Old Jin City on the Wall

Chapter 21 The Shopkeeper Sleeping on the Floor

Wu Ling discovered for the first time that silence was more frightening than fire.

Just now, someone was shouting, someone was running, and bronze fragments were being smashed open by a stone hammer.

Now only the wind remains.

The wind swept across the gray ground, blurring the footprints and silencing the sounds.

He had already walked around the earthen platform once.

There is no door.

Then they walked several dozen steps in the direction they came from.

still none.

The ash quickly covered his footprints; the front footprints were still there, but the back footprints had already faded.

Wu Ling stopped.

He dared not go any further.

It's not that I'm afraid of fire.

He suddenly realized that he had no idea which side was "before".

There were no street signs three thousand years ago.

There are no streetlights.

There is no navigation.

He turned on his phone.

Battery level is 9%.

The signal bars were completely empty.

Time jumped for a moment, then stopped.

Wu Ling stared at it for a few seconds, then turned off his phone and put it back in his pocket.

The most useful thing in modern times is just a piece of glass that's almost out of power.

"Oh no!"

The sound was blown away by the wind as soon as it came out.

He turned and walked back.

The bronze tree is still in the distance.

The bowl under the tree is still there.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the bowl.

This relief is completely unreasonable.

We can't send the bowl back to him.

But in this grayness, only it resembles something from a teahouse.

Wu Ling returned to the tree and placed the wooden stake on the burnt earth board.

I took a picture.

thump.

The voice trailed off.

No door appeared.

He patted it again.

thump.

The birds on the bronze tree did not move on either occasion.

"Wasn't it working quite well just now?"

He looked down at the gavel.

The character "唤" at the bottom is covered in dust, which has seeped into the strokes and makes it even clearer.

Wu Ling blew on it.

The dust wasn't blown away much; instead, it splattered all over my face.

He coughed twice.

"OK."

Even you're ignoring me now.

After he finished speaking, he put the gavel back into another pocket.

When people are afraid, they tend to talk to things.

Talk to the tree.

Tell Xingmu.

Talk to a bowl that won't move.

It's better than hearing yourself breathing.

He was really tired.

It's not that I'm sleepy.

It's as if the whole person has been baked out by fire and then filled with ash.

I didn't sleep all night, reading until dawn. I pushed open the door and stepped into three thousand years ago, where I shouted for fire, struck the gavel, and drank a mouthful of water with an ashen taste.

He didn't feel tired when he was still here.

Now that people have left, they only catch up when they're exhausted.

Wu Ling found a spot near the tree roots where there was less dust.

It's not exactly clean.

It's just a little shallower than other places.

He swept it with his sleeve.

After sweeping, I looked down at my cuffs.

The cuffs were dirtier than the ground.

"It's not something to be particular about."

He sat down.

The gray floor was so hard it hurt your skin.

He slowly lay down, took the gavel out of his pocket, and pressed it against his chest.

Before closing his eyes, Wu Ling glanced at the bronze tree.

Nine birds were still perched on the branch.

I didn't look at him.

A very pathetic thought popped into Wu Ling's mind.

The floor tiles in modern teahouses are at least flat.

The thought had barely formed when the space beneath him disappeared.

The entire gray area suddenly disappeared behind him.

The body fell straight down.

Wu Ling tried to open his eyes, but couldn't.

There was no wind in my ears, only a very faint metallic sound.

The gavel in my chest felt heavier and heavier.

It was so heavy it made it hard for him to breathe.

He didn't know how long he had been down there.

Maybe a long time.

Maybe it will only be a blink of an eye.

Until I bumped into something cold from behind.

Wu Lingcai was finally able to open his eyes.

The cracks in the bricks on the teahouse floor pressed against his face, feeling a chilling, tangible coldness.

He tried to get up.

It didn't move.

Wu Ling lay down on the ground and checked.

It is not the ancient Shu state.

It's not a fire.

It's my family's teahouse.

That wouldn't be too shameful.

So he closed his eyes again. Since he couldn't get up, he might as well sleep for a while.

This period of time is very long.

He was still lying there in my dream.

But the floor tiles were transformed into a large tea table.

The table was ridiculously large, as if the entire teahouse had been laid flat on its side.

