Six years ago, Cheng Yi boarded the earliest bus from Boston to New York, her body and spirit utterly exhausted. When she got off, she didn't head straight to her university to register. She dragged her suitcase through the vast city, ticking off a long list of tasks: find a place to live, open a bank account, get a phone plan, and quietly search for a job to supplement her living expenses. Everything fell into place surprisingly smoothly. Her days were packed to the brim, leaving her so drained at night that she collapsed into bed without a moment to dwell on anything else.
With a bachelor's degree from a low ranking Chinese university, the only American school willing to accept her was not a famous institution. She enrolled in a two-year master's program in Chinese Literature—a Chinese student coming to the US to study Chinese. How bizarre that sounded.
But this was America. Here, anything was possible.
On her first day of class, her peers—upon learning she was from China—swarmed around her, hoping she could help them with their assignment. Reality quickly gave her a harsh lesson: it wasn't going to be easy. The rigour of American universities was far beyond her expectations. The myth that Chinese students could cruise through and easily get As? A mere fantasy. The reality was that she stumbled badly in her very first exam—all because she wasn't familiar with traditional Chinese characters.
Ironically, she couldn't even keep up with the classmates who had asked her for help.
New York by day was the world's financial centre. By night, it was a haven for criminals, infamous for its muggings.
Cheng Yi's first experience of being robbed happened less than 20 meters from her apartment. A shadow suddenly lunged at her from the darkness, and before she could react, her handbag was snatched. She didn't scream, didn't chase, didn't even call the police. She just returned home, asked her landlord to unlock the door, and fell asleep as if nothing had happened.
Where there's a first time, there's often a second, and a third. She smartened up—she never carried more than twenty dollars in cash, which was about the minimum needed for a drug addict. Just in case, she stashed an extra twenty in the restaurant's locker, so even if she were mugged, she'd still have subway fare.
She moved out of her low-rent apartment in a high-crime area and into a tiny room in old Chinatown, just a fifteen-minute walk from Wall Street. Although the rent was higher, being close to many restaurants where she could work saved her a lot on transportation costs.
More terrifying than the muggings, however, was the crippling cost of tuition. After paying her school fees, Cheng Yi has to walk through Chinatown, going door-to-door in search of work. Her student visa prohibited her from legally working, and the places willing to hire illegal workers offered harsh conditions and pitiful pay. She was lucky enough to land a position at an unassuming Cantonese restaurant. Its only appeal was one thing—they offered free meals.
The small restaurant hired her for her fluency in Cantonese, which compensated for her petite frame and inability to handle the heavier tasks. She started as a runner and order taker. After her first day on the job, she realized that her physical limitations were a serious disadvantage. By the time she finished her shift, she had to lean against the wall, inching her way home step by step.
The restaurant's chef and owner were all Chinese, while the rest of the waitstaff came from Southeast Asia—Filipinos, Vietnamese, and Indonesians. They took special care of Cheng Yi, rarely asking her to do any of the heavy lifting. She mainly used her language skills to help guests place their orders.Most of the servers' income came from tips, Cheng Yi did her best to provide excellent service, hoping to increase the total share for everyone. Half a year flew by, and Cheng Yi gradually found a sense of belonging in that little restaurant.
After all, she wasn't the only one far from home.
The Vietnamese uncle had fled to America alone on a boat during the Vietnam War, losing contact with his family. The Filipina auntie was one of the countless domestic workers who'd left home to work abroad. Unable to bear her employer's abuse, she ran away, taking on illegal work in America to earn enough to support her children back home. Then there was the cheerful Indonesian boy who always seemed so carefree. That is, until one evening when Cheng Yi heard him sobbing in the back alley. He told her that he'd stayed in America for a chance at a better life, but the cost was missing the last moments of his father's life.
That night, Cheng Yi saw her first snowfall. The fluffy white flakes fell silently, blanketing the quiet streets. She stood there, staring blankly at the deserted road. The snow seemed to muffle all sounds, covering the sorrow and bitterness beneath.
Her heart, slowly, was frozen over by New York's snow.
No joy.
Without sorrow.
The restaurant owner was a tough but soft-hearted man. He was loud and abrasive, but whenever one of his employees was in trouble, he was the first to step up and help. Knowing that Cheng Yi was struggling financially, he quietly helped her find a cheaper, reliable place to live nearby so she could settle in properly. Over time, Cheng Yi became the trusted young girl in the restaurant, and regular customers would even ask for her by name to take their orders.
One such regular was a refined, elderly Chinese gentleman who spoke fluent Cantonese. He visited almost every day, always ordering simple home-style dishes and sitting alone in a corner, gazing out the window at the bustling streets. He'd exchange a few words with Cheng Yi each time, asking her about the latest news from China. Sometimes, he'd try the new dishes she recommended, always tipping generously. He once mentioned that his son and daughter-in-law had moved to California, while his grandson worked on Wall Street. With no one at home to cook for him, he ended up eating out every day. Each time he walked in and out of the restaurant alone, a sense of desolation tugged at Cheng Yi's heart.
When the snow-covered winter arrived, Cheng Yi didn't see the elderly gentleman again. The owner said he'd slipped on the ice and was hospitalized. Cheng Yi didn't dwell on it too much—not because she was numb to life's ups and downs, but because the Christmas holiday season was the restaurant's busiest time of year. She didn't even have time to sigh.