Seattle's Damp Chill and Hunger
The rain wasn't heavy, but it was annoying.
It wasn't a torrential downpour, but a fine, continuous drizzle that seemed to seep into your bones. Stirred by the cold winds blowing from the Pacific Ocean, it turned into an omnipresent, damp, and chilly fog that enveloped the entire Seattle. The sky was a somber, deep gray; it was only a little past four in the afternoon, but it already felt like night was approaching.
The streetlights came on early, casting dim, yellowish halos in the rain and mist. Instead of bringing warmth, they made the wet streets and building outlines appear even more gloomy.
Kong Xiang pulled his fleece-lined hoodie tighter around himself, but still felt a chill creeping in from the collar and cuffs. He sat in the driver's seat of a slightly worn Toyota Corolla, the windshield wipers monotonously swishing back and forth on the windshield, making a soft "squeak, squeak" sound. The car wasn't heated, to save fuel, and also because he felt he didn't deserve it—after all, many people in the places he was going to didn't even have a four-wheeled metal box like this to shelter them from the wind and rain.
"Boss? Are you there? Can I chat for a bit?" Kong Xiang's consciousness connection took the initiative to "call" Lin Feng. His tone was not as excited and curious as when he usually shared "work experiences". Instead, it was somewhat heavy, like the weather in Seattle.
"Yes, I am. Go ahead." Lin Feng responded quickly, his voice calm and composed, revealing no emotion.
"I'm on my way to 'help out'," Kong Xiang began, keeping a watchful eye on the slippery pavement. "It's not the kind of 'helping out' like collecting corpses. My cousin's company partnered with a local community church to set up a temporary free meal distribution point, supposedly to 'give back to the community,' but it's really just for show, to maintain a 'good image' so they can 'do business' in certain neighborhoods later. They're short-handed, so they pulled me in as a conscript, and... well, to keep an eye on things."
He paused, as if organizing his thoughts, to describe the scene before him. "Today is Halloween, a day when children should be dressed up in all sorts of costumes and going door-to-door asking for candy. But boss, guess what I've seen all this way?"
"What?"
"I saw several children running in the rain. They were wearing thin, obviously cheap plastic superhero capes or synthetic princess dresses from the supermarket, soaked to the bone and clinging to their bodies. Their little faces were blue from the cold, and their lips were bloodless. They didn't knock on the doors of the houses decorated with pumpkin lanterns and hanging skulls; instead, they huddled under the eaves of the convenience store on the street corner, their eyes fixed on everyone entering and leaving... the bags they were carrying. Especially those fast food paper bags, printed with hamburger and fries. That look... I can't describe it. It wasn't curiosity, it wasn't greed, it was just a... very direct, craving for food. It was as if those bags didn't contain junk food, but something that could save their lives."
Kong Xiang's voice lowered. "My uncle mentioned before that many middle-class families here are suddenly struggling this year. Some are unemployed, some have had their working hours cut, and some can't afford their mortgage payments due to rising rates... On the surface, they still have their houses and cars, but their refrigerators are getting emptier and emptier. Some kids are out 'trick or treat,' but they probably don't actually want candy; they're hoping to run into a kind person who'll give them something real to fill their stomachs. I even saw a slightly older boy on another street corner, whispering something to a man who had just gotten out of a car carrying a pizza box. The man shook his head and walked away, and the boy's eyes immediately dimmed as he silently walked away. I guess he probably wasn't asking for it himself."
The car turned into a relatively old neighborhood, where the paint on the houses was peeling and the lawns were unkempt. A small church with a pointed roof came into view, with several simple awnings set up in front of it. Under the awnings were long tables, and several people wearing reflective vests or volunteer vests were busy unloading insulated boxes from a small truck. The faint aroma of hot soup and bread wafted through the air.
