Natasha’s sister is nad Yuna. Yuna’s muscular dystrophy was discovered five years ago. Despite undergoing treatnt for a period of ti, there was no significant improvent. Eventually, the high dical expenses overwheld their already not-so-wealthy family.
Although their parents were alive, they lived in a remote rural area. They only knew that their two daughters had found decent jobs in the city and were unaware of Yuna’s illness.
Yuna had been a dancer, with several opportunities to perform on prestigious stages. Within her circle, she had gained so recognition.
At that ti, Natasha had just graduated from college and started working at a company, while Yuna, through her own efforts, had already bought a house of her own.
The plan was to work for another year or two, save more money, and then bring their parents to live with them. However, everything changed when Yuna’s illness pushed them into the depths of despair.
Although Natasha made so progress at work, most of her monthly salary went toward Yuna’s treatnt and supporting their parents back ho. As a result, even though her job seed respectable, she was always financially strained.
To alleviate the burden, Yuna sold her house, and the two sisters moved to Chinatown, where the rent was more affordable.
Gradually, life stabilized. Aside from being unable to walk normally, Yuna had grown accustod to seeing the world from a much lower perspective, to looking up to talk to others, and to sitting more than standing.
She had also learned not to think about the stage anymore.
In fact, Yuna didn’t feel her situation was completely hopeless. At least, she still had her sister, who never abandoned her.
But...
But suddenly, Yuna couldn’t bear to stay in the house anymore — there were too many mories of her and Natasha here. Their laughter had once filled every corner of the humble ho.
During als, while watching TV, washing dishes together.
When Natasha helped her change clothes and bathe.
Chatting late into the night, unable to sleep, only for Natasha to rush out the door the next morning, exhausted with dark circles under her eyes.
Learning to cook a Chinese dish from the downstairs neighbors and waiting for Natasha to return from work.
Watching the lively festivities of Chinatown through the window during the New Year.
So she opened the door and struggled to leave the place.
...
The door was slightly ajar, easy to push open. This made Song Da frown as he called Yuna’s na in the local language, not very fluently.
As a martial artist, Song Da’s hearing and sensory abilities were exceptional, and he could easily sense that Yuna wasn’t inside.
He was just a little worried, which unsettled his mind, making it hard for him to remain calm.
“No need to call. She’s not here,” Mr. Blind glanced at Song Da. “She must have left recently. Given her limited mobility, she can’t have gone far. Let’s search for her.”
Song Da quickly nodded, “You wait here then, blind man!”
“Go ahead,” Mr. Blind nodded.
He hadn’t t Yuna in person, so many of the thods he could use to find people weren’t applicable — and those he could use weren’t worth the effort.
He was studying the changes in Natasha as a living corpse, involving himself in the karma tied to her. This trip with Song Da was mainly to understand that karmic link.
If he could cure her, he would. If not, he’d offer so compensation. That way, the karmic cycle would balance.
Once Song Da left, Mr. Blind sat down inside the house, contemplating. The previous night, he had visited Cold Residence to discuss so matters with Old Master Song before he went to bed.
When Old Master Song heard that Mr. Blind intended to return to China, he agreed without hesitation, promising to arrange everything so Mr. Blind could travel comfortably.
For cultivators, the necessities of wealth, companions, thods, and location were vital, especially in places where the spiritual energy of heaven and earth was scarce. Wealth, in particular, beca even more important. Over the years, by relying on the Song family, Mr. Blind had acquired many valuable cultivation resources.
This made him recall the ti he left China, traveling across the world in a smuggled fishing boat… an unpleasant mory.
Flying was much more comfortable.
“Second day of the second lunar month, the dragon raises its head. Has senior brother really found the lost dragon vein this ti?” Mr. Blind muttered, calculating sothing with his fingers.
anwhile, this scene fell under the observation of soone on the rooftop of the opposite building — Luo Qiu.
Seeing Song Da and Mr. Blind together naturally piqued Luo Qiu’s curiosity, especially since the place they had co to was also within Chinatown.
Luo Qiu’s gaze shifted below, where Song Da had exited the apartnt building and was hurriedly walking down the street, seemingly searching for sothing.
Luo Qiu glanced at his phone again. The map on the GPS still showed the marked red dot moving. It seed to be circling around, forming a large semicircle in the vicinity.
“It seems they plan to keep circling.”
Luo Qiu only took a brief look before turning his attention elsewhere.
At this mont, he was on the rooftop of a building, with a wide view that allowed him to see most of Chinatown. Song Da was scanning the crowd, while on the other side, a woman using a cane was walking along, stumbling occasionally.
Before becoming the club owner, Luo Qiu was very skilled at passing the ti—by observing all kinds of different people.
In fact, it was just a whole day of daydreaming. That period of ti helped Luo Qiu develop a strange feeling that even he couldn’t fully explain.
He would inexplicably beco interested in certain things, and if he kept watching, he often saw many unexpected things. In summary, Ren Ziling once remarked that Luo Qiu was even more suited to being in her dog team than she was, practically born to be a journalist.
