MAMA-24: Baby Changchang.
Mi Shanxin woke up from hunger the next day. She opened her eyes, pondering for a long time whether she had dreamed.
She hadn’t.
She glanced at her phone—it was charging, surprisingly. Her pants were properly on, too. There was even an oil-filled radiator in the room, warming it up.
Who charged her phone, who bought the radiator, no need to guess.
Mi Shanxin had never slept so well. Her wristband recorded her sleep duration, a rarely seen number.
Perhaps because her spirits were unprecedentedly high, Mi Shanxin, lying on her bed staring at the 99-point sleep score screenshot, shared it with Li Yin and Jian Wanji.
Li Yin would be at the library in the morning and was probably on her way now. She replied to Mi Shanxin: [Wow! Such a high score! Was it the Melatonin?]
Mi Shanxin thought: My Melatonin was a person.
She knew Li Yin wouldn’t agree to her cooperative relationship with Jian Wanji and planned to keep it a secret to the end, replying only with a sticker.
Li Yin: [Then you have to sleep well before our weekend gathering too.]
Li Yin: [Eat up, sleep well.]
Mi Shanxin murmured an acknowledgment. Jian Wanji hadn’t replied yet, so she sent another message: [Thank you for buying me the heater.]
[Thank you for charging my phone.]
Jian Wanji hadn’t slept well. She still had to work every day and sometimes went for a morning run.
Today, that was clearly out of the question. She didn’t type, replying with a voice message instead: “…You’re welcome. Weren’t you the one who said it’s only right and proper?”
Mi Shanxin detected the drowsiness in Jian Wanji’s voice, thought for a moment, and replied: “Alright, then sleep a bit more.”
“Can I go see your Grandmother in the morning?”
Jian Wanji couldn’t help but marvel at a young person’s ability to recover. “Are you that idle? No need to prep your lessons?”
Mi Shanxin: “I was using a friend’s card at a Cafe to do my lesson prep anyway.”
“The Hospice Ward doesn’t charge. The main hall is very quiet.”
Her voice no longer carried any trace of tears. In Jian Wanji’s mind, the image of the girl’s eyes brimming with tears surfaced, the way she called her name so sticky and drawn out, as if their fates would be as hard to separate as the tangle of their bodies below.
Mi Shanxin’s home had terrible lighting and was so small; Jian Wanji also felt she needed to go outside.
The woman replied with an “Mm” sound, her voice split into two segments. “Then take a taxi there.”
“Share your trip route with me. I will pay.”
Before Mi Shanxin could send her “no need,” Jian Wanji used that line to pressure her again: “Didn’t you say it’s only right and proper for a Daughter to pay for her Mama?”
Mi Shanxin: …
A few seconds later, her voice message was cautious: “Then do you want to sleep with me?”
Seeming afraid Jian Wanji would misunderstand, she explained: “At my friend’s age, she still sometimes sleeps with her Mama.”
Jian Wanji didn’t reply by voice, clearly quite speechless—
Thanks, I don’t have this kind of additional request.
Her minimum requirement was a single bed; she had never squeezed together in bed with anyone. Never mind that. She also didn’t understand why people in love had to sleep together. Wasn’t it uncomfortable?
Thinking of Mi Shanxin’s pitifully small bed, Jian Wanji sent another message: Are you sure that bed can fit two people? You’d probably fall off just turning over yourself, right?
Perhaps it was her device, but Mi Shanxin’s voice sounded soft. “My sleeping posture is the Burial Pose, very standard. I don’t turn over.”
Jian Wanji thought she’d misread, staring at “Burial Pose” for a long time.
Extremely intuitive. She was already picturing actors playing corpses in countless movies and dramas, lying straight and stiff inside coffins.
What was there to be proud of?
Of course the dead don’t turn over!
Mi Shanxin took Jian Wanji’s speechlessness as rejection and sent another message: “Alright…”
Her one-second voice message dragged to four seconds because of her elongated “alright,” the breathy tone making Jian Wanji involuntarily recall some images she shouldn’t. As a first-person perspective visual effect in a movie, it would be perfect; but as a participant, it was terrifying.
“My bed is the one I’ve slept in since I was little. You definitely can’t sleep in it.”
Jian Wanji really hadn’t guessed wrong and had to send a voice reply: “Do you want me to replace it with a new one?”
Mi Shanxin didn’t send a voice message, a text suddenly popping up: Would that make it convenient for us to do it?
Jian Wanji: [Forget I said anything.]
