Romantic encounter
I met him at the supermarket where I worked when I was twenty-one years old, as the head of the cashier team.
One day, my team and I were taking the escalator down, and he was coming up. He was wearing a white shirt, a blue tie, perfectly creased black trousers, and spotless shiny black shoes. The same uniform on him looked completely different.
The sunlight shone on his delicate face, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him, even as we passed by each other. I concluded that I didn’t recognize this person wearing our supermarket uniform!
My team started whispering, “He’s the new loss prevention manager from the main building security department!”
I smirked a little, thinking about how even our general manager was troubled by the chaotic loss prevention department. It was a mess, with no rules or order, and even the supervisors left voluntarily. I wondered how long this new guy would last.
Later, when we talked about the loss prevention department, he gave a bitter smile. I guessed his expression was probably a mix of laughter and tears when he first saw his team. The department had only twenty-some people, but they came in all shapes and sizes, ages, and genders.
The oldest was thirty-three, while he was only twenty-three. The youngest was officially eighteen but actually sixteen, the tallest was nearly six-foot-three, and the shortest was a five-foot-tall girl. Imagine such a team out on drills, some even couldn’t walk straight.
There were a few slackers in the team, who didn’t work during the day and only showed up after hours, causing trouble. When they tried to bully him, he gathered over twenty former security department colleagues, all ex-soldiers, and met them at the arranged place. The troublemakers didn’t show up, and the next day, one of them quit voluntarily.
He took over a month to get his department in order and then started organizing the supermarket. He assigned each team member the task of issuing at least one fine a day, and if they couldn’t meet the target, they had to fine themselves.
At that time, the operations department was also in chaos. The promoters protested together, demanding a replacement of the loss prevention manager or they would strike. The general manager slammed the protest letter on the table, saying, “Anyone who wants to leave can leave, but he stays!” The promoters saw their protest was ineffective and quietly returned to work.
I had been with the supermarket since it opened, and seeing it gradually getting back on track made me happy and respectful towards him. The strange thing was, although he was strict with other departments, he was very lenient with us in the cashier department. He never issued us any fines. (Later, he told me it was because we were all young girls, and he didn’t want to make us cry.)
About a month later, for some reason—perhaps he increased his management efforts or we cashiers got too complacent—he turned his attention to us. During that time, we were under a lot of pressure, and he criticized us every day in the morning meetings.
Our customer service supervisor wasn’t someone to mess with. “You have your strategies, and I have mine!” She set up two plans. The first was to file complaints, as we reported directly to the financial director. (In large enterprises, while other departments can hire externally, finance must be managed by family members.) She asked me to gather the mistakes of the loss prevention department and report them to the director, adding fuel to the fire.
Finding faults in the loss prevention department was relatively easy, but it led to mutual damage. He became stricter, even timing our bathroom breaks and forbidding us from talking while on duty. Our supervisor retaliated by saying, “If we can’t talk, neither can your team!”
Thus began a silent war between the cashier and loss prevention departments. During that time, he always had a cold, arrogant expression, while I would walk by with my head held high, leading my team with a “forward” gesture, and his expression was always a mix of a smile and helplessness.
The cold war didn’t last long because the team members from both departments got along well and didn’t report each other. The second plan started—spreading rumors. (Since it was an undercover operation, I wasn’t informed at the time.) The initial spreader was a team member from his department, nicknamed “Big Mouth” because he talked too much. He was also our supervisor’s nephew (which I later found out). According to our team, once Big Mouth got excited, he even did a split and tore his pants.
It was around then that I learned more about him, his family, his childhood stories (most of which were false), and his girlfriend.
I began noticing him more, perhaps because I was looking for him, or maybe he was purposely wandering around, often appearing nearby. Sometimes our eyes met.
Then rumors started that his girlfriend was married, and her husband had confronted him. During that cold winter, I rarely saw him. I imagined he must have been heartbroken when his girlfriend chose her husband and went back to the main company. That snowy season, I ended my own first love as well.
Spring, a rainy season, brought a strange downpour in the finance room. I had just left the supermarket when the director called, asking me to return with the keys as they heard water sounds.
It made no sense—there were no water pipes in the finance room. When I rushed back, he and his team were already there. During their routine check, they heard water and called the director.
When I opened the door, I was shocked. In just ten minutes, the finance room was flooded, despite the sunny weather outside. The ceiling and walls were leaking heavily. His team was busy salvaging files and the safes.
Seeing this, I suddenly found him very manly.
In the following days, the finance department set up a temporary office, but the safes remained in the loss prevention office. As the cashier leader, I had to handle the money every night and submit it the next morning. With the finance office locked at night, he offered us half of his monitoring room.
Every night, while we laughed and counted money on one side, he held serious meetings on the other.
We had a habit of giving nicknames. In the cashier team, we had names like Big Ostrich and Big Hippo, and they called me Piggy Leader because I laughed a lot.
Meeting him every night, we naturally got acquainted. I called him Grandpa because he always acted mature and said I was childish.
“I’m only two years younger than you!” I protested, leading my team past him, singing our song, “Oh, Grandpa, your beard is white…”
When he found out his nickname, he posed confidently, “Do I look old?”
He didn’t look old, just very handsome! That was something I decided the first time I saw him.
After payday, he would always say I owed him a meal for helping me out.
I didn’t mind, as I secretly found him quite pleasing. (He later denied this, saying I smiled every time I saw him.)
After treating him, he returned the favor, and this back-and-forth made us even closer. Eventually, he rode his motorbike to take me home every night.
Holding his waist, I noticed he had abs!
After summer, we finally held hands. But half a month later, I received a notice from a school out of town.
