Chapter 5: Uncle Ren

Stepping into the hallway, Wu Bei covered his phone and pleaded in a low voice, "Sister Wang, please give me two more days. I'll pay the rent immediately..."

On the other end of the line, the landlady interrupted him coldly: "I've already rented the place out. I’ve thrown your things out by the door. Don't blame me for being heartless; I have to make a living too. That’s it!"

"Sister Wang! Sister Wang!"

But the line had already gone dead.

Staring at the darkened screen of his phone, Wu Bei kicked out in a fit of rage. Just as his toe was about to hit a trash can, he hurriedly shifted his aim, slamming his foot against the wall instead. He hissed in pain, gasping for breath.

He was too poor now—too poor to afford the luxury of a temper.

"I'm heading back for a bit!"

A few minutes later, having calmed down, Wu Bei pushed open the door and said to Wu Shihao, who was lying on the bed.

The old man remained silent and still, as if he were truly asleep.

As the wooden door clicked shut, Wu Shihao’s huddled form gave a slight shiver. He slowly sat up and pulled a mobile phone from beneath his pillow.

If Wu Bei had been there, he would have been utterly shocked! That Vertu phone, worth sixty or seventy thousand, was something he had supposedly sold to a pawn shop!

The Fertilizer Plant Apartments were where Wu Bei rented his room.

The complex, consisting of four or five buildings, was a relic of the eighties and nineties. The outer walls had been so eroded by time that their original color was no longer discernible. The residents were either migrant workers or elderly folks.

As soon as he reached the building entrance, Wu Bei saw his suitcase discarded there like trash.

He gave a bitter, mirthless smile, shook his head, and picked up the case to leave.

"Going on a business trip, Xiao Wu?"

Passing the security booth, Uncle Ren, the gatekeeper, greeted him with a cheerful grin, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

Uncle Ren was the only security guard in the complex. His old radio had been acting up, and since Wu Bei knew a bit about electrical repair, he had helped fix it; the two were on familiar terms.

"Yeah."

Wu Bei nodded awkwardly.

Uncle Ren bared his yellowed teeth and waved a hand. "Alright, get back soon. My piece-of-junk radio has been acting up again these past two days. If you have time, help me tinker with it!"

After a few seconds of hesitation, Wu Bei put down his suitcase and said, "I might as well do it now; I don't know when I'll be back next."

The old-fashioned radio, half a meter long, was likely older than Wu Bei by a good margin.

As he took it apart, Wu Bei remarked, "This thing is pretty ancient, isn't it? The paint is all worn off."

"People grow attached to old sentiments; birds grow attached to old forests," Uncle Ren said with a chuckle, holding his cigarette in his left hand and fanning himself with his right. "Paint is just a facade, and in reality, a facade is the least valuable thing. When you're barely scraping by, holding onto your pride isn't dignity—it's just being an idiot!"

Wu Bei paused, sensing the subtext in Uncle Ren's words.

Uncle Ren exhaled a cloud of white smoke and continued with a smile, "I've got a lot going on at home lately, and there’s no one to cover the night shift at the complex. If you have the time, could you take a few night shifts for me?"

"Huh?"

Wu Bei realized what was happening instantly.

"I'll take your silence as consent. You keep fixing it; I'm heading out!"

Uncle Ren patted Wu Bei on the shoulder, then walked away from the booth with his hands behind his back.

Watching Uncle Ren’s retreating figure, Wu Bei felt a complex surge of emotions. He knew this unassuming man was using his own way to preserve his final shred of dignity.

The security booth was small, no more than five or six square meters. Aside from a single bed, the only piece of furniture was the wooden table holding the radio.

Looking around, Wu Bei saw a pack of cigarettes and a lighter tossed on the bed, and a few packets of instant noodles piled up next to a thermos under the table.

"Uncle Ren, thank you!"

Wu Bei hurried out.

Uncle Ren didn't turn back, merely raising his right arm and waving it a few times.

When a man hits rock bottom, he might skip a meal, but he needs a cigarette. Uncle Ren understood everything he was feeling.

That night, after delivering food to the old man, Wu Bei slept in the security booth.

This humble little room provided Wu Bei with his first taste of warmth since his father fell ill—a memory that would still bring tears to his eyes many years later.

Before dawn, Wu Bei was already up.

He didn't just clean the room inside and out; he washed all of Uncle Ren's shoes, socks, and clothes. At that moment, this was the only way he could repay him.

Just past five in the morning, Uncle Ren arrived, humming a little tune.

Wu Bei said with deep gratitude, "Uncle, the radio is fixed. I’m off to work!"

Uncle Ren held him back, pulled out some instant noodles and two bowls from under the table, and frowned. "You covered my night shift, I'm treating you to noodles. We're square!"

"Uncle, I..." Wu Bei’s heart felt instantly warmed.

Uncle Ren shoved a pair of chopsticks into Wu Bei's hand. "Don't be sentimental. I haven't finished dealing with my family matters, so you'll have to keep covering for me these next few days. Eat up! Get lost once you're done!"

A meal as simple as instant noodles made Wu Bei’s eyes sting with warmth more than once.

Some find happiness in a bowl of instant noodles, while others find only misery. Perhaps there are only these two kinds of people in the world, and for the moment, Wu Bei belonged to the former.

Leaving the complex, Wu Bei silently vowed that he would repay Uncle Ren in the future.

Following the address provided by the young nurse, Su Qing, Wu Bei arrived at the West City Wholesale Market.