Chapter 3

After the blizzard that day, the Russian girl didn't show up for several days in a row.

Every day when I set up my stall, I'd catch myself scanning the crowd for her.

I didn't know why, but deep down I felt a faint worry.

With winds this fierce and snow this heavy, and her dressed so thinly, could she have fallen ill and collapsed at home?

It wasn't until the morning of the fifth day, just as I'd set the first steamer of buns on the stove.

A familiar figure appeared in front of my stall.

It was her!

Today she'd changed into a slightly thicker down jacket. Her face was still a bit pale, but she was clearly in far better spirits than a few days ago.

She walked up to me, and instead of reaching for her money, she pulled out something from inside her coat, carefully wrapped in a plastic bag.

She handed me the plastic bag, her eyes showing a hint of gratitude and shyness.

"This is for you."

I paused for a moment, wiped my hands on my apron, took it, and opened it.

Inside was a hand-knitted dark gray wool scarf, the stitches very fine, soft and warm to the touch.

"Did you knit this?" I looked at her in surprise.

The girl nodded and did her best to explain to me in Russian mixed with broken Chinese.

"The buns you gave me were delicious. They saved me and my mom."

"I don't have money to give you, so this scarf, I knitted it myself, it's very warm. It's a gift for you."

Holding that scarf, a warm current welled up inside me.

In this cold, foreign land, the weight of this handmade scarf was far more precious than any cold, hard cash.

"Thank you. This scarf is really beautiful." I tied the scarf around my neck right there and gave her a thumbs up.

When the girl saw me wearing the scarf, a bright smile finally broke across her face.

That smile seemed to melt away the whole Siberian winter.

What surprised me even more was that she didn't leave.

She walked straight around to the back of my stall and rolled up her sleeves as naturally as anything.

"My name is Katerina. From today on, I'll help you work, to repay you for the buns."

She pointed to the pile of unwashed scallions and the cutting board beside her, her eyes firm, her stance leaving me no room to refuse.

I quickly waved my hands. "No need, no need. Those few buns were nothing. You should hurry home now."

But Katerina wouldn't listen to me at all. She went straight to the basin, picked up a few scallions, and started washing them briskly.

Watching how deftly she worked, I could tell she was used to housework, so I stopped trying to stop her.

With an extra helper, things would be a lot easier for me too.

That day, my bun stall had a lovely new sight to it.

Katerina really was gorgeous.

She stood at the stall, and though she didn't understand much Chinese, whenever a customer came she'd flash a charming smile and greet them warmly in Russian.

Sometimes, when local Russian customers came by, she proved even more useful.

Before, those Russians had disliked that I couldn't speak Russian, communication was difficult, and they rarely bought my buns.

Now that Katerina, a local, was here, she introduced them in perfectly fluent Russian to this traditional Chinese food and how wonderful it tasted.

Those big Russian men were charmed into a daze by her and one after another pulled out their money to buy a few and give them a try.

Once they'd tasted them, they were won over by how delicious the meat buns were and instantly became repeat customers.

In just one day, the bun sales at my stall had actually doubled compared to usual!