Work Text:
“Hey, good job today,” laoban hollers. He walks up to the just-vacated table, sweeping discarded prawn shells and used tissues into a red pail with an efficient swipe of his balled-up rag, before wiping the surface with strong, sure circles. “Xiaoling,” he calls, “leave that to er-laoban and help with the tables while Kelly’s dealing with those tourists.”
Xiaoling’s tallying up the receipts at the counter. She sighs, then looks up, points, and says, “Um. Laoban. I think laoban-niang’s already prepared to fight them.”
Laoban looks up, sighs, and drops the cloth on the table to gesture to you. “Weiwei, come help me with this.” He points a finger at Xiaoling in warning. “Sio jia. Don’t let me find out that it’s been you who’s teaching the younger staff to call him that.”
Xiaoling scrunches her face up, and says to his retreating back, “Yeah, but it was er-laoban who said he didn’t mind us calling him laoban-niang, not me!”
You pick up the white rag and continue wiping the table. Seriously, do people have holes in their chins? Why can’t they eat like humans, fuck, the table’s wearing at least half the soup from each of their bowls. You look up at Xiaoling, and roll your eyes. “Laoban just doesn’t want anyone to know er-laoban is also laoban-niang.”
She fixes a withering glare on you. “Everyone knows. Does he think people are blind?” She jabs at the calculator before her, a stack of receipts in her other hand. “Look, you know how many meimeis come up to me every week to tell me that they’re very cute together?”
“You only work three days a week,” you say, rubbing at a long-dried soup spot. It doesn’t budge. Honestly, one would build muscle, doing this for a period of time.
Is this how laoban, despite looking like a bamboo pole, manages to carry boxes and boxes of noodles without sweating?
You rub at it harder.
“Exactly,” she says. From outside, you can hear the faint tone of er-laoban’s voice as he reiterates very firmly in English that, once again, they are closed for the day.
You haven’t exactly witnessed the worst of his temper, but Kelly-jie swears that he’s the craziest fucker on this entire street, and once had to be dragged away kicking and shouting after a mild disagreement turned into “some piece of shit cursing laoban, you know, and of course laoban-niang had to defend his honour. After that incident, laoban was honestly wondering if laoban-niang was going to end up on Tiktok or Youtube or something as the main character of Crazy Store Owner Gets Into A Fistfight.”
(“Did he, though,” you’d asked.
“Dunno.” Kelly-jie shrugged. “But he went semi-viral once on Russian Twitter, after someone took a photo of him clearing tables.”
“Clearing tables?”
“He was wearing that wifebeater, you know, and people go crazy for a guy in a man bun.”
“I don’t get it,” you said, not getting it.
“Then it’s not for you to get, Xiao-Wei,” she said, and pushed a bowl-laden tray your way. “For that table over by the fridge with those aunties. This should be their whole order.”)
“I SAID,” you hear er-laoban saying even more loudly, as you’re stacking the chairs to the side of the moderately-sized store. You grab the red pail and bring it over to the bins.
“Aiyoh,” you mutter to yourself, as you drag it along.
“Aiyoh,” Xiaoling mutters to herself, her eyes flitting up every so often to look at whatever’s going on outside.
“You think he’s going to fight them?” you ask Xiaoling, and turn around for a look. Er-laoban’s staring up at some ridiculously tall guy who’s almost two metres tall as laoban tries to wedge himself between them, that glare of his out in full force.
Yeah. Look, you’re definitely more scared of laoban than er-laoban, you’re not going to lie.
Er-laoban’s only loud, and he’s honestly one of the most harmless guys you’ve ever met. He’ll clap you on the shoulder, talk to you about school, talk about golf, give shit dating advice, and show you too many pictures of Gong Xi Fa Cai, “our family’s dog”, on its way to the groomer’s.
But the guy who used to run the beef noodle shop down the street and almost elbowed er-laoban in the face during his now-infamous fight received a surprise visit from the Department of Health two weeks later, and nobody’s getting any prizes for guessing who tipped them off.
“Not if laoban gets his way,” Xiaoling says. “Oh, hey, shit! We’re not missing even a cent today, this is fantastic.”
You dump the contents of the pail into one of the bins before removing the bin liner, together with the one just right below it. It’s almost a sixth sense by now, knowing when the damn thing will leak through.
“Niceeeeeeeee,” you say.
