Chapter 508: Chapter 38: Impoverished Cotton Farmers
When the caramel-colored pastry fell to the ground, the little girl selling pastries seemed greatly startled. She hurriedly jumped off the cart, picked up the accidentally cut piece of pastry, and gently patted off the dust with her fingers.
"It’s dirty now, can’t eat it anymore, just throw it away, include it with the total price," an unopened bottle of mineral water was placed on the tricycle.
Uluqosa Town is short of water, bottled mineral water is not common in the town, and it seems that everyone who comes to collect cotton holds such water. The little girl’s lips were dry, she had forgotten to bring water when she left home, it turns out, this handsome elder brother was giving water to her.
Zhou Ziang spoke apologetically, it was evident that the little girl’s family was not in good condition, and at her age, she should be in the local elementary school.
It was likely that her family had asked her to go outside to sell Baklava. The pastry hadn’t yet sold and to waste such a big piece probably pained her.
"No need, my father said, when you do things you must be diligent, it’s my fault. Just now I wanted to do like what Uncle Muliati said..." the little girl’s voice became quieter, she had wanted to cut a large piece like some of the Uighur people who sell Baklava outside the area, and then overcharge them, so when she heard Zhou Ziang calling her, she panicked, and her hand didn’t obey her command with the knife.
"Cut another piece for me, I just happen to be hungry, your family’s date pastry looks quite tasty," Zhou Ziang didn’t inquire further about the second half of the hesitant words spilled by the little girl.
"This isn’t called date pastry, but I heard my dad mention, in Beijing they eat date pastry, here," the little girl put aside her greedy thoughts, cut a diamond-shaped piece of Baklava, and handed it to Zhou Ziang.
Zhou Ziang was not used to eating in front of others, but seeing that the little girl kept staring at him, he ate a few bites, mumbling as he chewed, "Pretty delicious, your mom’s hands are truly skillful."
"It’s my dad who made it, if it tastes good, buy some more," as soon as these words came out, she seemed to feel that this was too brash of her, and quickly lowered her head, "You can buy some and keep it for a few days, it’s also tasty when it’s cold." Saying this, she swallowed her saliva, obviously before selling Baklava, the elders had instructed not to eat any secretly, how much willpower it takes for a young child to resist the temptation of delicious food.
"Are you a local? Do you know where Zhou Qizheng’s family lives? Is his family one that grows cotton?" Zhou Ziang observed the little girl’s conflicted psychology.
"Zhou Qizheng? What do you want with him? We don’t grow cotton." The previous panic had disappeared from the little girl’s eyes; her braids swayed along with her head, and she roughly pulled the tricycle’s handle, jumped on, and hurriedly pedaled away, not even having the chance to receive money from Zhou Ziang for the pastry.
"Cotton?" Zhou Ziang muttered, he looked around, it was noon, not many pedestrians nearby, some shop clerks were napping on the counter.
Taking a deep breath, the person had disappeared from the street. Zhou Ziang was already standing on the rooftop of a nearby building. The sparse buildings of Uluqosa Town and the newly built roads could be seen.
The little girl cycled across the road, heading towards a secluded part of town, her head not daring to turn back, pedaling the tricycle fast. The braids and the plastic sheet on the cart were blown high by the wind, finally stopping by two small bungalows.
"Sister, why are you back so early," a little boy crouched outside the bungalow, without toys, he had filled a bowl with water and mixed it in the dirt, playing with mud figures.
The little girl saw her brother covered in mud all over his face and body, so she took him to a plastic bucket filled with water, scooped some water up with a cloth, and washed his hands and face.
"I missed Abudan, so I came back early," the little girl looked back at the half-closed door of the bungalow, where the faint sound of a woman speaking could be heard, "I brought a piece of Baklava back, I’ll share it with you."
"Dad said Baklava is for making money, to pay for mom’s medical treatment, we’re not allowed to eat it," the boy named Abudan refused with his mouth, but couldn’t resist the temptation of the delicious Baklava pastry that they only got to taste during the festivals, he sucked on his finger, gazing eagerly as his sister took out a piece of Baklava wrapped in plastic film from her pocket.
That piece, not much bigger than a palm, was the same Baklava that accidentally fell on the ground earlier, the little girl cautiously broke the caramel-colored pastry into smaller pieces with a quiet gesture close to her mouth.