Mi Shanxin replied with an “alright,” and just seeing those two words made Jian Wanji replay that four-second voice message. Truly awful.
Mi Shanxin: [I’ll consider buying a new bed. But the room is very small, so if you don’t mind…]
She typed for a long time, then switched to a voice message again, “If you don’t mind, you can just lie on top of me.”
“Anyway, once is unfamiliar, twice is familiar. You can do it even in the dark.”
Jian Wanji’s silver tongue completely failed in front of Mi Shanxin. She was certain Mi Shanxin was her kryptonite and quickly retorted, “I mind. I mind very much.”
“Student Shanxin, do you have no concept of your own weight? Aren’t you afraid I’ll squash you flat?”
Mi Shanxin: “I’m already very flat.”
Was it Jian Wanji’s imagination, or did Mi Shanxin’s voice sound very dejected? “I don’t want to be this scrawny either.”
Oh, it wasn’t flat, it was scrawny. Not quite.
Jian Wanji wanted to say your water content isn’t low, but then felt saying that aloud would be too flippant, pure harassment. It was only after a few seconds she realized Mi Shanxin was talking about her figure.
It was indeed quite scrawny.
Mi Shanxin stared at Jian Wanji’s constantly changing chat status, even more dejected that the woman hadn’t replied, and felt her own complaint was so awkward.
She couldn’t just depend on her just because she’d done that kind of thing with Jian Wanji. After all, they had agreed it was only Sleep Assistance. Even if Jian Wanji hadn’t said we must not develop feelings, Mi Shanxin could still tell from Jian Wanji’s lesson to her—that she couldn’t like Zeng Baian—that this woman held no hope for relationships with a large age gap.
She also wondered what kind of people Jian Wanji had flirted with or dated before.
Were they beautiful women with great figures?
Jian Wanji said she wouldn’t use her own hands… that probably meant she’d gone all the way with others, which was why she bought this kind of highly effective Safety and Hygiene Product whose product details page explicitly stated it “increased sensation.”
Something that could “make Lovers feel intense sensations.”
In the morning, Mi Shanxin hadn’t found the Packaging Jian Wanji had left behind. Relying on memory to search, she stared at this phrase for a long time, feeling a bit regretful that she wasn’t a lover, thinking this kind of product recommendation was written too absolutely.
It should be usable even if not lovers.
But if they truly were lovers, then Jian Wanji definitely wouldn’t just sit at the foot of the bed.
She would kiss the other person.
She certainly wouldn’t just put effort there; she would use her naturally pleasant voice to say all sorts of sweet nothings.
Sticky and inseparable with that person, kissing from face to lips, lingering over the collarbone, maybe even trailing all the way down?
And what would her Smile-Lip look like pressed against the lips below?
Mi Shanxin felt swollen and achy, much like a Power Bank that failed quality inspection—unfit for regulations, it could only be thrown away or destroyed.
It seemed like before disposal, it needed to be soaked in Salt Water.
Could my heart also be soaked in Salt Water to oxidize heat and release hydrogen?
Could these feelings also change from combustible to never-combustible again?
Mi Shanxin touched her own chest. There really wasn’t much substance there to touch.
No wonder Jian Wanji was unmoved by her ruined Pajamas. There was indeed nothing worth seeing.
It couldn’t compare to Jian Wanji’s own curves, so perfect that even a grinning face couldn’t make anyone ignore her overflowing womanly charm.
When they signed the contract, Mi Shanxin had seen Jian Wanji’s ID Card. The woman was two years younger than her own Mother, yet they were completely different types of people.
Her Mama loved complaining to Mi Shanxin too much. Mi Shanxin didn’t want to disappoint her, but facing the overwhelming barrage of resentment, she still struggled to offer any useful response.
If it were Jian Wanji, she’d certainly have more solutions than herself.
When Puberty arrived, Mi Shanxin understood she wouldn’t grow up to be like her Mama. And now, she also held no excessive expectation that at thirty-nine, she’d turn out like Jian Wanji.
Yet even a brief encounter makes a difference.
Jian Wanji was like a bird briefly alighting on Mi Shanxin’s branch. Its feathers brushed against the insect-eaten leaves, making Mi Shanxin’s heart flutter with fascination, while simultaneously hoping this bird would stay a little longer.
There was even a fleeting fantasy: If my branches were full and lush, would she stay for me forever?
Jian Wanji thought her silence had hurt the pitiful Little Mother and, after pondering for a moment, remedied the situation by saying: “This is the trend now.”
She wasn’t lying. Zeng Baian had been troubled by this since she was a teenager. Even attending a Girls’ School, everyone still made veiled judgments based on development size.
