Huayu: I Have a Doraemon

Second bedroom.

Lin An looked at the hand-drawn map under the lamplight.

The lines are crooked, but the main roads, alleys, and nearby facilities are all marked.

Breakfast stalls, small restaurants, audio-visual stores, internet cafes... Old Man Lin Yuan even thoughtfully circled the nearest public toilets with a red pen.

The location is indeed excellent. Just walk out of the alley and cross the street to reach the west gate of Beijing Film Academy.

"well......"

Lin An sighed deeply.

It's called a choice, but there's really no choice at all.

The first option is immediately ruled out. It requires a deposit of two months' rent and six months' rent in advance, which means you have to pay 4,800 yuan upfront. Even if you sold yourself, you couldn't afford that.

The second option is cheaper, but the roommate factor is a deal-breaker.

They wanted an absolutely private space; how could they possibly allow outsiders to live under the same roof?

As for the third place...

Lin An looked at the blue fat man and asked:

"What do you think?"

Doraemon sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, his round hand supporting his chin, pondering as he said:

"Although there is no private bathroom, the rent of 300 yuan a month is indeed cheap. It all depends on the specific work assignments for running the convenience store."

Lin An curled his lip and said:

"We're the tenants, so they'll definitely use it as much as possible as long as it doesn't break down."

He'll definitely do that anyway.

Doraemon disagrees with this view:

There are still more good people than bad in this world.

Lin An waved his hand, not wanting to get entangled in this meaningless topic.

Doraemon reassured him, "No matter what, let's go and see. If it's too much, we'll think of other ways."

Lin An thought for a moment, realized that this was the only way, and sighed:

"That's settled then."

Silent all night.

The next morning, just as dawn was breaking, Lin An was woken up by Doraemon.

"What time?" Lin An asked groggily.

"Seven o'clock."

"Are you sick?" Lin An rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head.

Doraemon tugged at the blanket:

"Seriously! Didn't you say yesterday that we wanted to go house hunting as soon as possible?"

"I've also said that when I grow up I want to go to Tsinghua or Peking University and become a scientist!"

Lin An remained under the covers, showing no desire to get out of bed.

The struggle lasted for five minutes, ultimately ending in Lin An's defeat.

"You're really annoying."

Lin An, with his hair a mess, got out of bed and dragged himself toward the bathroom, his back view radiating utter despair.

Doraemon jumped off the bed and started packing his things.

Ten minutes later, a person and a cat stood downstairs.

It was already bright outside, but the sun had not yet fully risen, and the air carried a slightly cool and damp feel.

The pancake stall downstairs has already been set up. The stall owner is a plump woman in her fifties, wearing an apron covered in flour.

"Two pancakes, with an egg and a crispy fried dough stick."

Lin An handed over the money and added:

"One doesn't need scallions, the other has lots of scallions."

Doraemon stopped talking and whispered, "Thank you."

Lin An waved his hand, indicating that it was nothing to worry about.

The pancakes were quickly made and stuffed hot into a paper bag.

Lin An handed the "no scallions" one to Doraemon, took a bite of the other one himself, and walked towards the bus stop while chewing.

The salty and savory flavor of the sweet bean sauce, combined with the crispy texture of the thin pancakes, exploded in my mouth, and the aroma of the oil washed away the unpleasantness of waking up early.

A few people were already scattered on the stage.

Since most students had already arrived at school by this time, the two of them, one person and one cat, easily found an empty seat.

Buses during the morning rush hour are always a vivid portrayal of human life.

From office workers rushing to work to elderly women carrying shopping baskets, and middle school students carrying backpacks who are late for school.

Lin An watched the show silently.

Doraemon, however, was more interested in the scenery outside the window.

After an unknown amount of time, the street scene outside the window changed from old residential buildings to the college walls, and Lin An patted Doraemon's head:

"arrive."

A person and a cat jumped off the bus through the back door.

Standing by the roadside, Lin An took out the hand-drawn map, looked around, and confirmed the direction.

"Over here."

He turned and walked toward a narrow alley.

Doraemon jogged to catch up.

The alley runs east-west and is no more than two meters wide.

The cement road surface has become pitted and uneven due to years of disrepair.

On both sides are single-story houses with gray bricks and tiles, occasionally interspersed with one or two self-built two-story buildings.