Unfortunately, Luo Qiu had no interest in interviewing people.
At this mont, the woman entered a teahouse located in Chinatown. This teahouse had a unique feature: custors could drink tea while watching an opera performance.
...
This teahouse, operated by a Chinese expat, wasn't hosting any famous opera troupes, but for foreigners and the Chinese community in Chinatown, any troupe hired would be advertised as well-known, and it would be believed.
Apparently, this was an effective tactic—at least, in the past six months, while many businesses in Chinatown were struggling, this teahouse remained lively.
"Yuna, you're here again?"
The receptionist spotted a woman struggling with a cane and quickly approached her. Not everyone working in Chinatown was Chinese; there were many foreign employees. The receptionist was one of them, in her thirties, with a curvy figure, dressed in a custom red qipao by the teahouse's owner that sparked a lot of imagination.
She had known Yuna for a while. Both lived in Chinatown and had t at the market at the end of the street.
Yuna's limited mobility and her unfortunate past easily evoked sympathy from others—Yuna had received a lot of help in Chinatown. However, since they weren’t her family, the assistance was still limited.
“Yuna, you don’t look so well today,” the receptionist said as she helped Yuna to a seat.
Yuna was a regular at the teahouse, often spending her free ti there watching opera, sotis for an entire afternoon. But she always left on ti—before dinner.
She often joked with the receptionist about thinking of a good idea for a al to surprise Natasha, making others envious of the bond between the two sisters.
“I just want so ti alone,” Yuna said softly. “Please don’t tell your boss I’m here.”
“Well… okay,” the receptionist agreed, “I’ll get you a glass of water.”
Besides knowing the receptionist, Yuna was also acquainted with the teahouse owner, who had once tried to pursue her romantically, but she never accepted. Eventually, they beca good friends, and he always reserved a private room for her whenever she visited.
The owner still hadn’t given up… the receptionist thought. However, she didn’t intend to notify the owner; Yuna looked troubled, probably needing ti alone to watch sothing she enjoyed.
Yuna had once said she envied the opera perforrs on stage.
The receptionist quickly returned with a glass of water, placing it on the table. Yuna was now leaning by the window, silently watching the stage below.
The drums sounded, and a new performance began.
The receptionist quietly left the small second-floor private room.
As Yuna watched, a tear slipped down her cheek. This place was the only one she could think of where she could escape, yet here, she was more easily reminded of many things.
“Excuse , sorry to disturb you.”
Suddenly, a male voice ca from outside the private room. Yuna quickly wiped her eyes and turned around.
A cart full of steaming baskets entered through the curtain, followed by a young man dressed in a teahouse uniform.
He was probably Chinese, based on his skin tone and hair color. Yuna couldn't always tell the nationality of Asian people unless they spoke.
She didn't rember seeing this young man at the teahouse before—was he a new hire?
Maybe. Yuna realized it had been over half a month since her last visit.
If it were an old employee, they wouldn’t have walked into the room like this… Yuna shook her head and said, “Sorry, I’m not hungry right now. You can go back.”
“Miss, aren’t you hungry?” the young man smiled slightly and opened one of the baskets on the cart.
It was a strange combination in this teahouse: opera downstairs, with carts selling food—Cantonese dim sum.
The young man revealed shrimp dumplings from the basket.
“No, really, I can’t eat,” Yuna shook her head again.
The young man sighed, “What a pity. It seems we don’t have anything you like here.”
Yuna just wanted him to leave quickly, her expression growing impatient.
But the young man remained composed and said, “Hmm… I wonder what dishes you like? If you tell , I’ll ask the kitchen to prepare it next ti. You know, custor feedback is very important to us.”
“There’s nothing, really nothing,” Yuna frowned slightly.
The young man persisted, “What about your friends? Surely, you co with friends sotis, right? If we know what they like, it would help improve custor satisfaction.”
“No!”
“Then, how about family?” he suddenly asked.
“No…” Yuna froze, sighed, and said, “Do you have Shanghai soup dumplings? My… sister likes them.”
“Of course,” the young man smiled, taking a basket from the corner of the cart and placing it in front of Yuna.
He set the table with chopsticks and carefully placed a soup dumpling in her bowl, gesturing for her to enjoy.
Yuna stared at the dumpling but didn’t eat. She glanced up at the young man.
“Try it; it’s fresh and should taste its best now,” he said.
Yuna nodded silently, clumsily picking up the dumpling with her chopsticks and slowly bringing it to her mouth. She bit into it, chewed, and then swallowed.
After a mont, Yuna put down the chopsticks, looked at the young man, and forced a smile, her voice choking, “It’s delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it,” the young man smiled. “I’ll leave you to enjoy your al.”
As he started to leave, Yuna suddenly called out, naming several dishes, “Do you have these?”
“We do,” the young man nodded and took the corresponding baskets from the cart.
Yuna took a bite of each dish, gradually eating more and more.
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