At the dimly lit dawn of the seafood pier, the roar of fuel-powered three-wheeled cargo motorcycles jolts sleeping fishing boats awake. Old Zhou skillfully loads lively crucian carp into oxygenated water tanks, where ice cubes in the truck bed fizz and melt, forming tiny streams on the iron plate — this “iron brother” that has accompanied him through seven summer fishing bans still bears scratches on its side panels from last year’s typhoon-day rush to transport seafood. By the time the first early-morning market buyers dial their phones, the fuel-powered three-wheeled cargo motorcycle has already rolled over the damp stone pavement, turning the silver glimmer in the water tanks into a fresh expectation on thousands of family dinner tables.

On the tea mountains of Yunnan’s border, fuel-powered three-wheeled cargo motorcycles serve as “mobile tea baskets” for tea farmers. After picking pre-dawn Pu’er tea buds with a bamboo basket on her back, Afang turns and pours the tender green tips into the truck bed. As the vehicle jostles along the winding dirt mountain road, newly sprouted tea branches hook onto the hemp rope at the bed’s edge, like natural garlands for this dark green companion. This “tea garden messenger” that can navigate through clouds ensures newly withered tea leaves reach the primary processing factory before sunset, locking the fragrance of every delicate leaf into the expectation of time’s aging.

Beside the shoe repair stall in an urban old community, fuel-powered three-wheeled cargo motorcycles are “treasure chests” for craftsmen. In Master Zhang’s truck bed, sole glue, shoelace boxes, and leather scraps are neatly arranged, with a photo of his grandson’s kindergarten graduation pasted on the toolbox lid. The cobblestone roads in the alley are potholed, but whenever he rides this “jingling little treasure trove” around the corner, he always sees old customers waiting with worn shoes in their hands — this motorcycle carrying three generations of shoe repair craftsmanship gives every focused moment of bending over to mend shoes a sense of purpose.

At the entrance of suburban furniture factories, fuel-powered three-wheeled cargo motorcycles form a “last mile” transportation fleet. In installer Liu’s truck bed, sofa armrests, dining table legs, and assembly manuals are tightly wrapped in anti-collision foam. Between high-rise residential complexes, underground garage ramps where large trucks cannot enter become the perfect stage for fuel-powered three-wheeled cargo motorcycles. When homeowners open their doors to find furniture intact, Liu always pats the truck bed and says, “Thanks to this buddy, good furniture isn’t afraid of narrow roads.”

In front of the emergency building late at night, fuel-powered three-wheeled cargo motorcycles transform into “ferrymen” of the life channel. Master Wang, who lives in an urban village, always keeps a first-aid kit in his rearview mirror. During a rainstorm night, he once carried a pregnant woman about to give birth in his truck bed; though the vehicle swayed violently as floodwater submerged the tires, it stayed steady and moved forward. Today, the non-slip mat in his truck bed still retains fuzz from a baby’s swaddling blanket — this motorcycle that has witnessed new life brings a tangible sense of security to every emergency.

Fuel-powered three-wheeled cargo motorcycles have never been stars under the spotlight, yet they prop up thousands of lives in the crevices of urban life: they are fishermen’s dawn alarms, tea farmers’ time contracts, craftsmen’s mobile shops, installers’ precise partners, and even warm supports for strangers. Choosing one is not choosing a cold machine, but a silent comrade — one that provides steady support on every day of overcoming obstacles, and allows every ordinary effort to roll toward broader possibilities with the turning of its wheels.