Chapter 83: A Belated Apology

Lu Songyan was an honest man. Ever since he’d been slashed with a knife five years ago, he’d only grown more reserved.

A laborer is a kind of odd-job worker. While it’s enough to support a family, it’s not considered formal employment—there’s no pension, let alone a housing fund. Just a few years ago, Dongfeng Town couldn’t sustain so many idle hands. These odd-jobbers and day laborers had to head to big cities to eke out a living.

But in recent years, with the boom in urbanization, Dongfeng Town had begun to see high-rises rise one after another. Along the embankment of the Siyuan River, a group of people in work clothes could be found squatting or sitting near the decorative materials shops, waiting to be hired. Over time, this became a gathering spot—essentially an open-air labor market. Anyone in town looking to hire help would come here.

Waiting at a fixed spot to be hired is known in the trade as “lying in wait for work.”

Even among odd-jobbers, there were ranks. Electricians usually had some technical schooling, sometimes even a certificate; they were the cream of the crop. Carpenters and masons were skilled trades, often passed down through families, and each had their own quiet pride. Manual laborers and plumbers had the lowest skill requirements—apart from smashing down walls or hauling sand, there weren’t many jobs they’d be hired for directly. So manual laborers often teamed up with other trades. If an electrician needed to lay wires through conduit, sometimes he’d do the wall-chiseling himself, but sometimes he’d bring along a laborer and split the earnings. It was the same for masons. A bricklayer wouldn’t normally haul his own sand and cement—in those cases, whoever he called, that was money in their pocket.

Even this little market had its own pecking order. There were two kinds of laborers here: the quick-witted ones, who had connections with the furniture store merchants and specialized in moving and delivery. The jobs were always laced with catch-clauses: one price for delivery, another for carrying upstairs, and the most infuriating—a final fee just to get the item through the door. A table or a sofa barely wider than the doorframe—if you hadn’t done this work before, no matter how strong you were, you couldn’t get it in. The laborers would never let such an opportunity slip by. They’d leave the item at the door, and to get it inside, you’d have to cough up another hundred. There was no one to complain to.

The other kind were the truly honest ones, like Lu Songyan—passing cigarettes to electricians, nodding respectfully to bricklayers, just hoping to be called on when a job came up. But being a laborer was a job that burned through your life. Lu, after all, was in his forties. No matter how strong-willed he was, he couldn’t compete with the young men just past twenty. These days, many laborers invested in electric hammers, machines that could pulverize a wall in no time—much faster than a chisel. But a good one cost over two thousand. Lu had gritted his teeth more than once, but never managed to buy one. As a result, fewer and fewer people wanted to team up with him.

Summer was the busy season—more people were buying homes, more were renovating. All along the riverside, under the willows, you could spot the laborers lying in wait at a glance. Usually they lounged about idly, but if anyone paused nearby, their laziness vanished. In an instant, they’d crowd around: “Need a laborer? Smashing walls, hauling sand, whatever you need!” “Need a carpenter or mason? We’ve got both!”

By late morning, most of his fellow workers had left for jobs. Lu Songyan leaned against his electric scooter, sitting idly, chatting with Old Li the bricklayer. He’d stopped offering cigarettes to electricians lately—without an electric hammer, even if he did, they wouldn’t pick him. Feeling dejected, he smoked one cigarette after another, watched the sun drift west, and felt certain he’d be going home empty-handed again.

Going home empty-handed—his wife might not say anything, but Lu felt it acutely.

Another person approached along the road, looking to be no more than sixteen or seventeen. Someone that age was unlikely to be hiring, but Lu stood up anyway and asked, “Need a laborer? Smashing walls, hauling sand—I can do it all.”

The young man gave Lu a once-over. Lu assumed the kid was doubting whether he was still fit for the job, so he rolled up his sleeves to show off his bulging biceps. “Whatever you need done that’s in the laborer’s line, there’s nothing I can’t handle!”

Seeing there might be work, the others who’d just ignored him now gathered round. “Need an electrician or plumber?” “How about a mason? I’ve got photos of my masonry work!” “Laborer here, I’ve got an electric hammer! Finish a day’s work in half the time, won’t waste your day…”

Lu felt a pang of annoyance. He’d already stepped forward and spoken up—by the rules, other laborers shouldn’t try to poach the job. That was called muscling in. He glanced back at the young man, puffed out his chest, but said nothing.

“Uncle, are you free?” the young man asked.

“Free!” Lu replied quickly, pleased that the kid had some sense of loyalty. When it came time to negotiate pay, even if he got a little less, he’d accept it.

Of course, the newcomer was Xiao Cheng, and he wasn’t looking to hire anyone for real. Wen Xiaocheng gave Lu Songyan a careful look—the man was burly and broad-shouldered, but on closer inspection, his back was a little stooped, his waist a bit bowed. His exposed arms were corded and sinewy, their dark skin tinged with red, his large hands callused thickly.

No wonder his father had chosen to take out this man first—such a physique, such presence, truly a dangerous threat that had to be removed.

Pushing his scooter from under the tree, Lu Songyan followed Xiao Cheng, feeling rather proud. They walked and chatted, and Xiao Cheng asked, “Uncle, you look familiar, is your surname Lu?”

Lu was taken aback. Had he worked for this family before? But the kid didn’t look familiar at all. He had a son of his own, and whenever he met boys about the same age, he couldn’t help but compare them—thinking his own son was taller, stronger—and feel a surge of pride. But this boy stirred no memory.

“I went to No. 2 High as well—I’m a classmate of Lu Qi. You’re Lu Qi’s father, right? I saw you at a parent-teacher meeting before.”

That explained it. With so many kids at school, it was no wonder he hadn’t noticed. Lu Songyan nodded. “You know Lu Qi? Then you’re not an outsider. What’s the job? If it’s nothing too strenuous, Uncle will help you out as a favor.”

“Uncle Lu, do you remember Wen Xinwu?”

That name had been ground into his ears five years ago—how could he forget? Now, looking at Wen Xiaocheng, he could see a faint resemblance to Wen Xinwu in his features. Understanding dawned—this was Wen Xinwu’s son.

“And you are…?”

“I’m Wen Xinwu’s son. My name is Wen Xiaocheng.”

Lu’s expression darkened. His first thought was that the boy had come to complain—thankfully, he wasn’t hurt, so his own son hadn’t caused any real trouble.

“Ah… what is it?”

“My grandmother’s just ahead—could you spare a few words with her?”

By the riverbank, beneath graceful willows and winding corridors, Lu Songyan’s scruffy jeans and loose work clothes seemed entirely out of place. Dongfeng Town had no real parks—this three or five miles of artificial landscaping by the Siyuan River was all the town had. In a nearby pavilion, an old woman was watching them approach. Once they were close, she greeted them with a deep bow.

“Master Lu, is it? An old woman like me failed in raising her son. Today, I’ve come to offer you my apologies on his behalf.”

———

The riverbank was picturesque, though the water itself stank. Those who came to admire the view often left with their shoes soaked.