Kong Xiang parked the car a short distance away, but didn't get out immediately. Instead, he continued speaking to Lin Feng on the other end of his mind, "I'm here, right in front of the church. There's already a line of people waiting to get their meals. It's not too long, but there are quite a few people. There are homeless people wrapped in tattered blankets, elderly people pushing shopping carts crammed with all their belongings, and some... people who look relatively clean, but tired and haggard, quietly queuing with their children. When I got out of the car to help carry things, I heard two elderly volunteer ladies from the church sighing softly in a corner. They said that several children, after receiving their own hot dogs and soup, timidly ran back and whispered, 'For my mom, she hasn't eaten yet,' 'For my dad, he works the night shift,' 'My brother is sick and can't get up,'... When those children spoke, their heads were bowed low, as if they had done something wrong."
He paused for a few seconds, then focused on describing one person. "There was also a delivery woman, a Black woman in her fifties named Rose. She was plump, wearing an ill-fitting old raincoat, and drove a Ford even more dilapidated than mine, the exhaust puffing out black smoke. She was delivering meals to several elderly, disabled people living in nearby apartments. As I helped her load the food, she ate a cold, slightly hard sandwich—her 'dinner'—complaining in heavily accented Black English that her son, twenty-five, was in the county jail for 'a little trouble' (I guessed either possession of a small amount of marijuana or a minor street altercation), and the bail was $15,000. She worked here during the day and cleaned an office building downtown at night to save up that money. 'This damn weather, this damn world,' she muttered, stuffing the last bit of the sandwich into her mouth and chewing it forcefully, as if she hated the food, 'I'm freezing, starving, and there's never enough money.'" She was distributing food herself, yet she could only eat cold sandwiches. I noticed she had chilblains on her hands.
Kong Xiang's description is very detailed, without much embellishment, but the details of the damp cold, the distress, and the people's struggle to survive in the face of adversity are conveyed with exceptional clarity through his consciousness.
"Boss," Kong Xiang concluded, his tone carrying a cold, observational edge beyond his years, "I used to think United States was paradise, but after coming here, I realized that even paradise has floors, and the stairs are hard to find. The floor I'm standing on now, or rather, the floor I see through this 'part-time job,' has a damp, cold, drafty floor, peeling paint, intermittent heating, and the refrigerator often only contains expired discounted food and relief meals. Halloween? For many families and children like this, a bowl of hot soup on a cold, rainy night is far more important than a bag of beautifully decorated candy. That Auntie Rose, she wasn't delivering food; she was trading her already limited health, rest, and dignity for her son's 'possible,' temporary freedom. The 'hunger' here isn't just an empty stomach; it's a panic in the heart, a coldness that comes with not seeing tomorrow."
Lin Feng listened quietly without interrupting. He could sense that Kong Xiang's report this time was different; it lacked the novelty of "exploring the hidden world" that he had shown before, and instead contained a heavy sense of reflection after sinking into reality.
Just then, there was a gentle knock on Lin Feng's study door. Lü Yi poked her head in, waving her phone and giving him a slightly suggestive look. "Boss, am I disturbing you? I just checked the calendar and saw a reminder that Sister Feng —that's Feng Jianguo's daughter—is getting married next Saturday. Shouldn't we... make some preparations? Send something, or should we go?"
Lin Feng's consciousness stirred slightly, slowly withdrawing from the image of the hungry and exhausted figures in the damp, rainy night of Seattle, thousands of miles away, as described by Kong Xiang. He glanced at Lü Yi, nodded, and simultaneously said to Kong Xiang, "Understood. Be careful, and... keep warm. That's all for now."
Kong Xiang seemed to have heard the commotion and immediately said, "Alright, boss, you go ahead and get busy! I'm almost done here, I'll chat with you when I get back! The story of the rainy night in Seattle is far from over!" His tone had returned to its usual liveliness, but the underlying coldness still seemed to remain.
The connection has temporarily faded.
Lin Feng turned his gaze away from the deep night outside the window and looked at Lü Yi, his eyes thoughtful.
"Yes, I need to make some preparations," he said calmly. "I have to attend Sister Feng's wedding."
The city lights outside the window flickered, concealing countless damp, cold corners like Seattle, where it was raining. Meanwhile, the complexities of human relationships right before his eyes required his careful handling.