“Give me that, Weiwei,” you hear Kelly-jie say, and turn around, swapping the double-bagged garbage in your hand for the fresh bin liners in hers.
“How are things outside?” you ask.
She makes a smacking noise with her mouth. “They’re gone. Come on, kids, work faster. I’ve got to get home for my Peiling’s birthday, I’m only here because Long-ge came down with the flu.”
“You can all head back first,” laoban says. You turn towards him. “If that hadn’t happened, you’d be almost done with all this. We’ll take care of the rest.” He points to er-laoban, who’s nodding along as Xiaoling chatters at him, noting the day’s sales and cash tally in a small, stained notebook.
Er-laoban’s finger circles absentmindedly over the peeling, laminated photo taped to the scant inches of counter space before the cash register. It’s of a young girl with her arms wrapped around Gong Xi Fa Cai, whose lolling tongue and explosion of white fur make him instantly recognisable.
Er-laoban nods at Kelly-jie. “Yeah, just take the garbage out, and you can go.”
She gives a small whoop. “Okay, okay,” she says, and hurries out of the back door. Xiaoling pulls open the employee cupboard, and retrieves yours and Kelly-jie’s bags. Laoban’s giving his beloved kitchen one final look-over, and er-laoban’s started to mop the floors, singing that song from that one popular movie two years back that’s still everywhere now.
“Thanks, Xiaoling,” Kelly-jie says. “We’re making a move first, then. Bye, laoban! Bye, er-laoban!”
The three of you take utmost care to step around where er-laoban’s just mopped as you make your way out, and he waves an impatient hand. “Go, go, don’t worry, I’ll just mop over that again later.”
“Sorry, er-laoban! Thank you! Bye!”
“Bye,” er-laoban says, and continues singing.
“He has a really nice voice, doesn’t he?” Xiaoling says, after you’ve all ducked under the shutters and exited the store.
“Yeah,” Kelly-jie agrees. Then, in a lower voice, “I asked him once if he’d ever thought about performing, but he and laoban both got really weird about it. Something probably happened there, so if you’re smart, don’t ask him about it.”
“Mm,” you hum, trying to fish your phone out of your tote bag.
“Are any of you heading towards the station?” Xiaoling asks.
“Eh?” you murmur distractedly. “It’s fine, my biao-jie’s giving me a lift. Shushu wanted her to pass something to my ma.”
Your phone starts ringing then.
“Speaking of which,” you say, and pick it up. “Hi, Weiping-jie.”
“Sorry, Xiao-Wei, I’m still ten minutes away,” she says. “Which one’s your workplace again?”
“Ji Li Prawn Noodles.”
She pauses.
“Ji Li, as in, lucky, as in, the opposite of inauspicious,” you continue.
“Are you serious?” she asks. “Who named this place?”
You think about Gong Xi Fa Cai, the dog.
“Dunno,” you say. “Eh, don’t talk on the phone and drive, I’ll be waiting outside,” and hang up before she can scold you.
Weiping-jie tries to scold you anyway.
“Weilian!” she barks, as you pull open the door ten minutes later.
“Thanks for the lift, Weiping-jiejie,” you say. The impromptu concert er-laoban’s holding is still going on; he’s moved on to a song you don’t recognise, and her face takes on a bewildered expression when she hears it.
“Wait,” she says. “Don’t close the door.”
You fasten your seatbelt as she leans toward your side of the car, and her eyes widen. You follow her gaze to see er-laoban pulling the metal shutters of the shop almost all the way down.
You turn back to Weiping-jie, whose face is as white as a sheet.
“Weiping-jiejie.” You wave a hand in front of her face. “What happened? Did you see a ghost?”
“Peh peh peh peh peh,” she splutters, waving your hand away. “Don’t say such inauspicious things, are you trying to curse your biao-jie?” But her eyes remain fixed on the now-drawn shutters, and her expression—you’ve never seen her look the way she does now, your fierce Weiping-jie who’s brash, stubborn, loud, and so, so, unafraid to live her life as freely as she has.
(Your ma mentions it often enough that you and your brother can both recite the story by heart; how Weiping-jie used to be a very quiet and studious girl, but something, “I honestly don’t know what, your a-yi refuses to say”, happened to her, which led to her leading a wilder life in her early twenties. She’s thirty-three now, doing something for the UN and travelling around the world a lot, which of course makes the entire family very proud of her.)
“Let’s stay here for a while,” she says, and reaches for her phone. “I’ve got some work messages to send.”
