“Did your brother go somewhere really far?” Lu Zeyu asked casually. “Otherwise why hasn’t he visited in all these years?”
Qiao Ning’s smile was faint. “Mm. Very far.”
So far that once he left, no word ever came. Even though the day he left, he’d held Qiao Ning and rocked him, promising he’d come back, bringing the most delicious candy—the kind from TV.
Qiao Ning really had waited a long time. Every day after school, he’d wait at the village entrance.
Day after day, until a stranger delivered a wooden box.
Then the funeral hall went up in the house. The Eldest Granduncle next door had passed. Qiao Ning, barely understanding what death meant then, was seized by nameless dread—and tears fell from sheer fear.
He didn’t dare cry loudly either, because Grandpa looked so heartbroken.
He’d wanted to ask where Big Brother went, why he wasn’t back. Wasn’t it the Eldest Granduncle who took Big Brother away to see doctors? How did only the Eldest Granduncle come back? Where was Big Brother?
The Eldest Granduncle was so tall—how could he fit inside a box so small? When would he come out?
None of those questions ever made it out of his mouth. And then Grandpa fell ill too.
And then, his happy childhood ended.
Grandpa passed. Qiao Chenggong took him back to the city, into a suffocating, grinding adolescence.
He’d thought of finding his brother—the only person in this world who was his, blood or not.
Back then he’d fantasize constantly: Big Brother would suddenly appear—when his father hit him, when his stepmother snarled and drove him from the dinner table, when he was locked outside with nowhere to go.
Like the great hero from the cartoons, Big Brother would appear, hold him like when he was afraid of the dark, tell him not to be scared, take his hand, and bring him home.
He didn’t even need candy. As long as Big Brother came for him, he’d never want candy again.
Big Brother never came.
No one saved him.
And no one wanted him.
By his teens, Qiao Ning had stopped fantasizing. He understood that everything he’d imagined was impossible—just as he didn’t know where his brother had gone, his brother had no way of knowing where he was.
After high school graduation, Qiao Ning went back to the hometown once—to visit Grandpa, yes, but also, truthfully, to ask if anyone knew where his brother had gone.
No one knew. His brother had never returned either.
A childhood promise was just idle talk, surely. Who took a child’s words seriously? Say it aloud and people would call him hopeless.
Qiao Ning thought he’d let it go, that he’d long forgotten. But when he needed a ready-made excuse for someone, his brother had surfaced first, unbidden.
Treasured memories only blur. They never vanish.
Which was fine.
Qiao Ning figured: if he couldn’t find the man, no one else could either.
His “supply source” would remain a mystery forever.
“Far away, then. Nothing to be done.”
Zhang Bowen, reading his low mood and recalling Qiao Ning’s wretched family situation, offered comfort: “At least he still thinks of you.”
Qiao Ning smiled and let it pass.
By then they’d reached his building. Five flights was nothing for boys their age.
Qiao Ning let the roommates in. Four grown boys crammed into the bedroom, and even a fairly spacious room instantly felt narrow and cramped.
“Water.” Qiao Ning handed out bottled water to the roommates, then portioned strawberries and cherry tomatoes to wash for them.
“I’ve got a few delivery orders. You guys can check out the mall, or there’s a net café nearby. After I deliver, dinner’s on me tonight.”
Zhang Bowen said, “The mall’s nothing special. You’ve got free labor standing right here—tell us the addresses and we’ll deliver. Way faster.”
“Right, what’s all this politeness with your big brothers for?” Lu Zeyu had already zeroed in on the washed strawberries—ever since entering and spotting them on the table, he’d been dying to reach out.
Qiao Ning held the fruit platter high: “Who’s your big brother?”
Lu Zeyu, a man of zero integrity, answered without hesitation: “You are, you are! You’re my real big brother, happy now? Let your little brother have a bite!”
Zhang Bowen and Qin Hao booed him in unison. Qiao Ning looked over, and both clasped their fists in salute: “Fifth Brother!”
Eat someone’s food, lose your spine. With strawberries that delicious, what choice was there?
Only then did Qiao Ning, laughing, pass the platter over—and it was instantly divided three ways, hands grabbing fruit and stuffing it in wolfishly. The bedroom filled with the sound effects of Zhu Bajie devouring watermelon.
“Holy—this is too good. So SWEET, these strawberries.”
“How are the cherry tomatoes this good too? And here I thought this was just a tomato with a rebrand and a markup. Turns out there really are absurdly delicious varieties.”
“Everyone together now—thanks to Fifth Brother for the fine fodder!”
Qiao Ning laughed and cursed: “Eating doesn’t shut you up, does it.”
One platter was nowhere near enough—demolished in moments. Qiao Ning went to refill it, but Qin Hao snatched the plate: “I’ll do it. You rest.”
He carried the fruit to the kitchen to wash. Zhang Bowen wiped his mouth and said, a little sheepishly, “Let’s look at the orders first, plan a route.”
Qiao Ning pulled out his phone. Lu Zeyu’s eyes sharpened: “Oh? New phone? Told you—should’ve ditched that antique ages ago.”
