Old Jin City on the Wall

Chapter 11 Old Zhou's House

A few days later, Wu Ling prepared three things.

A plate of egg pancakes made by Qin Xiaowan, wrapped in oil paper.

A small bag of flower seeds, and a few pictures of the sea in Sanya saved on my phone.

There's a purpose to making egg pancakes.

Now the teahouse's daily turnover has steadily exceeded 600 yuan, with repeat customers accounting for half. Qin Xiaowan's skills are now impeccable in modern times.

He wanted Old Zhou to try it too.

The recipe originally came from there, so the finished product should be up to standard, right?

The flower seeds and the sea are for Xiao Cui.

I've asked them three times already; it would be too much to refuse if I didn't bring them now.

He went there after the modern restaurant closed.

It's daytime there, and it's summer.

The sun was so strong that even the dogs at the base of the wall lay motionless.

The cicadas were chirping loudly at the alley entrance. The old man selling cold noodles was still there, squatting under the shade of a tree with his shoulder pole. A shirtless man stood next to him, eating his cold noodles. After finishing, he put the bowl back on his shoulder pole, wiped his mouth, and left.

The teahouse was nearly full, and the waiter, with his sleeves rolled up, served tea, sweat dripping from his forehead.

Old Zhou placed his palm-leaf fan on his lap, but didn't wave it.

Seeing Wu Ling come in, he adjusted the tea lid and nodded to him.

"I brought a few things with me today."

Upon hearing the sound, Xiao Cui lifted the curtain and crawled out.

"Shopkeeper!"

"Here you go. This is for you."

Wu Ling handed over the bag of flower seeds.

Xiao Cui took it and flipped it over.

She didn't recognize any of the words printed on the bag—simplified Chinese characters plus pinyin.

She leaned closer to look at it, then held it up to her nose to smell it.

"What is this?"

"Flower seeds. Didn't you ask for them three times already?"

"Really?" Her voice suddenly became thinner, not as crisp as usual.

"Really. They have both red and yellow ones."

"What does it look like?"

"A small flower with many petals. It opens when the sun shines and closes when the sun doesn't."

"Do flowers even know to look to the sky?"

"Yes. It opens when the sun comes out and closes when the sun sets. It does this every day."

"What about rainy days?"

"Don't open it. Keep it closed. Open it when the sun comes out."

"Same here. I don't want to do anything on rainy days either."

Wu Ling smiled.

"Just plant it in a pot. Water it, give it some sun, and it will sprout in a while."

Xiao Cui covered the bag tightly with both hands.

"Thank you, shopkeeper."

"I have something else to show you."

Wu Ling lowered his voice.

"Come with me."

He led Xiao Cui behind the counter, with her back to the lobby.

He took his phone out of his pocket and used his body to shield it from view.

Xiao Cui had heard him mention this piece of metal before; he talked about it on stage last time. It was about the size of a palm and could glow.

This is the first time I've ever seen the actual product.

She took a half step back, a little scared.

Wu Ling opened the photo album and found a picture.

The sea in Sanya is so blue it's almost green, with white waves. The sky and the sea merge into one, making it impossible to distinguish where the water ends and the sky begins.

Turn the screen to Xiao Cui.

She didn't say anything.

He slowly reached out his hand and gently touched the screen with his fingers, as if afraid of breaking it.

"Shopkeeper, what's this?"

"The ocean. The one you said you wanted to see last time."

"The sea."

She repeated it once, her voice very soft, as if she were learning a word for the first time.

Xiao Cui squatted down, her eyes only a fist's distance from the screen.

Wu Ling held his phone up, too afraid to move.

Old Zhou was drinking tea nearby, glancing at the scene out of the corner of his eye, but remained silent.

Her eyes welled up with tears.

She wasn't sad, she was just stunned. The largest body of water she had ever seen was the Jinjiang River, which was already very wide in her eyes.

The blue area on the screen—has no border.

"So big?"

"Hmm. It's bigger than you think. You could walk for days and nights and still not reach the end."

"Are there any fish in there?"

"Yes. Some fish are bigger than this table."

"It's a lie."

"Really. There's something called a whale, which is even longer than this teahouse."

Xiao Cui's mouth opened, and she couldn't close it for a long time.

"Is the water salty or fresh?"

"Salty."

"What's so interesting about saltwater?"

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, saying this, but her eyes never left the screen.

"It's beautiful. If you stand on the beach, the wind will blow your hair all over. The sand under your feet is soft, and your feet will sink in when you step on it."

"I want to go and see."

"after."

"You always say 'later'."

Old Zhou coughed.

"Alright."

Xiao Cui then withdrew her hand and stood up.

She carefully stuffed the flower seeds into her apron pocket, patted it to make sure they were secure.

Suddenly remembering something, he took a cloth bag from the other pocket of his apron and handed it to Wu Ling.

