far end, every seat spacious and comfortable. Each table was stocked with a disposable chopstick dispenser, the air fragrant with the scent of donkey sandwiches and lamb soup.

Through the glass of floor-to-ceiling windows in the distance were pretty grasslands, wild hills, drifting clouds.

Was this…

Was this another world?!

He Ming stood agape, overcome with dizziness.

By good luck, just then someone got up from a window seat. She wandered over in a daze and sat down by the glass.

She scanned a code and browsed the menu—it was still the donkey sandwiches she loved. The prices had gone up a bit, but she didn’t mind—in fact, she felt even happier.

It felt almost like a dream… In a fog of excitement, He Ming ordered two donkey sandwiches, one premium lean meat bun, and a bowl of lamb soup.

Before long, from the service counter came the cheerful, ringing voice of Boss Qian: “Number 0391! Order up!”

Through the open kitchen, He Ming caught a glimpse of Boss Qian and his wife, both working flat out, faces glowing with joy.

Nearby, a guest at a table exclaimed, “Delicious! This lamb soup is so good!”
The man across laughed, “You’ve been here so long and only eaten sandwiches? Never tried the lamb soup?”
His friend grinned, “You need a table and chair for that—it’s too hot and messy to carry, and way too awkward on the stairs.”

“Well, now, things are looking up.”

…

He Ming lowered her head, gazing at this lamb soup—her very first bowl—and felt her vision blur.

She was the same.

She had always loved soup, but there had never been… No, there had never been a moment, a space, where she could sit in peace and savor a bowl of delicious lamb soup.

She added two spoons of salt, took a taste.

Classic lamb soup is unsalted by default; the customer seasons it with salt and pepper to taste. The broth had clearly been simmered for hours, a milky, slightly thick white, with dots of scallion and shimmers of sliced lamb and offal visible within.

All the marrow and essence from the lamb’s bones had dissolved into the broth; just one mouthful, and the intense savory lamb flavor, spiked with a little pepper heat, nearly overwhelmed the tongue.

So there He Ming sat, savoring her soup and her crisp, fragrant donkey sandwich, slowly and calmly finishing her meal.

For once, she could eat with dignity, like an ordinary good person. To enjoy her lunch, to savor this hard-won sliver of happiness in an otherwise grueling workday.

How wonderful, He Ming thought. Truly wonderful.
The soup was too hot—the rising steam made her rub her eyes, and for a moment, something bright flashed and was gone.

…

In the kitchen, Old Qian was moving so fast his feet almost tangled, but a huge grin stretched across his face.

He’d made plenty more sandwiches than usual, and sold every last one—what’s not to be happy about? Old Qian thought delightedly.

Lunch wasn’t even over, and the day’s income had already caught up to what they used to do in a full day.

Today’s earnings, he reckoned, might even double!

Things were getting so busy, they might have to hire help soon.

Meeting those two gentlemen who’d just moved in—what outstanding luck. They’d prevented a tragedy, and given him such a wonderful opportunity.

Some kind of “farm apartment,” they’d called it… If this was what the “farm” was, then, well, meeting them was the luckiest thing to ever happen to him.

Naturally, he and his wife would cherish this chance, and make the most of their shop.
The more they earned, the more commission the farm owner would get. It was a win-win!

Ah, who’d have thought it? Turns out that good things really can happen in life!

Just then, a few heads poked into the doorway.

Old Qian was busy chopping donkey meat, but at a glance, he broke into a fresh smile.

—Oh my, wasn’t that a few of the neighboring shop owners?