Surprisingly, there was no one seeking refuge from the heat in the entrance passage of the Shiqiao Metro Station. As Lin Song descended on the escalator, he could feel that the air conditioning in the station seemed to be off. On the concourse level, in front of the Zhou Hei Ya duck neck stall, a notice was pasted on the bright yellow construction barrier: “Construction Hazard, Do Not Approach.”
Today’s breakfast was reganmian. The new girl at the counter asked every customer as a matter of routine, “Is there anything you don’t want in it?” “No string beans.” A mother asked the little boy, who was also having reganmian, what else he wanted. “A cup of soy milk. Remember to get a warm one.” After instructing his mother, the little boy started singing, “A-ba-zi, a-ba-zi, a-ba-zi…”
In the subway, you always see parents with suitcases and children with cartoon backpacks. They huddle together, discussing their next destination while waiting for the next train. One child lay on a suitcase, using it as a scooter. His mother reminded him loudly, “Don’t play with the suitcase! You’ll break the wheels.” Lin Song found this a strange perspective. On public transport, shouldn’t the first priority be to remind the child to be mindful of his own safety? Another mischievous boy knelt on a seat, pressing his face against the window to look outside, completely oblivious to his shoe soles scuffing against the white pants of the man next to him. His mother was engrossed in her phone.
The Tuanjie International Hotel had set up a children’s slide in a corner of its lobby, where a few kids were playing. The lobby was filled with parents seeking relief from the summer heat with their children. Two girls spun round and round in the revolving glass door, running in and out. A child who had lost a squabble ran to his mother at the main entrance, hugging her leg pitifully and muttering, “I want to go home, I want to go home.” His unfazed father was looking around to see if the shuttle from the travel agency had arrived. A Denza MPV, arranged by the agency, was waiting under the hot sun at the hotel entrance.
When crossing the street, Lin Song bent down and touched a stone bollard under the sun with two fingers. It was indeed hot, but not as scorching as it had been a week ago, when you could have fried an egg on it. He was in no mood to stroll through Neisha Lake Park under the sun. To escape the heat, he quickly entered the subway station. He found a cold drink vending machine and scanned the code for a bottle of “Spring Breeze Green Tea,” only to find it was room temperature. He truly wanted to stuff the lukewarm drink back into the machine, but that was obviously impossible.
Lin Song carried the drink into the station. At the security check, the guard reminded him, “Drink check. Take a sip.” “But I just bought it. It’s not even open.” “Still needs to be checked.” The guard took the bottle, scanned it on the explosion-proof detector, and handed it back. Lin Song casually stuffed it into his backpack.
Luliu Road divides the Shiqiao Metro Station, with Exit F in Jianghan District and Exit A in Jiang’an District, placing the two sides of the road in different administrative zones. Outside Exit F, two A4 sheets with “For Hire” printed on them were taped to the windshield of an electric trike. A woman selling glutinous rice rolls, red bean soy milk, and iced mung bean soup sat under a blue parasol. A loudspeaker blared on a loop: “Original soy milk, tofu pudding, white fungus soup, mung bean soup, coconut milk, rice wine, plain congee, five-grain congee, preserved egg and pork congee, eggs, fried dough sticks, corn!” Her stall was a flatbed tricycle with five stainless steel thermoses, from which she mixed different flavors. A blue and white parasol bearing the China Telecom logo was mounted on the handlebars.
A younger woman selling “chopped bread” was chatting with the older woman selling congee. “You have to eat something at noon every day, or you’ll have no energy.” “Isn’t that what you’re selling?” “This isn’t chopped bread, it’s ‘golden cake,’ made with egg and flour. Want some? I have savory and sweet.” A security guard who knew her teased, “Even if you eat, you might not have any energy.” “Let me tell you, I could pick you up with one hand. You believe that?” The golden cake stall was shaded by a striking red parasol. She continued chatting with the older woman. “Look at you, sleeping with one eye and watching your stall with the other. You have to learn to let things go. Rest when you’re tired, or something bad will happen. Yesterday, my cakes sold out really early. My husband said, ‘Let’s call it a day, take the afternoon off.’ So I packed up and went home early.” A delivery rider’s e-bike blocked the narrow path under the trees. The woman selling golden cakes commented again. “What an idiot. If he runs into a stubborn character, they’ll surely let the air out of his tires. Last time, that guy in the wheelchair whose path was blocked just crawled right over and pulled the valve core out of the bike’s tire.” After her commentary, she spat freely onto the ground and briskly rubbed it away with the sole of her shoe.
A stall selling boxed lunches was set up right by the crosswalk, under the traffic light. It also offered cold beer. A toilet was conveniently located down in the adjacent subway entrance. A folding table was set up by the railing of the street-corner flower bed, a loudspeaker shouting, “Economical and affordable boxed lunches!”
The Wuhan Super League for soccer was recruiting players. The conditions were quite broad: citizens between the ages of 16 and 55 could participate. When Lin Song first fell in love with soccer, he wasn’t even old enough to meet the minimum age requirement; now, he was on the verge of being aged out.