As if being big meant frivolous and vulgar, while being small meant classy and elegant.
Clothes were supposed to serve the person, yet it ended up fitting the classic parable of “cutting the foot to fit the shoe”—you needed to lose weight and shrink your chest for nice clothes.
Some things were brought by genetics, impossible to choose. Jian Wanji was tall; her figure was very much like Wan Lingling.
Wan Qingqing had been annoyed before by her still-growing height, worried being too tall would eliminate her from opportunities.
A tall, slender figure was fine, but couldn’t be too tall. After all, the image on stage had requirements too, to match with someone.
Wan Qingqing, whose dream was to be a television host, had very high demands for her children, just to continue her own long-cherished wish. Now that she was muddled, she could still be brought back to order by specific audio clips.
The Caregiver wouldn’t say much. It seemed that among the terminal clients she looked after, someone like Wan Qingqing was already very easy to manage—not bedridden from paralysis needing turning and toileting, nor acting out aggressively, escaping in the middle of the night, or being mentally unstable and assaulting the Caregiver.
Her evaluation of Jian Wanji was also very high. At least in the private exchanges among Caregivers in the Hospice Ward, Jian Wanji was a clear stream in the messy river of family disputes.
Jian Wanji earned a high salary, didn’t meddle, was successful in her career, and beautiful. Her only flaw was being single, not married.
Perhaps because her smiling face seemed kindly, when the Caregivers thought they could casually chat and introduce someone, they were made to feel utterly embarrassed by the woman’s single smiling face and had to correct their attitude, not daring to utter another word.
Mi Shanxin’s WeChat still hadn’t stirred. Jian Wanji felt guilty and simply called Mi Shanxin.
She drove to the Company, taking the elevator directly from the parking garage to her office floor. She happened to run into Sui Yuqian, who had teased her relentlessly during last night’s gathering. The other woman was holding a Thermos, the curling steam from the hot Chinese Medicine inside making Jian Wanji step back. “Stay away from me.”
“Here, have some,” Sui Yuqian had blown herself up experimenting in the kitchen some time ago; the burn on the back of her hand still hadn’t healed. Fortunately, she was left-handed, so it didn’t stop her from using electronic signatures. Even so, she still mercilessly mocked Jian Wanji for finally getting her shoes wet while walking by the river. “I think you need some regulating too.”
“No need, you…” Just then, the call connected. Mi Shanxin’s voice came through Jian Wanji’s earpiece, “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing much,” Jian Wanji ignored her partner who was winking and making faces. “Saw you didn’t reply, so I called to check in.”
Mi Shanxin was already about to head out, planning to walk to the alley entrance before booking a taxi. She carried the new Computer and new Backpack Jian Wanji had given her, as if she felt much lighter, but her speech was still slow and unhurried. “Check in about what? My chest?”
Jian Wanji: …
Why? Why could someone say that so frankly?
Since meeting Mi Shanxin, her instances of embarrassment had skyrocketed. It was hard to maintain her flirtatious persona. She even had to abandon the flippant route to avoid any suspicion of Sexual Harassment.
The cruelest part was the Additional Contract, which stated she had to fulfill Party A’s Sleep Assistance requests.
Jian Wanji started to speak but stopped. But employees on the same floor were also greeting her. Mi Shanxin seemed to laugh, “No need to specifically comfort me. I’m not angry.”
Jian Wanji cared more about her mood than classmates or family. Even if it was also connected to their special Role-Playing.
Li Yin hated little kids. When going out with Mi Shanxin, if the next seat on the subway was a Little Child, she’d be horrified and prefer to stand.
Mi Shanxin didn’t particularly like kids. If she were to like them, she liked obedient ones, just like the demands her Parents had for her.
In the end, being too obedient also represented another possibility: getting nothing at all.
So she wanted to be a Mama, to fill the void in her heart from not being needed.
But being a Mama wasn’t something just anyone could do. Nor did giving birth automatically make someone a qualified Mama. Even the scope of “qualified” varied from person to person.
Just like Mi Shanxin’s Mama. To Mi Shanxin, perhaps she didn’t quite qualify. But to her half-sibling Younger Sister, she was too great—not abandoning her, not giving up, and not having another child. Even because of the cold stares of others, she developed a lonely courage to fight back.
So Mi Shanxin wouldn’t hate her Mama. Maybe she wouldn’t love her Mama very much anymore either.
If I were a Mama…
She had fantasized about it many times, but she couldn’t picture what her own Daughter would be like.
