It was a Sunday afternoon when a friend invited me out for hotpot. Just as we stepped into the restaurant, rain began to pour in torrents. The rare downpour instantly cooled the stifling air, and the rich aroma rising from the bubbling broth made the whole midday feel especially comforting.
As we sat there enjoying the food, sipping beer, and swapping lighthearted stories, my mood — long troubled by the summer heat and a string of petty worries — finally began to ease.
A soaked stranger interrupts the warmth
Just then, an elderly man stumbled through the door. He was soaked to the bone, water dripping from his clothes. His hair was nearly all white, and he was so thin he looked like skin and bones. His weather-worn face carried the deep marks of years spent laboring under the sun. Standing there in the grand, gold-accented restaurant, his frail frame shivered, and a flicker of timid light glimmered in his eyes — like a frightened mouse suddenly caught in daylight.
He stood silently for a long time, gathering courage, before finally approaching the tables to try and sell the eggs in his basket. In a pleading voice, he repeated over and over: “These are free-range eggs, truly free-range. I’ve saved them up one by one…”
I imagined he must have rehearsed so many words to help sell those 30 eggs. But the diners had no interest in hearing him out. They waved him off impatiently, as though swatting away a beggar.
Table after table, he performed the same futile little act. At the tables with children, he even tried forcing a smile, coaxing them with: “Good eggs! Ask your mom and dad to buy some.” He didn’t even spare the babies in strollers.
After making the rounds of 30 or so tables, not a single egg had been sold. Just as he began heading toward our corner, a busboy finally lost patience and brusquely shoved him back out into the rain.
An act of unexpected kindness
I had been watching him the whole time. In his eyes, I saw not just urgency, but despair — deep and raw. Maybe there was an urgent need at home that forced him out on this rainy day. Was his wife sick? Was a school fee due? Or maybe — just maybe — he simply wanted to buy a few sweets for his grandchild. I prefer to believe it was the third reason.
Quietly, I slipped outside and bought all his eggs. I paid him 15 yuan [US$2] — a small amount, but one that brought tears of gratitude to his eyes. He had only asked for 13, but didn’t have change to return.
Chided by friends
When I left the table, my friends began guessing where I had gone. Their guesses were all over the place, but only my wife got it right. She had noticed, like I had, the old man making his way around the restaurant. When I returned carrying a bundle wrapped in blue flowered cloth, my friends laughed — some at the connection between my wife and me, but most at what they saw as childish kindness.
“What age do you think this is?” they joked.
The laughter turned quickly into a kind of moral lecture. Each friend took turns warning me with the concern of a parent scolding a naïve child. They told stories of being tricked by egg sellers, deceived by vendors who put on pitiful appearances, or punished by fate for showing misplaced kindness. Some even spoke of beggars with fake injuries and hidden wealth.
I hadn’t expected such a formal critique. I bit my tongue for a long time, but finally couldn’t hold back: “So what if I was tricked? It was just 15 yuan. But have you thought — if he really needed that money, how much comfort that small kindness might have brought him?”
A memory from the past
Though they went quiet, I could sense they still clung to their views. I wanted to tell them a story from years ago in Chongqing. I had visited Baigongguan (a historical site), and on my way back, my wallet was stolen. I had nothing left but a box of commemorative coins I’d bought for 100 yuan [about US$14].
On the streets of Shapingba, I tried to sell it for 50 yuan just to afford a 5 yuan fare back to my dorm. I asked nearly a hundred people, even dropping the price to 5 yuan, but no one would buy it. People looked at me coldly, even suspiciously — as if only a scammer would try to sell something worth 100 yuan for just 5.
In the end, it was an old woman who saved me. She was the only one willing to believe me. She handed me the fare, but refused to take the coins. That five-yuan gesture saved my faith in humanity. I can say that my act of buying those eggs — and the fragile kindness I still carry — can be traced back to her.
I wanted to share this story with my friends, but when I saw the contempt on their faces, I stayed silent.
The lingering weight of a simple act
In the days that followed, I boiled those eggs with unusual care, afraid that one bad egg might somehow crack my fragile faith in kindness.
For a long time, I didn’t dare return to that same hotpot restaurant. I was afraid I’d see that old man again — and that if he turned out to be a professional egg vendor, my friends’ laughter would sting even more.
Who would have thought that one simple act of kindness — just a normal transaction — would leave such a weight on my spirit? Maybe that’s why fewer people are willing to do good these days. But I have no regrets.
Even if I was deceived, it only cost me 15 yuan. What I gained was something far more valuable — the chance to choose compassion over indifference. And in a world growing colder by the day, that choice still matters.
Translated by Katy Liu
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