Chapter 27: Bringing Chicken Soup

An Chunfeng was furious. "Yes, that woman claimed she was incited by someone else and misunderstood the situation before leaving, leaving me to suffer insults for nothing. Mr. San, does your agency actually manage these things? If you don't, and you allow tenants to be harassed and bullied at will, then I'm moving out! I originally intended to renew my lease for another year and frequently hire day laborers to help maintain the property. Now, it seems I wouldn't live here even in the finest house."

"We manage it, of course we do!" Mr. San blurted out the moment he heard about the lease renewal.

"Then how exactly do you manage it? What happens if I am harassed again?" An Chunfeng pressed him further.

Mr. San picked at his fingers, pondered for a moment, and said, "Since Mistress An wishes to renew for a year, you are a valued guest of our agency; we certainly won't allow anyone to harass you. How about this? You can pay the renewal fee today, or wait ten days; I will report this to the head steward, and someone will be sent to mediate this misunderstanding. If anyone comes to harass you again during your tenancy, we will refund your first month's rent in full."

An Chunfeng was not entirely satisfied with this resolution, but she did not push further. Her purpose in coming was not to have the agency act as a court, but to put them on notice. Wanfu Agency was merely a property management office, an intermediary with limited power. After all, she was just a tenant, and the old woman Zhuang was a local bully; the agency had a business to run and could not afford to offend either side.

Although she had money in her pocket, An Chunfeng only paid for two months' rent, stating she wanted to see how the agency handled the situation. Seeing the commission for the rest of the year hanging in the balance, Mr. San knew this Mistress An was not easily fooled, and he could only smile bitterly while offering repeated assurances: "Rest assured, Mistress An! The agency will certainly protect its guests."

Stepping out of the paperwork room, An Chunfeng saw young Linzi standing by the wall. When he saw her approaching, the boy turned his head to avoid her gaze, but she could still see his reddened eyes and the fingerprint marks on half of his face. An Chunfeng ignored the boy's embarrassment and tilted her head to inspect the injury: "You didn't do your job well again, and the master hit you?"

Linzi pursed his lips tightly, saying nothing.

"Sigh! You're too honest, kid. How can you handle this job of a broker who relies on glib talk?"

Linzi looked unconvinced. "I am still learning. I will get the hang of it eventually."

An Chunfeng shook her head with a sigh: "Having a thick skin, a cold heart, and the ability to lie through your teeth requires talent. That kind of wickedness is born in the blood, and most people can't learn it. The more you try, the more miserable you'll be. You'd be better off changing professions!"

This time, Linzi did not refute her; he simply lowered his head, his face full of struggle. He truly did not want to learn the art of smooth-tongued deception, but the job paid well. Even though his current apprentice salary was only two hundred wen—barely enough for his younger siblings to have porridge—he had to persist.

An Chunfeng's advice to Linzi was just a passing remark. The donkey cart she hired was waiting outside, and she had her own business to attend to. On her way back, she bought brushes, ink, paper, and an inkstone, along with a large bundle of bamboo chopsticks to sharpen when she had time. By the time she picked up the custom-made food box from the restaurant on Chessboard Street, it was already noon.

Just as she was opening her door, a person emerged from a nearby alley—it was the woman she had encountered that morning, the vegetable buyer, Mrs. Qiu. Mrs. Qiu was also carrying a food box and, as if by coincidence, looked up and saw An Chunfeng. She greeted her with a beaming smile: "Mistress An! I invited you to my house for a meal this morning, but you were too polite to come. I figured you were just shy, so I brought lunch to you!"

"Inside is stewed green beans and soft, savory pig's head meat. Hurry, open it and take a whiff! When it comes to boiling pig's head in Pear Blossom Alley, I am second to none!"

An Chunfeng was dumbfounded. She didn't think she possessed a particularly approachable aura. She had found this Mrs. Liao's enthusiasm stifling that morning, and she found it even harder to bear now. However, An Chunfeng was holding the food box in one hand and pinning a paper parcel under her arm, struggling to unlock the door. Seeing Mrs. Qiu approach, she could only smile faintly: "You are too kind, Sister Liao, but I have my own meal prepared. I won't trouble you!"

Mrs. Liao saw that An Chunfeng was struggling to open the door, so she stepped forward, placed her own food box in front of An Chunfeng, and took the liberty of grabbing the paper parcel from under her arm: "I came to buy vegetables from you this morning, but you weren't there. Where did you go? What is this...? Oh my, it's brushes, ink, and paper! I didn't realize you were a literate woman!"

As Mrs. Liao opened the package, a stack of rice paper and a brush box were revealed. An Chunfeng’s expression turned cold. She was not used to being touched by others, and she certainly did not like people rummaging through her things. She withdrew her key, set the food box on the ground with a heavy thud, and re-wrapped the opened parcel. She said coolly: "I just know a few characters, that's all. I have my own food here, so there is no need for you to bring me lunch. You should take it back."

Mrs. Qiu continued: "But this is pig's head meat..." As she spoke, she lifted the lid of An Chunfeng's food box. A rich aroma wafted out, and when she looked inside, she couldn't help but swallow her saliva.

On the top layer was a jar of chicken stewed with radishes, the fat skimmed off and the broth crystal clear, accompanied by delicate side dishes. There was a second layer she couldn't see, and the whole box must have cost fifty or sixty wen. Thinking of her own dark, greasy pig's head meat, and seeing An Chunfeng's clear displeasure, Mrs. Qiu sheepishly closed the box and laughed: "Since you have your own food today, sister, I won't embarrass myself by taking mine out!"

An Chunfeng, with a sullen face, picked up the jar of chicken soup and shoved it into Mrs. Qiu's hands: "Thank you for your concern, Sister, but I can manage on my own. Please don't trouble yourself with me in the future. Consider this jar of chicken soup a fee for the hard work of stewing your pig's head." With that, she took her belongings, entered the courtyard, and closed the door.

Mrs. Qiu held the piping hot chicken soup, calling out to An Chunfeng’s back: "I was only worried about you living such a hard life alone and came to check on you, I wasn't asking for chicken soup!"

The door, shut without a moment's hesitation, offered no reply. Having been rebuffed, Mrs. Qiu was somewhat dissatisfied. She had come with kind intentions, and she felt she should have been invited in for a seat; what an ill-bred woman to shut her out! But as she looked down at the jar in her hands, she grew delighted: *Tsk, tsk, this chicken soup smells heavenly!*

They say a strong-willed woman is afraid of a persistent man. If she came by a few more times and let the woman know the Qiu family's intentions, she might eventually be able to send this wealthy widow into her younger brother's bed.

Inside, An Chunfeng had washed her hands and face and begun to eat. Giving away a jar of chicken soup to shut the woman up had not affected her appetite. After walking around all morning and working up a sweat, she had no desire for anything greasy; she only wanted a light porridge and side dishes to satisfy her hunger.

In the afternoon, the courtyard door remained firmly shut, and An Chunfeng prepared to rest. Compared to the dark of night, she preferred to sleep in the bright daylight; it gave her a sense of security. This time, she slept until the moon began to dim, never waking once throughout the entire afternoon.

Waking up after oversleeping was uncomfortable. Rubbing her groggy head, An Chunfeng walked into the kitchen, intending to brew some tea to refresh herself and slice a watermelon—with those two things for a diet meal, she wouldn't need dinner. As night fell, she ground some ink and began to draw, using her clumsy technique to sketch a set of lace shawls and small cardigans.