He lay on the table, with a ceramic bowl beside him.

Old Zhou sat beside him, holding a covered bowl and watching him.

"Are you awake?"

Wu Ling tried to sit up, but his body was out of his control.

"Old Zhou, am I back?"

Old Zhou scraped off the lid of the teapot.

"What do you mean? Come on in and have a seat."

"I'm already lying down."

Old Zhou nodded.

"Then lie down."

A series of slapping sounds came from the other end of the table.

Qin Xiaowan sat there, holding a calculator, pressing the keys louder than a gavel.

"They'll charge a tea fee even if you're just lying down."

Wu Ling touched his pocket.

He pulled out a handful of mud.

He handed the mud over.

Qin Xiaowan stared at it for a long time.

"This cannot be used to offset the debt."

"antique."

"Can you provide proof of origin?"

Wu Ling shut up.

Suddenly, a hole appeared in the tabletop, and a head popped out from underneath.

Xiao Cui squatted there, holding a few flower seeds in her hands.

"Shopkeeper, if we plant this, will it bloom?"

Just as Wu Ling was about to say he didn't know, a tree suddenly grew out of the middle of the table.

It's not a sycamore tree.

It's not the kind of tree painted on the back wall of a teahouse.

It is made of bronze.

The branches stretched upwards, layer upon layer, with nine birds perched on the branches.

All nine birds looked down at him at the same time.

One of the birds opened its mouth.

The voice belongs to Wu Jianguo.

"You're sleeping on the floor again? Don't you care about your back?"

Wu Ling was so frightened he almost sat up.

I still didn't get to sit down.

Just then, the gavel rang out from afar.

thump.

Wu Ling woke up.

I didn't wake up naturally.

It was the key to the front door that clicked.

Click.

Another one.

The lock cylinder was a bit stiff, and the person who came in was getting impatient trying to turn it.

As soon as the door was pushed open, the morning light rushed in.

Qin Xiaowan entered the house carrying two guokui (a type of flatbread) and liangfen (a type of cold noodle), with a little red oil seeping from the corner of the paper bag.

She took two steps and then stopped.

I saw that Wu Ling was still lying on the floor tiles next to the back door.

"...Are you dead inside?"

Wu Ling moved slightly.

My back hurts.

My neck hurts.

My back hurts too.

Wu Jianguo's bird is right.

I really don't want my back anymore.

He propped himself up and sat up.

The gavel slid from his chest to his legs.

The back door was closed.

The door panel is still the same old door panel.

There was no light or ash coming through the crack in the door.

He looked down at the soles of his shoes.

Clean.

The trouser legs were also clean.

There was no mud on my hands.

It was as if nothing had happened.

Qin Xiaowan placed the breakfast on the nearest table.

"Are you sleeping, or is this a crime scene?"

Wu Ling looked up at her.

"sleep."

"Sleep on the floor tiles?"

"Um."

"Are you taking such a health-conscious approach now?"

Wu Ling stood up, leaning against the wall, and his vision went black for a moment.

Qin Xiaowan reached out and made a gesture of support, but didn't actually touch him.

"Slow down, your face looks like you've just been dug out of the ground."

Wu Ling steadied himself against the table.

The books he left behind before entering the room were still lying on the table.

The pages were turned a little messily, and the corners had been pressed into shallow creases.

Qin Xiaowan followed his gaze.

"Still waters ripple gently."

She read it aloud.

Who wrote it?

"Li Jieren".

"The one from old Chengdu?"

"Um."

Qin Xiaowan flipped through a few pages.

The paper wasn't new; there were already some gray marks on the edges from Wu Ling's fingers.

But the sound of the paper is not quite the same.

It's not the smooth paper you find in bookstores these days, nor is it the moldy, brittle paper you find at secondhand bookstores.

She brought the book closer and smelled it.

"What are you smelling?"

"The smell of ink".

Qin Xiaowan turned another page.

"That's very strange."

"What's strange about it?"

I can't quite explain it.

She touched the edge of the book.

"It looks like it was printed not long ago, but not in the way that books are printed now."

Wu Ling opened a flatbread and sandwiched some cold noodles inside.

