Bitter Fruit (24)
No wonder they said an outsider's words went down easier.
The moment he announced he was an outsider, the man inside—who had seemed utterly hopeless and indifferent to the world just a moment ago—actually raised his head slowly. It worked even better than claiming to be there to read the water meter.
It was obvious he shared the old woman's confusion: how had an outsider ended up here?
"What do you want?"
Of course, that didn't mean he was willing to open the door and welcome a guest.
His backside still seemed glued to the seat. This was the first time he'd spoken, and, just as expected, he sighed after every word, like a completely deflated balloon.
"To take away something you don't want."
Fu Qian had spent years working in ideological guidance, and he knew exactly how to motivate people as efficiently as possible. Without so much as pounding on the door, he answered without the slightest hesitation.
Click!
After a long silence, the door really did open from the inside.
The bowed-head brother looked every bit as lifeless as he sounded. The moment he opened the door, his despondent face flashed into view, then he turned and walked back inside.
"Sorry to bother you."
Fu Qian didn't mind. He closed the door behind him, walked over, and sat across from the other man at a small round table.
On the table was an oil lamp with a soot-blackened shade. There wasn't even much fuel left inside.
In such a dangerous, pitch-black night, that was an unforgivable oversight. Yet the bowed-head brother seemed to have almost no energy left to worry about it.
Even so, as the room's only light source, the lamp was still dazzling—though not as dazzling as the object beside it.
It