"Shopkeeper, this is for you."

Wu Ling opened it and took a look.

Five silver dollars, neatly stacked.

"What is this?"

"The medicine you brought last time, we didn't finish it. Grandpa Zhou told me to take the rest to Boss Zhao at the pharmacy. Boss Zhao looked at it over and over for a long time, saying he couldn't recognize a single word on it, and asked me how much it cost. I said I didn't know. He set his own price."

"Then you can keep it yourself."

"Uncle Zhou helped pay for my mother's burial. We don't usually need that much money when we stay at the teahouse. Uncle Zhou said we don't need to pay him back, and that I should give it to you."

"What are you going to do with me?"

"What Grandpa Zhou said is that the things you brought are valuable, and that you can use the money."

Wu Ling hadn't expected that Old Zhou hadn't mentioned anything to him, but had actually been thinking so far ahead behind the scenes.

He glanced at Old Zhou.

Old Zhou drank his tea without looking up.

"There's one more thing," Xiao Cui said in a low voice, "Boss Zhao asked me where that medicine came from. I said I didn't know. He asked twice more. I still said I didn't know."

"You did the right thing. From now on, if anyone asks, just say you don't know."

"Yes. When he came to see me later, he said something else." Xiao Cui paused, "He said if there was any more, he would take it no matter how much it cost."

Wu Ling put the cloth bag away and made a mental note of it.

"I'm going to plant flowers."

She ran into the back, her footsteps thumping.

Wu Ling sat down next to Old Zhou and placed the egg pancake in front of him.

Three, golden brown with a slight caramel color, folded in half, with the brown sugar filling peeking out from the sides.

"My friend made it according to the recipe. You should try it."

Old Zhou didn't rush to take it; he first brought it closer to smell it.

Then pick one up and break it open.

Before putting it in your mouth, look at the cross-section first.

"Was this made according to that recipe?"

"Yes. Not a single step has been changed."

Old Zhou put the broken half into his mouth, slowly grinding it, his eyes half-closed.

Wu Ling waited.

After finishing chewing, I picked up the teacup and took a sip of tea.

He picked up the second one, broke it in half, and rubbed the crumbs on his fingertips.

"The fermented rice is in."

"Release them."

"The amount is wrong. It's too much."

"That's not right? The recipe says 'a little,' and she added just a little."

"Is 'a little' a lot?"

"She tried it herself. She dipped a little bit in, and stopped when it smelled right."

"Does it smell right?"

Old Zhou shook his head.

"You can't smell fermented rice with your nose. You have to use your tongue. Put a little on the tip of your tongue, and when the sour taste just begins to emerge, that's when it's right. Your friend used his nose, which is too much. Even a drop off makes a difference."

"Is that all that's missing?"

"more than."

Old Zhou pointed to the plate with his palm-leaf fan.

"The flour is too fine. Stone-ground flour has both coarse and fine textures, giving it a grainy feel when you bite into it. This doesn't have that; it looks like it's been ground countless times, the very core of the flour has been ground away."

Master Liu, who was listening nearby, also spoke up.

"I think so too. The dough has risen too evenly. Flour from the local mill will always have uneven textures no matter how it rises. Yours..." He thought for a moment, "...it's too uniform, it doesn't look like it was ground by a human."

It wasn't ground by humans, it was ground by machines.

"And the oil," Old Zhou continued, "the rapeseed oil tastes right, but it's not locally pressed. Local rapeseed oil has a grassy smell. Do you know what that is? It's the pungent smell of raw rapeseed, which lingers even after pressing. Your oil is too clear. It's clean, but it lacks that essential quality."

"So, what score would you give it?"

Old Zhou didn't answer how many points to give.

"Your friend's work is quite good. He flipped the rice at the right time, controlled the heat well, and brought out the layers of flavor in the fermented rice. He's on the right track."

"So where did the problem lie?"

"I just mentioned three things. Too much fermented rice, too fine flour, and the oil isn't local. When you put all three together, the flavor is off."

"How much more off?"

"I've said everything I need to say. Try it yourself."

Old Zhou pushed the last dish in the plate to him.

Wu Ling took a bite and chewed it carefully.

Even though it was a bit cold, it was still delicious, even better than when he and Qin Xiaowan first experimented with it.

"I can't taste the difference."

He felt ashamed as soon as he said it.

"If you can't taste the difference, that's fine."

Old Zhou put down his palm-leaf fan and gave him a rare serious look.

"You've gotten so used to the food from your place that your tongue no longer recognizes the taste here."

"Will I be able to recognize you in the future?"

"Eat more. Try more. Eat less of that junk you're giving away. Like your ears, your tongue needs use or loses." Old Zhou cleared the plate away. "The recipe is the bone, the ingredients are the meat. If the bone is right but the meat is wrong, it'll just fill you up, but not be satisfying enough."

"How can we achieve 100%?"

