Chapter 506: Chapter 38: Selling Children
The caramel-colored pastry fell to the ground, and the little girl selling qi-gao looked as if she had been terribly frightened. She hurriedly jumped off the tricycle, picked up the piece of pastry she had accidentally cut off, and gently patted off the dust with her fingers.
"Dirty, can’t eat it, just throw it away, the price remains the same," a bottle of unopened mineral water was placed on the tricycle.
Water is scarce in Ulucosa Town, bottled mineral water is not a common sight here, and those who come to buy cotton always carry such water. The little girl’s lips were dry, and she had forgotten to bring water with her when she left home. It turns out that this handsome big brother intended to give her the water.
Zhou Ziang apologized, noticing that the little girl’s family seemed to be in poor circumstances. At her age, she should be attending elementary school locally.
It was very likely that her family asked her to sell Baklava outside. The pastry hadn’t been sold yet, and it was such a waste to lose a large piece like that, which must have pained her heart.
"No need, my dad said that one must work honestly and earnestly; it’s my fault. I just wanted to try doing what Uncle Muliati said..." The little girl’s voice became quieter and quieter as she spoke. She had wanted to do like some Uighur people who sold Baklava outside, cutting a large piece and then overcharging for it. So when she heard Zhou Ziang calling her, she panicked, causing her hand to lose control of the knife.
"Cut another piece for me, I happen to be hungry, your family’s date pastry looks really tasty," Zhou Ziang did not press the girl further on the latter part of her stammering words.
"This isn’t called date pastry, but I’ve heard my dad say that people in Beijing eat date pastry, here you go," the little girl dismissed her greedy thoughts and cut a rhombus-shaped piece of Baklava, handing it to Zhou Ziang.
Zhou Ziang wasn’t used to eating in front of others, but seeing the little girl staring at him, he had no choice but to take a few bites, mumbling as he ate, "It’s really tasty; your mother is quite skillful."
"It’s my dad who made it, if it tastes good, then you should buy more," as soon as she spoke, she seemed to realize that she was being too forthright and hastily bowed her head, "You can buy some to take back; it still tastes good after cooling down for a few days." As she spoke, she swallowed her saliva. Clearly, before selling the Baklava, her parents had instructed her not to eat any on the way. It takes a lot of willpower for a child to resist the temptation of delicious food.
"Are you a local? Do you know where Zhou Qizheng’s family lives? Do they grow cotton?" Zhou Ziang had noticed the little girl’s conflicted feelings.
"Zhou Qizheng? Why are you looking for him? We don’t grow cotton." The little girl’s eyes lacked the previous fear, and her braids swung as she shook her head. She fiercely turned the tricycle’s handle, jumped on, and hurriedly pedaled away, not even having had time to collect the money for the pastry from Zhou Ziang.
"Cotton?" Zhou Ziang repeated to himself, looking around. It was midday, and there weren’t many pedestrians nearby; shop assistants from a few stores were dozing on the counters.
He breathed a sigh, and the figure had already vanished onto the street. Zhou Ziang was now standing on the rooftop of a nearby building. Ulucosa Town’s sparse buildings and newly constructed roads lay beneath him.
The little girl’s tricycle crossed the road and headed towards a secluded part of the town, not daring to look back as she rode swiftly. The braids and the plastic film on her tricycle were blown high by the wind until she finally stopped beside two small, squat houses.
"Sister, why are you back so early?" a little boy squatted outside the bungalow, with no toys at home – he had used a bowl of water mixed with the dirt to play with mud figures.
Seeing her brother covered in mud, the little girl pulled him over to a plastic bucket filled with water, scooped up some water to wet a cloth, and cleaned his hands and face.
"I miss Abudan, so I came back early," the little girl looked back at the bungalow with the door slightly ajar, where a woman’s voice could barely be heard, "I brought back a piece of Baklava for you to share."
"Dad said Baklava is for making money, for mom’s medical treatment, and we are not allowed to eat it," the boy named Abudan refused with his mouth but couldn’t resist the temptation of the sweet cake that he could only have during festivals, stuffing his fingers into his mouth, looking eagerly as his sister took out a piece of Baklava wrapped in plastic film from her pocket.
That piece of Baklava, no bigger than the palm of a hand, was the very piece that had accidentally fallen to the ground. The little girl made a quiet gesture to her mouth and carefully broke the caramel-colored pastry into small pieces.