Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Interview

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Davis was despondent, so he drank himself into a stupor. He had witnessed April in the bar kissing Qiu Fengyu—though only on the cheek, not the lips.

“Just this once,” Qiu Fengyu told her. “You’ve successfully made Davis hate me.”

April laughed, “And I’ve successfully gotten rid of him, haven’t I?” She chuckled and called out to Brakin, “My drink—Scotch whisky, with ice.”

“I know, I know. The beautiful little fairy only drinks this noble liquor.” Brakin was adept at flattery. He poured a glass and handed it to April.

“Your mouth is quite sweet!” April’s mood seemed to brighten.

“You should get Davis out of here; he’s drunk.” Qiu Fengyu glanced at Davis, sprawled insensibly over the bar, shook his head, and headed for the door.

“Hey, how am I supposed to get him out?” Brakin shouted after Qiu Fengyu. “That’s your problem… Damn it, this cursed drunkard.” But seeing Qiu Fengyu leave without a backward glance, all Brakin could do was curse under his breath. He dared not curse Qiu Fengyu—only Davis, the drunk.

“You always do what he says?” April smiled at Brakin.

Brakin shrugged and spread his hands helplessly. “Yes. See this scar on my forehead? That’s his handiwork. I’d rather not add another. Well, I’d better drag this bastard to the storeroom out back and let him sober up there… Oh, hell, he’s vomited all over the bar… Damn it… You guys, are you just going to stand there?” Brakin barked at the other bartenders.

April giggled, placed her payment under her glass, waved to Brakin, “Thank you, Brakin. Goodbye!” and left the place.

As she stood up, Anthony, who’d been sitting in a dark corner of the bar, also rose and followed her out.

After Davis drank himself into oblivion, he found things weren’t as bad as he’d imagined—not as painful as he’d feared. It was as if all his troubles had been purged along with his sickness.

So, when he arrived at Qiu Fengyu’s place the next day, full of vigor, Qiu Fengyu almost doubted his own eyes.

“Good Lord, did you win the lottery?”

“No… I’ve been reborn. In truth, I don’t really know that girl. I made a fool of myself last night, and I’ve decided to correct that foolish behavior.” Davis spoke with conviction, as if his reasoning were flawless.

During the noodle business, two strangers suddenly appeared.

Yes, two strangers—one a woman in her thirties, mature and alluring; the other a middle-aged man, thin and sharp.

They each ordered a bowl of ramen and tasted it.

Though strangers did sometimes visit Qiu Fengyu’s shop, it was mostly locals. This wasn’t a tourist hotspot; few outsiders would come here just for noodles.

After eating, the two didn’t leave but lingered, occasionally glancing around. When the other customers had gone, they stood and walked toward Qiu Fengyu, who was cleaning up in the kitchen.

“Excuse me… are you Mr. Qiu? Fengyu Qiu?” the woman asked.

“Yes. Is there a problem?” Qiu Fengyu replied, continuing his work.

“Uh, we’re reporters from the Mars Daily… We handle the online section. We saw your video on the internet and thought it was fantastic, so we wanted to interview you up close…” The woman posed in a sensuous stance.

She seemed well-versed in what men liked, striking an S-shaped pose. Yet she overlooked the fact that in China, a woman known as Sister Lotus had long since overused the S-stance, so much so that Qiu Fengyu immediately thought of her upon seeing it.

“Sorry, I didn’t post that video.”

“But you’re who we’re looking for. You’re the star—the one who can attract people. Of course… if you accept our interview, we’ll pay you.” The man interjected.

“How much?”

“Five hundred dollars—for just a moment of your time.” The man held up five fingers.

Qiu Fengyu raised one finger.

“A thousand dollars? We’ll need to discuss it…” The man started to confer with the woman.

“No, ten thousand dollars,” Qiu Fengyu corrected.

The man’s expression grew uneasy. The woman was momentarily stunned, then smiled, “The price is negotiable. What we want to know isn’t much…”

Of course, the price could be negotiated, but in the end, Qiu Fengyu secured five thousand dollars. Then, facing the camera, he expounded at length about how, in ancient China, the famous chef Butcher Ding would dance to music’s rhythm while dissecting an ox. He knew exactly what to say to satisfy them.

The two left, satisfied. Qiu Fengyu, delighted, pocketed the five thousand dollar check. Davis watched with envy.

“If you could butcher cattle like me, you’d earn this fee too,” Qiu Fengyu laughed. “For today’s extra income, we’ll have hotpot fish tonight.”

This cheered Davis. What pleased him even more, unexpectedly, was that April and Anthony joined them for dinner.

When Davis absentmindedly swirled fish slices in the pot, his eyes drifting repeatedly to April, Qiu Fengyu realized the drunkard had wasted his misery last night. He thought Davis would turn over a new leaf and court other women, but clearly, that was wishful thinking.

April, however, treated him as though he were invisible, not sparing him a glance. Davis felt utterly irrelevant.

“Did journalists come by today?” April, seemingly sensitive to reporters, somehow knew they’d visited.

Qiu Fengyu nodded, “You’ve got remarkable intuition. I earned five thousand dollars. If people like that came every day, I’d soon be a wealthy man.”

“I don’t like reporters!” April snorted. “Luckily I wore a hat, or they’d have spotted me.”

“Are you famous?” Qiu Fengyu asked.

April looked at him in surprise, then snorted, “I thought you’d have guessed.”

She thought I’d have guessed? This woman expects everyone to have a nose as keen as hers, able to sniff out journalists. I’m not that confident.

“You see reporters often?”

April said nothing, only shrugged and continued devouring fish, eating and drinking with abandon—determined to ruin her image, regardless of her slim figure.

When the meal ended, Davis lingered, glancing at April, but, seeing she never looked his way, finally gave up and left.

“He really likes you; last night he was dead drunk!” Qiu Fengyu remarked to April.

“I like you too!” April teased him.

Qiu Fengyu snorted, “Let’s skip this topic—time to wash the dishes, and mop the floor.”

“No way. Why should Davis eat and not wash dishes or mop? So today I’m not doing it… Maybe tomorrow.” She was thoroughly unreliable—so young, yet already adept at shirking.

“From tomorrow, I’ll start charging—two hundred dollars per meal, for both of you, one hundred each,” Qiu Fengyu growled.

“No problem.” April agreed cheerfully, not haggling at all. “But… I won’t wash dishes or mop anymore—I’m paying, after all.”

Qiu Fengyu fell silent. The customer is always king. A generous young lady is an empress. He had no temper left, only watched her strut out triumphantly, Anthony trailing behind, feigning profundity.

The next day, more reporters came—three this time, supposedly from a major news site in New York. Two were men. Whether he liked it or not, Qiu Fengyu collected another five thousand dollars for the interview. He even performed a ramen show, for an extra five hundred.

Unexpectedly, the two were thrilled by Qiu Fengyu’s performance, clapping his shoulder and declaring the money well spent, worthy of a food show. The ramen’s flavor impressed them; they said if the response was good, they’d return to do a dedicated episode for him.

God Almighty. Some townsfolk found Qiu Fengyu’s luck unbelievable—ten thousand dollars earned in two days, so easily that when he went drinking at the bar, the two Russian girls would often come over to chat.

“Get lost, stop bothering me!” Qiu Fengyu, annoyed by the Russian girls’ gossip, chased them away.

“Hey, pal, everyone knows you’re rich now,” Brakin said cheerfully. “Why not take both girls home tonight? I promise… I’ll make them keep their mouths shut.”

“Go to hell, Brakin. Did your mouth ever taste excrement?” a tough girl’s voice shot back.