Soup Without a Price

In winter, the leftover radishes froze. She couldn't bear to throw them away, so she made soup. I swore then that I would never let anything go without a price.” “So you put every person on a price list?” Shen asked. Gu looked up, his gaze sharp again. “What can be counted won't be wasted. Name your price for what you have. Your restaurant, your debts, unit seventeen—even your father's pot. I can place all of it safely.” “It's not for sale.” “Young people mistake not selling for integrity.” Gu set down his spoon. “It only means they have not seen the right number.” Before leaving, he gave Shen a card with an address on the back: the old South City Market, the parcel Shen's landlord intended to sell as a package.