Qiao Ning made agreeing noises. Qin Hao came back with the platter, and the three of them, each with a fistful of fruit, crowded around Qiao Ning to study the orders.
“This one’s closest—the subway station by Lotus Pond Park, where we met Sixth Brother last time, the community next to it. This auntie wants—”
“Two hundred eighty-eight a jin!” Lu Zeyu’s shout cut Qiao Ning off.
Zhang Bowen, reading the chat log showing strawberries at 288 a jin, choked on the strawberry he’d just swallowed, thumping his chest through several coughs.
Qin Hao looked at the strawberry and cherry tomato in his hand, caught between setting them down and not.
Qiao Ning had never planned to hide the pricing. Feeding them for free and charging customers premium—no contradiction.
He asked with a smile: “What, these Ruby strawberries don’t deserve 288 a jin?”
He hadn’t settled on a variety name; the landlady’s crowd kept saying Ruby, so he’d adopted it too.
“Deserve it,” Qin Hao said, face twisted in anguish. “It’s us pigs who don’t deserve such fine fodder.”
“What are you even saying.” Qiao Ning popped a cherry tomato into his mouth. “Just eat. If I had to buy fruit this expensive for you, I couldn’t afford it right now—but this was a gift to me. Costs me nothing.”
Zhang Bowen and the others tried to protest; Qiao Ning cut them off: “Eldest Brother, I ate plenty of the red sausage you bring from home. Second Brother, the smoked chicken your mom mails—there’s always a drumstick with my name on it. And you, Sixth Brother, you—”
“Okay, okay, enough!” Lu Zeyu rubbed his arms. “That’s disgustingly sappy.”
Qiao Ning: “…”
Seeing his deadpan face, all three roared with laughter and went right back to fighting over the delicious fruit without a shred of awkwardness.
Several more fruit platters demolished before their cravings were even roughly sated. Then they washed their hands and helped Qiao Ning weigh and pack.
Simple enough. Only four strawberry orders. They’d bought the disposable paper boxes fruit shops use—fill by weight, then bag.
Full, one box held a jin of cherry tomatoes. The sale tomatoes filled exactly eight boxes, with a dozen-odd left over for samples.
They’d imagined splitting up to deliver and save Qiao Ning time, but pulling up the orders: four strawberry orders, two clustered together—both near that subway station.
Made sense. Qiao Ning had set up his stall there, so nearby residents made up much of the customer base.
Of the other two, one wasn’t far either—an office building two subway stops away.
The last was slightly farther, meeting at a shopping mall. As it happened, one of the customers who’d later contacted Qiao Ning willing to try cherry tomatoes had also arranged to meet at that same mall, and another near it. No need to split up after all.
Qiao Ning said: “Perfect—after the last mall delivery, dinner’s on me. We’ll eat over there.”
“Forget it—tonight the big brothers treat,” Lu Zeyu said, tossing a cherry tomato into his mouth.
Qin Hao mumbled around a mouthful: “Yeah, hot pot tonight. There’s supposed to be one of those hot-pot-plus-BBQ places.”
“We’ll see when we get there…”
Scheming happily, they each grabbed bags of fruit and headed out. At the community gate, each scanned a shared e-bike.
First stop: “Joyful Family.” The auntie had been waiting since placing her order; they met outside her community.
“Two boxes, one and a half jin exactly. Feel free to weigh them anywhere.” Qiao Ning handed over the packed strawberries.
The auntie took them, opened a bag first for a look. The strawberry fragrance hit her face and her smile bloomed.
Same variety. Same quality. Unchanged!
The price hike hurt, sure, but she understood—this quality was outrageous. Her family had bought expensive strawberries before; none were half as good.
But if the price went up and the goods got swapped, that she would not tolerate.
The weight felt right in her hands—she’d verify at home—so she kept it gracious aloud: “Ai-ya, of course I trust you, no need to weigh.”
Seeing Qiao Ning smile, she immediately pressed: “Next time you have strawberries, can you give me advance notice? You don’t know—last time I brought them home, my little Rui, my granddaughter, adored them. Ate four bowls by herself.”
Thank goodness she’d remembered her daughter and granddaughter both loved them and bought extra—otherwise the child alone wouldn’t have had enough. Her daughter had tried the leftovers after work and declared them delicious. That price wasn’t a loss—if anything, a steal.
Qiao Ning couldn’t promise. He didn’t even know where the next batch of strawberries would come from.
He could grow some at the hometown, sure—but he was going back to lie flat. At most he’d grow a little to eat himself. Selling… we’ll see.
Qiao Ning had already decided: once the current pots were force-grown, no more high-concentration Spirit Spring water ever.
He wasn’t desperate for money. Whatever he grew from now on would use diluted water—equally delicious fruit, without drawing eyes.
He gave the auntie a cherry tomato sample too, and—unsurprisingly—after tasting it, she ordered two boxes without a flicker of hesitation.
Two boxes, two jin. Another 376 in hand.