You shrug, and pull out your own. “Cool.”
The both of you spend the next five minutes like this; she busies herself with her work messages, and you scrolling through the hundreds of messages your friends have spammed your group chat with while you were busy. On the car radio’s the song from that movie again, the one that er-laoban had been singing earlier.
“Done,” she says, her voice sounding a bit steadier.
“Is work that busy?” you ask her.
“It’s okay,” she says. “Just a bit weird since we’re in opposite time zones while I’m back for the New Year, but it’s manageable.” Then she pauses for a bit, and asks, “How’s school? It’s just started back up, right? And what about work?”
You’re stumped for a bit. Honestly, what else is there to say? “School’s okay. It’s manageable, for now. Work as well—it was very busy during lunch, but that’s about it.”
“Ah, that’s good.” Then she sees the line of cars ahead, and groans. “Traffic!”
“Yeah, it’s like this around this time,” you say.
She turns back to look at the shuttered storefront of Ji Li. “Is it new? I don’t remember it being here when I was your age,” she asks.
“I dunno.” You think about it for a bit. “I guess?”
“What do you know, then, Xiao-Wei?” She clicks her tongue and taps her fingers on the steering wheel impatiently. “Come on, come on,” she mutters.
You put on your most polite voice and turn to look at her. “That biao-jie is very kind to offer to drive me home,” you say, and she barks a throaty laugh.
The cars before you start inching forward. “Come on, come on,” Weiping-jie mutters, seething, and lets out a growl when the car before yours makes it just past as the light turns from amber to red.
It startles a laugh out of you. “Weiping-jiejie, I didn’t know your road rage was so bad.”
She doesn’t respond. You look at her and the shocked expression on her face, and follow her gaze to the two pedestrians crossing the road.
“Hey, those are my bosses,” you say. “Handsome, right?”
To be honest, you can’t really see it, but if everyone says it, it must be true. The smile laoban wears is one you’ve never seen before; it spreads across his entire face, pushing his cheekbones out, obvious even from a distance. And when er-laoban turns away from him, throwing his profile into view, Weiping-jie gasps.
You watch as they turn and walk shoulder-to-shoulder down an alleyway, and disappear from your sight.
The traffic light turns green. Weiping-jie eases her car forward.
“Xiao-Wei, ah,” she rasps.
“Don’t bother asking, it’s no use,” you say. You really don’t want to play matchmaker for her and whichever one of your bosses she’s got an eye on.
A “Huh?” is startled out of her.
You look at her. She’s alternating between glancing at the road and darting quick looks towards you. “They’re together, so.”
She jams on the brakes to avoid colliding with the car before hers. “WHAT,” she shouts. “Wait, no, how do you know this?”
“I… work for them?” you say. “I have eyes? It’s not like they really keep it a secret, anyway.”
“Oh my god,” she says. “Oh my god.” And then she starts cackling, and beating the leather of her car seat with the flat of her palm. “OH MY GOD!”
You start inching away from her. “Jie?” Something’s really not right here.
“It’s okay, it’s okay!” She rearranges her hair, and puts her hands back on the steering wheel. “I’m fine.” She breathes in deeply once, then exhales. “I’m fine! It’s okay!”
Her smile is wide, and bordering on maniacal. She turns to you. “I’m not crazy, by the way.”
“I never said you were,” you say, still extremely confused by everything that’s happened in the past thirty seconds. The cars before you slowly inch forward again, and Weiping-jie follows along.
“Weilian,” she says, after a while. “Let me know when you’re working next week, okay? Jie will come support you.”
“It’s really okay,” you say.
“I want to,” she says firmly, now sounding more like the Weiping-jie you know. “I haven’t had prawn noodles in a while, and if you’re as crowded during lunch as you say you are, the food’s probably not too bad.”
“I guess.”
She lowers the volume of the radio so it’s just above a murmur, and hums a song as she drives. It sounds familiar, but you won’t recognise it as the one er-laoban was singing until a few days later, when you hear laoban singing it ever so slightly off-tune as he peels cooked prawns for er-laoban, who’s feeding him sips of his iced coffee.
When someone walks up to the counter, er-laoban stands, and makes his way over to take their order. He rests his hand on laoban’s forearm, squeezing; then, he taps it once, with a finger.
Laoban wipes his fingers on a paper napkin, rises from his seat, and heads toward the kitchen. He’s still singing.
It’s a nice song.