She didn’t have a healthy body, no abundant energy, no money, hadn’t even graduated yet… each of these was a disaster for a Little Child.
If it was just to have someone to depend on each other, the price was too great.
Jian Wanji was like a timely rain, and her needs also hit upon Mi Shanxin’s secret desire.
She had a fake Daughter; being the other’s fake Mama, each getting what they needed—that was also a form of “need.”
Mi Shanxin stood at the alley entrance in winter, talking on the phone while operating a Ride-hailing App on her Mobile Phone.
She had never booked a taxi herself before. When with Li Yin, Li Yin always did it.
New users having coupons was great, but she had to fill in an Emergency Contact.
Jian Wanji hadn’t hung up yet. Mi Shanxin called her name: “Changchang.”
Jian Wanji clicked her tongue.
Mi Shanxin continued on her own: “Can you be my Emergency Contact?”
“What?” Miss Changchang sank into her expensive Boss Chair, her phone on speakerphone. The WeChat call interface showed the contact name as Little Mother. Adding “A” to pin it was too much trouble, so she’d already pinned Mi Shanxin’s account to the top. Frequent contacts like Sui Yuqian and Zeng Baian had been pushed down to second and third place by order of arrival.
The Little Mother’s voice was wrapped in the sound of the wind outside. Not milky or cute, but cool and faint—inquiring, not pleading. “The Ride-hailing App requires setting one up.”
Jian Wanji said, “And what if I disagree?”
Mi Shanxin said, “Then I’ll just put Li Yin’s.”
Jian Wanji’s long leg tapped the floor, the chair slightly swaying as her finger tapped the armrest. “You could have just filled it in without asking.”
Mi Shanxin’s reply was unexpected. “That would be very impolite.”
Jian Wanji was momentarily choked. You can propose those incredibly shameless additional requests, yet you’re particular about this?
“Why?” Jian Wanji felt somewhat at a loss for words. “It doesn’t affect anything, does it?”
“If I get into an accident, the platform will call you,” Mi Shanxin said seriously. “It would cause you trouble, an inconvenience.”
At this moment, she seemed far away—not the little girl Jian Wanji had reduced to mewling sounds last night. Seemingly capable of distinguishing emotion from desire, farness from nearness.
Jian Wanji silently repented for ever thinking Mi Shanxin might fall for her.
If Mi Shanxin didn’t have a Sleep Disorder, with such a sensible and clear-cut personality, she wouldn’t fall into such a cliché.
“It’s no trouble,” Jian Wanji said. “At least within the contract period, I will be responsible for everything concerning you.”
The woman’s voice, transmitted through the network line, was like the smoke from evening cooking fires. Even though Mi Shanxin had never been to a mountain village, didn’t know what that smoke truly smelled like.
Her Father was across the ocean; her Mother was in another city. Yet Mi Shanxin, who grew up in Ning City, had never left.
She was a small animal eking out an existence in a steel jungle, possessing a nest but never able to permanently reside. Perhaps her whole life would be spent searching for the scent of home.
When they first met, Jian Wanji’s Perfume was so pungent. At the time, Mi Shanxin had disliked it intensely, finding it choking and dizzying. But now she suddenly realized: getting close to cooking smoke would also choke you to tears, yet once you left, you’d miss it.
An unexplainable sadness enveloped her entire body. Fortunately, her mental state was decent today, and it didn’t last too long. Amidst Jian Wanji’s “Hello? Student Shanxin, are you there?” she murmured an acknowledgment. “I understand.”
Interacting with her was like riding a rollercoaster for Jian Wanji—a ghostly, trackless rollercoaster where you never knew if the next moment meant climbing a hill or plunging down.
“Remember to share your route with me.” She was still uneasy. “Starting tomorrow, I’ll have a dedicated driver pick you up and drop you off. No need for this hassle anymore.”
The girl asked: “Can’t you be my dedicated chauffeur?”
The woman on the other end let out a hearty laugh: “Sister Shanxin, I need to earn money. Otherwise, how would I pay your salary?”
Even though she consciously controlled herself in front of Mi Shanxin, Jian Wanji’s speech would still betray a hint of her usual manner.
This term “Sister” sounded flirtatious and teasing. Mi Shanxin could fully imagine how she chatted and negotiated business in those flashy occasions.
What was the difference between a Big Boss and a Supermarket Salesperson?
Mi Shanxin felt a bit irritated. She didn’t point it out, instead seriously correcting the woman’s address: “I am Mama, Baby Changchang.”
