The glass elevator doors opened with a heavy rush of mountain air.
Twenty minutes had passed. Tie Niu had not sent just a few workers. He had organized the logistics like an assault battalion.
Two hundred middle-aged women in clean cotton smocks marched out onto the sixth floor. They had flour on their forearms and red aprons tied around their waists. Some carried heavy wooden rolling pins tucked into their sashes. Others held bamboo baskets filled with green mountain scallions, dried winter mushrooms, and cleavers wrapped in oiled cloth.
Leading them was Auntie Zhang, a stout woman with laugh lines around her eyes and red cheeks.
“Chairman Lin! Grandma Chen!” Auntie Zhang called out, her voice loud and cheery. “Commander Tie said we were getting new uniforms! We brought the prep work with us so we don’t fall behind on lunch service!”
Behind her, one hundred and ninety-nine cafeteria aunties nodded enthusiastically. Their chatter echoed across the quiet, perfumed salon.
“Look at this room,” one auntie said, admiring the lavender draperies. “Smells like my daughter’s bridal powder. Very fancy.”
“Mind your boots, Sister Liu,” another whispered. “The floor is shinier than my best copper wok. Don’t drop any onion skins on the rugs.”
