Chapter 4

As I was packing up, I looked at the empty steamers and the change box crammed full, and I couldn't stop grinning.

I pulled out a fifty-ruble note and held it out to Katerina.

"Katerina, this is your pay for today. Thanks to you, the buns sold really fast."

Katerina stared at the note, kept backing away, and flat-out refused to take it.

"No money. I told you, I came to repay the kindness of the buns."

"That won't do!" I stuffed the money into her pocket anyway. "One thing's one thing. The buns were my treat. You worked for me, you put in the effort, so you have to take your pay. That's the rule for us Chinese!"

Seeing how firm I was, Katerina had no choice but to accept the money.

She looked at me, an odd light shining in her eyes.

From then on, Katerina became the "official helper" at my stall.

Every morning she showed up right on time to help me wash the vegetables, chop the meat filling, and take the money.

When things slowed down, I'd teach her a little simple Chinese, and she'd teach me a few common Russian phrases.

"This is called a meat bun!" I said, pointing at the steamer.

"Meat—bun!" she said, imitating my accent, dragging the words out in a rather funny way.

"This is called delicious!"

"De—licious!"

In that cold open-air market, the two of us communicated in this half-broken language, breaking into bursts of cheerful laughter now and then.

As time went on, I gradually learned her story.

Katerina was actually a college student.

Her father had died years ago, and her mother had suddenly fallen seriously ill half a month back and been admitted to the hospital.

To raise money for her mother's expensive medical bills, she'd had to drop out of school and work three jobs on her own.

That day, with the wind and snow howling, she had handed over every last bit of her money for the hospital fees, and hadn't had a full meal in two days.

Standing there in front of my stall, she really was about to faint from hunger.

If it hadn't been for those six steaming-hot big pork buns of mine, she might really have collapsed in the snow that day.

After hearing her story, I felt an even deeper respect and tenderness for this strong, devoted Russian girl.

I quietly decided that as long as she worked for me, I would never treat her unfairly.

To help her earn a little more, I doubled my daily output of buns.

Katerina worked especially hard; she even learned how to wrap the buns.

The pleats she pinched came out crooked and uneven, but she studied it so seriously.

The two of us worked together more and more smoothly.

I handled the dough, the filling, and the steaming; she handled drawing in customers, packing, and taking the money.

On the streets of this foreign land, the two of us were like two hedgehogs warming each other in the dead of winter, gradually drawing closer.

The way Ronald looked at me changed too—no longer mocking, now full of envy.

"Louis, you lucky dog. A gorgeous girl like that, fresh as a flower, trailing after you working every single day. If you brought her back home, you'd make so many men sick with jealousy."

Every time he cracked that kind of joke, I'd tell Ronald to go to hell, then sneak a glance at Katerina hard at work.

The truth was, my heart had long since started to ripple.

Here I was, a down-on-his-luck old bachelor in my thirties, buried in debt.

Watching a young, beautiful, kind, hardworking girl by my side every day, it would be a lie to say I wasn't moved.

But I knew myself well enough. I knew I wasn't good enough for her.

All I wanted was to earn a bit more, pay off my debts back home as soon as I could, and help her out along the way.

But it seemed heaven had no intention of letting me live such a peaceful life for long.