Lin An followed the map and walked deep into the alley.

There is a two-story building made of gray bricks. The exterior walls are painted with a layer of lime water, which has become mottled gray over the years.

A faded plastic sign hangs at the entrance on the first floor, with a simple and unadorned name:

--commissary.

"This should be it."

Lin An stuffed the map back into his pocket and pushed open the wooden door with frosted glass.

jingle.

The copper bells hanging on the door frame made a clear, ringing sound.

The store is more spacious than I imagined, about twenty square meters.

Three rows of shelves against the wall are filled with various daily necessities:

Soap, laundry detergent, toilet paper, batteries, instant noodles, ham sausages, peanuts, and several common cigarette brands... The shelves weren't stocked much, but everything was neatly arranged.

The cashier's counter was an old-fashioned writing desk, on which sat a mosquito coil, an enamel mug, and a rotary dial telephone.

Behind the counter sat an old man, around sixty years old, with gray hair cut into a buzz cut, wearing a faded work jacket, looking down and flipping through the Beijing Evening News.

Hearing the bell ring, he looked up, his gaze sweeping back and forth between the man and the cat twice before finally settling on Lin An.

"Lin Yuan's son?"

"Yes." Lin An nodded. "Hello, Uncle Zhao."

Old Zhao grunted in acknowledgment, folded the newspaper and placed it on the table, then stood up and looked Lin An up and down for a few seconds.

"Your dad said you just got accepted into the Beijing Film Academy?"

"Continuing education course".

"That's also Beijing Film Academy."

Old Zhao came out from behind the counter, his tone flat, "Let's take a look upstairs."

He pushed open the door behind the counter, which led to a narrow staircase.

The stairs were very steep, the wooden steps creaked underfoot, and the handrail was a PVC pipe fixed to the wall with iron hoops.

The second-floor corridor has two doors on the left and right.

Old Zhao pushed open the door to the left and stepped aside to let them in.

The room is about 20 square meters. The south-facing window is not big, but it has good natural light.

The walls were painted white and had a few cracks, but overall they were fairly clean.

A single wooden bed stands against the wall, next to which is an old desk, its surface bare.

Near the door is an old-fashioned wooden wardrobe with an oval dressing mirror on the door.

There is a cast iron heating pipe in the corner, running from the floor to the ceiling.

There is no restroom.

Old Zhao pointed to a thin pipe next to the heating pipe in the corner of the wall:

"You can just fill a bucket and pour the water."

He then pointed behind the door: "The toilet is downstairs. Turn left after you exit the convenience store, and it's about 20 meters away."

Lin An walked to the window and opened it.

The view from the window was better than he had imagined; he could see the gray-white Shaw Building of Beijing Film Academy.

"How is it?" Doraemon leaned closer and asked in a low voice.

Lin An didn't answer immediately. He turned around, walked to the wardrobe, opened the door and looked inside. Then he squatted down and knocked on the radiator pipe. He stood up and walked around the room.

Old Zhao leaned against the door frame, not urging anyone, and a cigarette appeared in his hand again.

"Can I see what's next door?" Lin An asked.

Old Zhao glanced at him, said nothing, turned around and walked to another door, opening it with his key.

The room next door is even smaller, about fifteen square meters.

There was no bed, no wardrobe, only a folding table and a folding chair.

"Both of these rooms together cost 300 a month."

Old Zhao put a cigarette in his mouth, took out a key from his pocket, and handed it to Lin An.

"One month's deposit and three months' rent in advance, utilities are separate, settled monthly. The convenience store will take inventory for me every night, write down what's missing in a notebook, and go to Xinfadi to restock on weekends."

He paused for a moment, then said, "You don't need to worry about the rest of the time. I'll take care of things during the day myself. You can lend a hand when you come back at night."

Lin An weighed the key in his hand.

"Uncle Zhao, your offer is too good to be true. There's no hidden trap here, is there?"

Old Zhao snorted, "What rip-off? My son works in Shenzhen and only comes back once a year. I'm all alone running this big shop, and I don't even have anyone to talk to."

After speaking, he paused for a few seconds, then sighed:

"If possible, please help me think of a way to revitalize this store."

"Huh?" Lin An was a little confused.

Old Zhao shook his head, saying nothing more, but his eyes grew melancholy.