A Young Woman's Heart

"Why are the items in this box over there being sold together?"

“Oh? That? That’s not for sale.” Mo Wenli smiled. “Those are the ones that are thrown away, the ones that are mostly rotten. If you want some, just take some.”

"No money required?"

"Need not."

The young migrant worker, covered in dust but still with a youthful look in his eyes, scratched his head and said, "Uh, can I take some to feed the dogs at the construction site...?"

Mo Wenli smiled faintly, not pressing the matter further: "Feed whatever you want, anyway, the stuff in that box is free, take whatever you want."

He casually picked out a few items from a bag, then bought a bunch of bananas at a low price before opening his tattered umbrella again and leaving the fruit shop.

People at the bottom of society always live frugally, even when buying some fruit to treat themselves, they try to save as much money as possible.

Mo Xueyao held Su Tang, who had just had a bath that day, in her arms and gently stroked its rather chubby little belly.

"Are you going back to sleep tonight?" The father picked up a cigarette, and after a long time of trying to light it with a lighter, he finally succeeded.

It wasn't that the wind was too strong, but that the lighter was out of fuel.

He threw the disposable lighter into the trash can, and then casually picked up a pretty girl lighter that was placed next to the cashier.

This is the latest batch of goods. Sales are a bit better than the previous transparent lighters, but the price is still the same. It seems that even people who are busy making a living still want something unique by their side.

"Go back, it's Friday today, why don't you go home and sleep?" Mo Xueyao yawned. "It's ten o'clock, shouldn't you be closing soon?"

"Okay, I'm going to pack up now." Mo Wenli stood up, twisted his waist and neck, and suddenly clutched his lower back, hissing, "Damn it, I've twisted my back."

Sitting right next to him, Mo Xueyao casually punched his lower back twice: "Are you done yet?"

"Alright, don't touch it. You're too rough," the father said irritably, rubbing his lower back before getting to work.

Mo Xueyao, like a pampered young lady, sat in the chair, preoccupied with playing with the cat, while Li Wanyan readily offered to help.

When the fruit shop closes for the day, they have to move the cardboard shelves that were placed on the steps back inside, and also put the tables and chairs that were outside back inside.

Of course, the shop also needs to be cleaned, especially on a rainy day like this. If it's not cleaned up quickly, the black footprints in the shop will be hard to remove when you come back tomorrow.

Mo Xueyao really enjoyed the time when the fruit shop was closing up shop; this "final moment when the day's work was finally coming to an end" gave her a strange sense of pleasure.

Of course—that is, the person closing the stall is not Mo Xueyao herself.

The streets were quiet, and a few raindrops could be seen under the dim streetlights. The grocery store next door was already closed. Zhuang Lianlian stood at the entrance of the noodle shop, while Chen Cheng had parked his electric scooter next to him and was putting on a raincoat with one foot on the ground.

Popular music was playing from the cassette player in the fruit shop. Mo Xueyao had been listening to this cassette for more than half a year. Even without deliberately trying to memorize it, she could hum along to the melody for quite a while.

"Men, cry, cry, it's not a sin..." The father sang with great enthusiasm, as if his back pain had disappeared, and he started to sway his whole body to the melody.

Mo Xueyao put the candy on the ground, patted the cat hair off her skirt, and sat down in front of the cashier: "Dad, let me help you count the money!"

"You're the one who cares most about counting money!" the father joked, sticking his tongue to the cigarette holder and then letting it bump against his upper lip, shaking the ash onto the fruit basket he was collecting.

Fruit baskets are something you need to buy; they should be considered a consumable item. But actually, many fruit shop owners will go to the landfills and pick up discarded fruit baskets that aren't too damaged.

After all, such a basket isn't cheap, and reusing it can save a lot of money.

However, now that the sanitation workers know about this, they are taking the initiative to collect the discarded fruit baskets and sell them to the boss. The price is negotiable, and although it costs money, it is definitely much cheaper than buying new ones.

My father once naively told customers that the fruit basket could be recycled, and that they could return it to the customer after using it and get a small refund.

However, in reality, not many people have the leisure to bring their fruit baskets to the store to exchange for a few cents.

This isn't a deposit for a beer bottle; compared to a whole fruit basket, a few cents is nothing.

Moreover, doing so made others think he was using a second-hand fruit basket, and many people who bought from him once stopped coming back because of this.

After trying it for a week, he quickly stopped and went back to honestly asking sanitation workers to recycle his fruit baskets.

Because I have a good relationship with the sanitation workers in the neighborhood, they sometimes bring me over for free when they find some leftover fruit baskets.

When doing business, you have to consider all aspects. Even someone like my father can't consider every single detail perfectly.

"Ah..." Mo Xueyao suddenly came to her senses, forgetting where she had left off in the count, and had to start counting all over again.

Counting money every day is a very happy thing, after all, this money belongs to her family, so it's practically Mo Xueyao's own.

If you deduct the change you left here before closing yesterday, you can roughly calculate how much money you made today.

Although it's only gross profit, seeing so much money coming in every day is still very pleasing.

After Mo Xueyao finished counting the money and helping her father keep track of the accounts, he was still a little uneasy, so he counted it again himself. Only after confirming that the numbers were correct did he carefully sort out the accounts.