Qin Xiaowan is so good that it amazes all the modern guests.

But this is where the recipe originated, so the standards are different.

Here, "delicious" isn't enough; it has to be "right."

"Come with me."

Old Zhou stood up.

The teahouse fell silent.

It didn't quiet down gradually; it quieted down all at once.

Old Zhou almost never stands up after entering the house each day.

No one has counted how many years he has held this position.

The waiter carried tea around him, and the sounds of two old men playing chess echoed around him.

He is part of the teahouse, just like that old wall, never moving.

Now he moved and walked towards the door.

"Grandpa Zhou stood up?"

Am I seeing things?

The waiter stood there holding the teapot, unaware that tea was overflowing from the spout.

Xiao Cui's voice came from behind.

"Uncle Zhou? Are you going out?"

Old Zhou didn't turn around.

"Watch the door."

Master Liu came to his senses and shook his head.

"I've lived for so many years, and this is the first time I've ever seen Grandpa Zhou go out on the street at noon."

Wu Ling followed Old Zhou out the door.

The light from the alley shone down on us.

This was Wu Ling's first time walking on the streets during the Republic of China era.

I used to stay in the teahouse every time I came here, and I never went out.

Old Zhou walked ahead, at a moderate pace.

The back of the thin shirt was soaked with sweat, leaving a dark patch.

He walks with a slight hunch, his hands behind his back, his steps unhurried. He's walked this familiar path for decades, and he knows where the corner is even with his eyes closed.

The alley was narrow, and the walls on both sides were mottled, with moss climbing up from the base of the walls.

There was a row of pickled vegetable jars drying in front of a house, with bowls covering the mouths of the jars and stones weighing down the bowls.

Sunlight streamed through the gap between the two houses, cutting strips of light and shadow across the ground.

An old woman was dozing on a bamboo chair next door, with a basket of green beans on her lap. She had only picked half of them before falling asleep.

The cat was curled up at her feet, its ears twitching, but its eyes remained closed.

A man carrying water walked over from the opposite side, the wooden buckets at both ends of his carrying pole swaying with water.

Upon seeing Old Zhou, he slowed his pace by half a beat.

"Uncle Zhou? You went out today?"

"Um."

"That's unusual. I haven't seen you out in a long time."

Old Zhou didn't stop.

Wu Ling quickened his pace and caught up, walking alongside him.

"Where are we going?"

"My home."

"Your home?"

"My wife made peach shortbread today. You'll know exactly what it tastes like once you try it."

After turning a corner, the alley became even narrower, and Wu Ling could still smell the smoky aroma of roasted Sichuan peppercorns.

Someone wrote "GG" on the wall with a brush, but the writing is now blurred.

The bluestone slabs on the ground were worn smooth, and some parts had collapsed, causing them to warp when stepped on.

A rickshaw sped past the alleyway in the distance, the driver's bare feet clattering on the bluestone slabs.

Further away came the creaking of a rickshaw, and a vendor was calling out, "Sharpening scissors and knives!" The sound trailed off from one end of the alley to the other, drawn out lazily and for a long time.

The two walked one after the other, their footsteps making different sounds on the bluestone slabs.

Wu Ling suddenly realized something.

These sounds, these smells, these lights and shadows—all of them are gone in modern times.

Pickling jars, water-carrying poles, and knife-sharpening calls.

Even the bluestone paths have been paved with cement.

He walked in an alley that would be unrecognizable a hundred years later.

Old Zhou stopped in front of an old wooden door, most of the paint had peeled off, revealing the grayish-white wood.

Half of a faded Spring Festival couplet was pasted on the frame; the first line was still there, but the second line had fallen off sometime ago.

He pushed it, and the axle made a loud, stiff sound.

Wu Ling followed him inside.

He had a strange feeling in his heart.

Having visited the Republic of China era so many times, this is the first time I've ever stepped into someone's home.

Teahouses are public places that anyone can go to.

Home is different. Old Zhou brought him into his home, and he couldn't explain what that meant.

The courtyard is not big.

A pomegranate tree was in full bloom with red flowers, and a layer of them had fallen to the ground.

There was a well under the tree, its rim worn smooth.

The stove was set up on the right side of the yard; it was an earthen stove with an iron pot, and firewood was piled up next to it.

There was still a fire in the stove, and blue smoke was rising from the stove opening. The air was filled with the aroma of fried lard.

A woman was standing in front of the stove.

She was in her fifties, thin, with her hair neatly tied up, and flour stuck to her apron.

She was kneading dough, her hands never stopping, when she heard the door open and looked up.

"You're back? With others?"

"Um."

She glanced at Wu Ling, but didn't stop working.

"Is this the young manager you were talking about?"

"Um."

"I've heard you mention him." She lowered her head and continued kneading the dough. "He looks somewhat like his grandfather when he was young. Sit down. It'll be ready soon."