It was September 2000 when the third disaster struck. The man I'd left with one kidney after that night in 1993—I ran into him again, seven years later. I remembered his name: Meng Wei. He looked much older, heavier, with a shaven head and a few new scars crisscrossing his body.
That day, he walked into my shop alone. Glanced at the menu, then ordered a bowl of my signature wontons. At first, I didn't recognize him. It wasn't until I brought the wontons over that he recognized me.
"Hey, hey, don't I know you?" he called out.
That's when it clicked. I bowed my head, saying nothing. Running a small shop, you learn to keep the peace—no trouble. "Yeah, long time no see. These wontons are best hot—they're my specialty," I said.
But he shoved the bowl aside. "I'm not in the mood for hot shit. This city's big, but here I am, running into you again. Because of you, I had a kidney cut out."
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry's gonna fix it? You know what it's like to live with one kidney? Lower back aches on and off, my body tilts weird, half the time I'm in discomfort. My urine's sometimes yellow, sometimes brown—you did this to me!"
"It was my fault. I served four years in prison for it. Can we let it go?"
"Let it go? Bullshit! You think I'll let you off that easy?" He swiped the bowl off the table, shattering it, then pointed at my shop. "I found you today—you think I'll let this place stay open? I'll run you into bankruptcy!" With that, he stormed out.
There were two customers in the shop. I forced a smile. "Sorry about that—old… acquaintance." I bent down to pick up the shards.
The next day, I opened as usual. Morning went fine, but around noon, Meng Wei showed up with a group of guys. It was hot, so they were all shirtless, tattooed, cigarettes dangling from their lips—looked about thirty. They pulled out a deck of cards and started playing, yelling at any customer who came near to get lost.
I stood in the tiny kitchen, stuck. All I could do was keep making wontons. But they stayed all afternoon—Meng Wei and his crew played cards for hours, hogging all the fans, no sign of leaving. I thought about calling the police, but I had no cell phone, and there was no landline in the shop. I just stayed in the kitchen, hoping if I ignored them, they'd get bored and leave.
But the next day, they came earlier—around eight. Lucky, though—the morning rush with the students was over, so no kids got scared. They brought two crates of beer,瓜子, peanuts, even a mahjong set. They turned my shop into their own game room. No surprise—they played mahjong all day, leaving at nine that night.
I didn't dare tell my father-in-law. I was afraid it'd worry him. I just hoped Meng Wei would cool off, that this would blow over. But for over ten days, he came every day. My shop lost money by the hour. I kept wondering—didn't these guys have to work for a living?
Later, I asked around among some streetwise friends. Turns out Meng Wei was a gangster—related to a big boss, loaded, with relatives in government and factories. He was just a rich loafer with nothing better to do.
That's when绝望 hit. I knew I couldn't outlast him. So I called the police in advance, hoping they'd come the next day and chase them off.
They did come. Gave them a lecture, and Meng Wei left with his crew, grinning. But as soon as the police were gone, they popped back up, like they'd been hiding nearby. Meng Wei pointed at me. "Kid! Calling the cops won't help. We didn't do anything illegal—they can't touch us."
In that moment, I got it. It's not the bad guys you fear—it's the bad guys who know the law. I hated that I'd never studied, that I wasn't smart enough to be a "bad guy" who knew the rules.
I looked at the bankbook. The shop was losing 6,000 yuan a month—rent, ingredients, everything. I thought, Fuck this. I'm closing.
But if I closed, what would I tell the old folks? I couldn't say Meng Wei was ruining me. They were straightforward people—they'd start a fight. And Meng Wei? You didn't cross him. If something happened to them because of this, how would I face Li Fang?
After thinking it over, I decided to fake sickness for a few days. Maybe if I closed up, Meng Wei would forget about me.
I was wrong.
I was lying in bed when there was a knock. My mother-in-law, holding Huang Cheng, answered. Then I heard that voice—too familiar. "Is this where the owner of Huang's Snacks lives? Why's the shop closed today?"
My mother-in-law, thinking it was a regular customer, smiled. "Oh, what bad luck—my son-in-law's sick."
I jumped up, rushing out. "Meng Wei! What do you want?"
He looked me up and down. "Doesn't look sick to me. Why's the shop closed?"
I didn't dare tell him. Just pulled on my shoes. "I'll open it. Whatever you want, I'll make it for you at the shop."
Meng Wei smirked, pleased. "Well, that's great. I get antsy if I don't sit in your shop for a day."
My mother-in-law, oblivious, chimed in: "Oh, is that right? My son-in-law's a great cook—really good with food. We appreciate your patronage!"
I forced a smile at her, then shut the door, glaring at Meng Wei. "What do you really want?"
"Nothing much. I just like watching you lose money. You keep that shop open every day—miss one day, I come here."
"You're not leaving me a way out. I can't keep this up. Losing 6,000 a month—you'd work half a year at a regular job to make that!"
"Does that make up for seven years of hell?" he shot back.
"What do you want, then? My kidney?!"
"Works for me! But surgery, hospital stays—kidneys don't just transplant themselves. I would've done it already if they did."
With that, Meng Wei walked south. And I went back to the shop, to keep it open.