"Tsk, you don't believe me?"

"It's not that I don't trust you, but there's always a chance of something going wrong." The father coughed lightly. "Alright, we should go home now."

The sound of the roller shutter being pulled shut was particularly jarring on the quiet street. Su Tang tried to jump out, but Mo Xueyao gently kicked her back.

The drizzle was still falling when Mo Xueyao snatched the car keys from her father's belt, unlocked the car, and was the first to climb into the car.

The van smelled of fruit and flowers, which masked the strong smell of diesel fuel.

"What's your hurry?" the father shouted irritably. "You almost tore my belt."

"Your belt is really bad quality!"

"Poor quality?" the father protested. "This is crocodile skin!"

"Pshaw, you'd be a fool to buy a real crocodile belt for ten yuan from a street stall!"

"That day was a discount promotion."

"Merchants have been using the same trick for years, and it hasn't changed."

The father chuckled and said, "Haha, this approach probably won't change for another fifty years, maybe it'll just become a little more complicated."

"Wanyan, get in the car quickly!" Mo Xueyao shouted to Li Wanyan, who was walking at the back. The back door was opened as wide as possible so that she could jump into the car in one go.

Of course, Li Wanyan wouldn't barge in like her. She quietly got into the car, sat down on the slightly dirty cloth seat, and closed the door behind her.

“The key.” The father reached behind him.

"Here you go." She tossed the keys over, and the driver caught them, inserted them into the ignition, and turned the key, causing the car to start with a 'whoosh'.

The radio was also turned on, and the nighttime broadcast channel was hosted by a female presenter who was casually chatting about international news in her gentle voice.

Because it's a local radio station, it's not very formal. It often adds its own commentary to news reports, and the broadcasting style is more conversational, like a friend chatting with you.

"In this cold winter, young people in a certain European country have been forced to become homeless."

The news report seems to be about the same thing that the security guard mentioned last time.

"Capitalism always has a strange sense of superiority, but the people are still not awake. This company's collapse was obviously premeditated and not due to economic downturn. The real boss behind the scenes has already absconded with the money. While those young people are homeless, he is probably still enjoying a meal in his luxurious villa. As for what will happen to those young people, the capitalists will naturally not care."

"Capitalists don't care about the lives of ordinary people at all, as long as not too many people die and it doesn't affect their ability to extract more profits from those people."

"However, the people of those Western countries have not yet woken up. The problem is not with individuals, but with the system. Capitalism will eventually be eliminated as times change..."

"Haha, they were robbers to begin with, so it's no surprise they ended up like this," the father said gloatingly. "They brought the economic crisis on themselves."

"Does this affect us?"

"There might be some, but it's not a big deal." The father yawned and changed the music channel. "Anyway, that kind of thing won't happen to us."

“Yes, that definitely won’t happen here. The infrastructure projects of recent years are proof of that.” Mo Xueyao nodded. “In capitalist countries, if capitalists don’t feel they can make enough money, they definitely won’t undertake any infrastructure projects. Those capitalists are all selfish!”

“Yes.” The father yawned again. “I’m so sleepy, I’m going to have a smoke.”

"Oh..." Mo Xueyao did not object, because having a cigarette to refresh herself was better than getting into a car accident because she was sleepy later.

“I get sleepy at night, hah—” Father yawned again and lit a cigarette.

Mo Xueyao and Li Wanyan exchanged a smile, and then yawned in unison.

……

Chapter 189 Are you angry?

2000 12 Month 4 Day.

On Monday morning, Mo Xueyao had just parked her bicycle when she rushed to the gatehouse.

"Uncle!" she said, unusually taking the initiative to greet him.

"What's wrong, little girl?"

"Have the computers in the school's monitoring room been repaired?"

"It's fixed. It was just fixed yesterday." The security guard sprinkled some goji berries into his thermos and then poured in boiling water.

Steam filled the small security booth, adding a touch of warmth to the space.

"May I take a look?"

"Take a look? Oh, it's that matter. Okay, I'll show you." The security guard picked up the cup, took a sip, and then quickly put the cup down because it was too hot.

Drinking water in winter is always a hassle; cold water is too icy, and hot water is too scalding.

A cup of hot water is poured into a glass, and it cools down in no time. If you want to drink it while it's still warm, you have to time it carefully.

Behind the security booth was the monitoring room. Mo Xueyao and Li Wanyan followed the security guard inside.

The computer is on, and the screen displays the current surveillance footage.

The middle-aged man, holding the mouse, asked, "When was it again?"

Last Thursday.

"What number was it again?"

“…The 30th.” Mo Xueyao thought for a moment and answered quickly.

In the long list of entries, he found the record for November, then scrolled to the bottom and opened the record for the 30th.

The image is somewhat blurry and is split into several files.

The uncle, who doesn't often review video recordings, was a bit clumsy at it and it took him more than ten minutes to finally find the video from that morning.

"Ah, this is it," Mo Xueyao exclaimed softly.

That time wasn't late, just a little later than Mr. Xue's usual school time.

He seemed to be deep in thought, his hands in his pockets, preparing to walk up the stairs.