Chapter Eleven: Why Are You Here

“How come you’re here?” Xu Fei glanced at Du Man, feeling a bit embarrassed.

He didn’t want her to see him in such a miserable state.

“I saw you barely ate this morning and thought you might not have the strength for work,” Du Man said as she took a steamed bun from her lunchbox and handed it to Xu Fei.

“Don’t go to the house to get food anymore.”

“But…” Du Man hesitated; she wanted to say there was no rice or flour left at home, but then worried Xu Fei’s pride might not bear it.

Xu Fei nodded.

“I know you’re doing this for the family, and I know you’ll face cold looks when you go back, but we’ll eat whatever we have. Even if it’s just rough grains and wild vegetables, as long as we work hard, good days will come.”

“Mm.” Du Man heard, for the first time, her man speak with such dignity.

In the past, whenever the family ran out of money or food, Xu Fei would beat and scold her, venting his anger on her.

What had changed in him now?

Had he truly seen the error of his ways?

She still remembered Xu Qing’s words vividly.

“Sister-in-law, my brother’s like a dog that can’t stop eating its own filth. Don’t expect him to really change.”

If Xu Fei knew his sister looked down on him so, he’d probably be furious.

Du Man silently prayed, hoping her man could truly turn things around.

As for how much he could earn—that didn’t matter much to her.

Whenever she returned to her parents’ home, though their attitude was poor, they still gave her money and food.

She was, after all, their daughter.

“Who are you?” Zhang Dajun walked over, lunchbox in hand.

Du Man stood, lowered her head, and glanced shyly at Xu Fei.

“She’s my wife.”

“Xu Fei, you like this, and you have such a beautiful wife?” Zhang Dajun slanted a glance at Du Man. “No outsiders allowed. Didn’t you see the sign on the door?”

Du Man nodded.

“Mute?”

She quickly shook her head.

Xu Fei frowned. Zhang Dajun was going too far.

He worked under him, true—but he didn’t have to swallow every insult.

“What do you mean by that, Dajun?”

“Dajun? Is that what you call me?” Zhang Dajun glared at Xu Fei.

“Comrade Zhang Dajun,” Xu Fei stared coolly at him. “I’ve said, she’s my wife, here to bring me lunch. You’d best show her some respect.”

“Respect? This is the sugar factory. Anyone with a lunchbox could be bringing food—or stealing sugar.”

“You!” Xu Fei saw he was deliberately making trouble.

“Can’t you see it’s a steamed bun inside?”

“A steamed bun?” Zhang Dajun walked over, snatched the lunchbox from Du Man, took out the bun, and sniffed it.

“Well, a white flour bun. Looks like you’re not short of money.”

“If you want it, take it.” Xu Fei waved dismissively.

But Zhang Dajun snorted, tossed both the bun and the lunchbox to the ground.

“Who do you think you’re looking down on? This—am I supposed to eat it because I can’t afford food?”

Du Man hurried forward to pick up the bun, but before she could, Zhang Dajun stomped on it.

“You!?” Xu Fei hadn’t expected him to turn hostile so quickly.

He’d meant well, trying to mend fences since he worked under him and they’d had past conflicts. The bun, though nothing special, was precious now—a fine grain. He’d thought offering it might smooth things over.

But Zhang Dajun took offense, trampling both bun and lunchbox into a mess.

“You listen to me, Xu Fei. I’ll overlook what happened before, but here, Donghai Sugar Factory is my turf. What I say goes. Don’t play dumb with me!”

Du Man picked up the squashed lunchbox and bun, now flattened like a pancake, and shot an angry look at Zhang Dajun.

“What are you looking at?”

“I…”

“Hmph, you entered the workshop without permission. I haven’t even dealt with that. If you keep staring, I’ll send you straight to the security office!”

Hearing the threat, Du Man could only lower her head, stuffing the lunchbox into her woven basket.

“Xu Fei, I’ll head back now.”

She turned and walked out of the workshop.

Zhang Dajun was still riled by Xu Fei’s words.

“Stop eating and get to work!” he barked.

Xu Fei stuffed the remaining half of his bun into his pocket.

Zhang Dajun strode over to a pile of crushed sugarcane. “All this needs to go into the hopper before the end of the shift. If you don’t finish, your wages will be docked!”

It was Xu Fei’s first day on the job. He’d spent the morning hauling sacks, and now he had to feed the raw material.

He estimated the pile was at least seven or eight tons. The sugarcane was heavy with moisture; each small cart weighed three or four hundred pounds.

But orders were orders.

If he didn’t finish, Zhang Dajun would surely report it to Wang Guoqing.

Docked wages meant the day’s labor would be wasted.

Xu Fei could only grit his teeth, nod, and wheel the barrow over.

The hopper was at one end of the workshop, but the pile Zhang Dajun assigned him was over a hundred meters away.

No rest for him.

Other workers were in the office, taking their break.

He loaded the cart and made trip after trip.

After several runs, he was drenched in sweat.

Inside the workshop office…

“I say, Dajun, even if you’re trying to wear the kid out, this is too much. Is he your enemy?”

“Exactly! Aren’t you afraid he’ll report you to Wang?”

“Report me? Ha! If Wang heard, he’d thank me.”

Zhang Dajun lay back on the bench, pulled his hat over his face, and started snoring.

One worker glanced at another, then looked out at Xu Fei laboring outside.

“At this rate, he’ll be crawling to work tomorrow.”

“No doubt.”

Xu Fei didn’t rest for a moment all afternoon.

Before the shift ended, he finally finished the task.

When he dumped the last load into the hopper, his body felt beaten, bones loose.

He collapsed onto the ground.

A fellow worker walked over, crouched, and whispered, “Don’t sit on the ground, brother. Get up quick—it’s damp. If you want to walk tomorrow, you better move.”

Xu Fei looked up. The man’s name was Liu, an old hand in the workshop, known as Old Liu.

A decent guy—just earlier, he’d warned Xu Fei not to drink cold water or his lungs would burst.

Xu Fei smiled, nodded, and struggled to his feet.

“Old Liu, where do I collect my piecework pay for the morning?”

Old Liu nodded toward the office.

“Find Wang.”

Ignoring his aches, Xu Fei headed straight for the office. He’d been counting on that five yuan—enough to buy rice and flour.

He couldn’t let Du Man beg from her family anymore.