1
A bustling shopping district.
Su Qiong was holding a thick stack of leaflets as he handed them out to the passing pedestrians.
It was midwinter, and the light casted by the setting sun lacked all warmth. Su Qiong’s fair cheeks and ears were reddened from the chilly, biting wind.
Su Qiong used his free hand to rub warmth into his ears. He passed someone a leaflet. He smiled warmly, revealing a set of small, white teeth, his fine eyebrows curving: “Grand opening, all dishes sixty to eighty percent off. Guests are welcome.”
The pedestrian took the leaflet expressionlessly, walked two steps away, then threw the paper on the ground.
Su Qiong diligently walked over and picked up the leaflet, shook off the dirt, and continued to pass them out.
Two hours passed like this, then Su Qiong went into the hotpot restaurant to collect his payment.
Fifteen yuan per hour, to be collected at the day’s end.
Su Qiong took the money from the hotpot restaurant’s manager, withstanding the somewhat contemptuous gaze of the other. He smiled with the brilliance of sunlight: “Thank you.”
The manager: “…”
Su Qiong waved his hand happily: “Goodbye.”
2
Su Qiong took the thirty yuan, then faced the wind and walked along the street.
He walked toward the vegetable market near his home. Even though it took one hour, he could save one yuan fifty on a bus ticket.
Su Qiong did some internal calculations as he strode along joyfully. His pants were faded, the hem worn out, and the sweater beneath his down jacket full of tiny holes. He had been wearing his sneakers every day for nearly two years, cleaning them once a week. They were so old that they had changed shape.
The ‘Qiong’ in Su Qiong seemed like a name, but it was entirely referring to the capitalized ‘Poverty[1]穷 Qiong, meaning poor, poverty.’
Su Qiong gripped the thirty yuan tightly in his hand, not daring to hide it in his pants pocket. One twenty yuan bill and one ten yuan bill; both bills absorbed the sweat of his palm.
Thirty yuan, in Su Qiong’s opinion, was too much. If he put it in his pocket, it could be lost.
Because Su Qiong was a God of Poverty.
Su Qiong’s extraordinary power to turn gold into lead doomed him to be forever unable to possess any wealth beyond subsistence level. Any money he earned would disappear in a variety of bizarre ways, and any valuables he touched would either be ruined or be lost. His only fixed asset was his little apartment, which was given to him by the Heavenly Court while he was descended to the mortal realm.
3
After one hour, Su Qiong arrived at the vegetable market. He used his thirty yuan to buy some vegetables and a few steamed buns[2]specifically mantou, without filling, as well as some soap and a washbasin.
Because the bottom of his previous washbasin had fallen off.
In Su Qiong’s home, there was only a bed, one stool, and one pot on the stove. The most expensive thing he had was an electric heater.
And the stool only had three legs and had to lean on the wall for support…
For dinner, Su Qiong had boiled vegetables and rice. Because the vegetables were boiled, he could save oil.
Once he finished eating and washing up, the exhausted Su Qiong sat his butt down on his bed.
The bed produced a dangerous creaking noise…
Su Qiong was startled and immediately stopped moving.
If the bed broke, he would have to sleep on the floor because he did not have enough money to buy a bed.
The little God of Poverty slowly laid down prone on the bed and spread his arms and legs out.
Under fixed conditions, if the weight distribution grew wider and the pressure grew smaller, then the bed should not break.
The little God of Poverty had a strict philosophy of life.
4
Su Qiong rested motionlessly on the bed for a while. It was winter, and the inside of his home was ice cold. Su Qiong felt like he was freezing, so he got up and squatted in front of the electric heater.
“As long as I turn the heater on, it’s fine.” Su Qiong fantasized in expectation, but remembered this month’s water bill, so he decided to abandon the idea of turning the electric heater on. He shivered, consoling himself with his vivid imaginings.
It was truly too cold, too cold to sleep.
“Who made me a God of Poverty ah.” Su Qiong smilied bitterly and sighed. He picked up his keys and went outside to walk around.
After walking in circles a few times, his body had warmed up, so he went to quickly return to his room so he could go to sleep while he was still warm. Su Qiong thought to himself, on the way home, I’ll use my last coin to pick up a carton of milk at the convenience store so I can drink it in the morning.
In the moment when Su Qiong was crossing the road, a black car rounded the corner. Su Qiong had not been looking out for cars and did not evade in time. He was hit by the car and flew some distance away, rolling on the ground a few times.
“Are you alright?” A person leapt out of the vehicle and supported Su Qiong, asking urgently.
“I seem to be okay…” Su Qiong swiftly moved his elbows and knees and discovered that he did not feel any pain, so he went to comfort the other person, “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
“I’m really sorry.” When the other person saw that Su Qiong was without any major injuries, they breathed a sigh of relief and said, “I’ll take you to the hospital so you can get checked out.”
Su Qiong did not look at them, instead squatting on the ground to search around for the dime that flew out when he was hit. He said absent-mindedly: “No need, I’m really okay. It’s not entirely your fault either, I wasn’t looking just now.”
The person was silent for a moment, then persisted: “Just now, you flew so far. It’s impossible that you aren’t injured.”
Su Qiong stuck his bum in the air as he reached under the car to grab a fifty cent coin from below. He insisted: “I’m truly uninjured. You can go.”
Regardless if he was a great or small one, Su Qiong was a God of Poverty, after all.
5
Su Qiong squatted on the ground and counted his change, revealing a grateful smile: “Three yuan twenty. That’s good, nothing’s missing.”
The person who drove the car stared at Su Qiong with a complicated expression.
Su Qiong gathered his change, then went to head to the convenience store.
“Wait.” The person suddenly reached out a hand and caught Su Qiong’s arm, then softly said, “Your pants…”
Su Qiong looked down and saw that a large hole had been torn in his pants, which he had washed so many times that they were faded. It was obvious that this had occurred just now when he was rolling on the ground.
The fabric was old. He had washed it too many times and worn them too long.
“At least allow me to compensate you for your pants…” The other said apologetically.
Su Qiong looked up. In front of him was a tall, handsome young man. He wore a finely tailor suit of high-quality fabric, like he had just come here from an important event. On the hand grasping his arm was a shiny silver watch, and the car that had just sent him flying was polished to perfection, gleaming with a low-key luxurious luster the street’s lamp light. The man’s body emitted a faint smell of cologne. From the top of his head to the bottom of his shoes, not a hair was out of place, like his entire body had been sculpted with great precision and care. Even the air around him seemed to glow.
Su Qiong was dumbstruck, then his small face suddenly turned bright red.
The man seemed to become aware that something was improper. His mouth moved, like he wanted to say something.
“I-I…I’m really okay!” Then, Su Qiong suddenly did his best to free himself, not even buying the milk. He clutched the three yuan twenty tightly, and with the large hole in his pants, fled in defeat.
Translator Notes:
Going back to translate these chapters myself. For now, you can find chapter 3 at Foxaholic (link on summary page), then resume with chapter 4 here.