Going to beauty school was a decision I made before we got together. Now with the notice, I didn’t change my plan for him. Maybe I wasn’t deeply in love yet, as I didn’t see him in my future plans.
A few days before I left, he suddenly had an internal infection and was hospitalized for several days. The night before I left, I brought fruit and snacks to see him. When I reached the hospital, he called, and I mischievously answered, lowering my voice, “I’m not coming.”
As I excitedly opened his door, he lay with his back to me. Usually sensitive to sounds, he didn’t notice me until I got close.
My smile froze; his eyes were slightly red with teardrops. “What’s wrong?” I asked, puzzled.
He rubbed his eyes, “Got sand in them.” Then he pouted, “You said you weren’t coming.”
My heart skipped a beat. “If I wasn’t coming, why would you cry?”
He wiped his face, “You’re leaving tomorrow. If you didn’t come, I would understand your meaning.”
At that moment, I understood his feelings, seeing his true heart.
His tears and plea made me change my mind, including him in my future plans.
A month later, he went to another technical school in a different city. We called each other daily and met monthly, sharing our dreams and development plans.
After six months, I completed my basic beauty course but, overwhelmed by longing, abandoned my beauty studies and moved to his city to start our future together.
During our relationship, we had laughter and fights, warmth and tears.
Whenever we fought, I remembered his teardrops in the hospital and the warmth of the sunlight when we first passed each other.
A woman has two important men in her life. If they have opposing views, I had to use kind lies to soothe one.
My father didn’t oppose my love but thought a girl shouldn’t suffer too much.
Maybe because I had no children, I didn’t understand how heartbroken my father was when he learned his obedient daughter deceived him.
Seeing me in outdated clothes, selling goods on the street, his hands trembled with pain.
At home, I was a spendthrift, spending my salary in days and buying new clothes monthly. But away from home, I didn’t buy a single pair of underwear in months, struggling to make ends meet.
My father didn’t drag me home but took me out for a meal.
Two men, using their own ways, battled over drinks. Each drank half a liter of famous Northeast liquor,
Red Star Erguotou, with countless beers from noon to night.
They argued, neither yielding, while I, sitting between them, remained silent. I couldn’t say anything to either, not wanting to hurt anyone. (To this day, he would jokingly ask, “Who’s your number one?”)
At night, my father left, not because he lost, but because he didn’t want to see me sad. Just like the story of “The Stealing Child,” the one who lets go first loves you the most.
Watching my father’s lonely departure, tears welled up. He had always been my rock, his presence making me fearless.
But I had to grow up. No matter the hardships ahead, I had to face them, as it was my life.
Soon after, I briefly left him to attend my cousin’s wedding back home.
Upon arrival, I realized it was a trap!
My father and relatives showed me around, praising the luxury and grandeur, then asked, “Can he afford such a house?”
I was silent. (He couldn’t even afford rent; we lived in the cheapest dorm.)
Inside, my father spoke of my cousin’s lavish dowry and asked, “Can he provide that?”
I was silent again. (He couldn’t. We borrowed from friends for our initial stock, and with no experience, had no profits for months.)
Then, I met my cousin’s young, smart bride, and my father just said she was clever.
I remained silent. (Yes, beautiful and smart, just eighteen while my cousin was almost thirty.)
Next, I faced my relatives in a fierce verbal battle.
I fought them all alone; they bombarded me with examples.
“Such and such married so and so, with car, house, and money!”
“This one failed in business, with no money or looks, and her husband left her!”
They bombarded me with success and failure stories for three days and nights.
But my father’s stubbornness ran in me. Once I decided, no one could change my mind.
Their “lessons” met my single reply, “Little horse crosses the river!”
I couldn’t live by others’ views. True life needed my own experience, whether in hardship or joy.
Later, my father admitted it was deliberate, to test my perseverance and resolve, as life had many challenges.
Whether true or not, I proved I wasn’t wrong. My father proudly said, “You’re outstanding!”
Motherly love, like a gentle stream, indulgently cared for every aspect of my life.
After four years of hard work, we finally opened our own store. We stood at the door, hand in hand, vowing to make it thrive.
The small goods business was demanding, so he invited his mother to help. But her arrival brought not only store issues but household ones.
Initially, I was grateful for her help, with a clean home, washed clothes, and hot meals.
But within a week, I noticed his mother liked to criticize me.
Behind closed doors, she told him I was ugly, lazy, and dumb, only fit for street vending, with no job prospects.
Feeling wronged, I remembered my leadership role in private enterprises and the suitors I had. How could she belittle me?
She began “training” me, separating my clothes during laundry, ignoring my room while cleaning, though I was still included at meals. However, snacks and fruits were hidden under her bed.
Frustration and household stress led to frequent arguments, exhausting us.
A child is always dear to their mother. In conflicts, she always sided with him, and with her support, I always lost.
She believed I wasn’t good enough for her son and tried to find him a better match.
“Classmate’s daughter just graduated, single, and your age!”
“Your childhood friend is now beautiful! I have her mom’s number!”
Feeling defeated, she only saw his small achievements, not our struggles together.
But he remembered and stood up for me when his mother belittled me.
His mother often said, “Fools have foolish luck!”
I would smile and let it go, believing true wisdom lay in seeming foolish.
Despite the conflicts, I respected her as his mother, as I had my own.
At home, my mother indulged me, attending to my smallest needs.
Understanding her intentions, I changed my approach.
I woke up an hour earlier to clean the house thoroughly, learning new recipes to cook varied dishes each night.
Despite little sleep and constant fatigue, my efforts were rewarded with her approval and his comfort.
Growing my hair, using makeup again, and shedding extra pounds, I saw a renewed, vibrant self in the mirror. My spring had returned!
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