The red oil from the paper bag got on his fingers.

Qin Xiaowan looked up at him.

"You watched this all night, and you even slept on the tile floor?"

Wu Ling took a bite of the guokui (a type of flatbread).

The jelly noodles are coated in chili oil, and the spiciness hits you immediately.

"It's a bit intoxicating."

"Are you more obsessed with the book, or with you?"

Wu Ling lowered his head and took another bite, without saying a word.

Guokui is normal.

There is no smell of wood ash.

It was so normal that he almost didn't feel used to it.

Qin Xiaowan put the book back on the counter, turned around, and went around to the back wall.

Wu Ling paused for a moment while biting into the guokui (a type of flatbread).

"What are you looking at?"

"wall."

What happened to the wall?

Qin Xiaowan did not turn around.

"You're asking me?"

Wu Ling put down the flatbread and walked over.

The back wall is still the same wall.

The section from the Republican era is lit up; the long-spouted teapot, bamboo chair, and storytelling platform are all clearly visible.

But further in, where the area was almost entirely gray, a very faint color began to show through.

You can't tell unless you look closely.

A small tree.

There is a bowl under the tree.

There was a person lying next to the bowl.

Very small.

Wu Ling stared at it for a long time.

Qin Xiaowan also watched for a long time.

"Is this a person?"

"picture."

"Why are you lying down?"

Wu Ling remained silent.

Qin Xiaowan turned to look at the brick seam mark on his profile.

"oh."

"What are you doing?"

"It's nothing."

Qin Xiaowan looked away.

"Are we still going to talk at 3 PM today?"

Wu Ling looked at the little figure lying on the wall.

"speak."

"If you fall asleep halfway through your story, I'll confiscate your gavel."

"What will I use if they confiscate it?"

"Use your brick-sewn face."

At 2:50 p.m., the teahouse was not full.

The brown sugar glutinous rice cakes were sold out long ago.

There are a few egg pancakes left, which are placed in a glass cover.

The regulars are still the same regulars.

Grandma Zhao sat by the window, her covered bowl untouched, her hand resting on the armrest of the chair.

Two young men sat for ten minutes and asked three times if there were any more glutinous rice cakes.

When Qin Xiaowan answered no for the third time, her voice was already harder than the first time.

"No means no. Rice cakes aren't printers where you can just press a button and get something out."

It's exactly three o'clock.

Wu Ling took the stage.

My wrist was still a little sore when I put the gavel down.

He didn't take any pictures.

He first glanced at the audience.

Someone is watching him.

Someone is looking at their phone.

Someone is looking at egg pancakes.

Very normal.

He actually felt relieved.

"Today I'll tell you about a shopkeeper."

The young man near the door looked up.

"Which shopkeeper?"

Wu Ling said, "A manager who wasn't a manager at the beginning."

Some people in the audience laughed.

"What do you mean by 'not being a manager at the beginning'?"

Wu Ling gently placed the gavel down.

"Because there weren't any shops back then."

"No shop?"

No.

Wu Ling glanced at the back wall.

"There was only one tree back then."

"There's a man under the tree, guarding a bowl and a little water. You can call him a water seller or a tree watcher, but he doesn't seem like a shopkeeper."

"On the first day, a traveler arrived."

"The soles of my shoes were worn through, and my toes were sticking out. I walked up to the tree, didn't say a word, just lay down on the ground and fell asleep."

Someone in the audience chuckled.

"That's so unhygienic."

"It's not about being particular."

Wu Ling said.

"The people who guard the water think the same way."

"He spent the whole day guarding the tree and watching over the water, and then someone came along, lay down on the ground without saying a word, didn't drink the water, didn't pay, and just took up all the shade. Can you believe it?"

Someone chimed in, "Angry."

He walked over, intending to wake the person.

Wu Ling paused for a moment.

"When I looked down, I saw that the man's lips were dry and chapped, and he was clutching a handful of mud in his hand."

"He stood there for a long time without saying a word."

"Just push that bowl over."

There is water in the bowl.

The teahouse became a little quieter.

"The man woke up, drank some water, and asked how much it cost."

The person guarding the water said, "It's free."

The man said, "It has to be paid."

Wu Ling reached out and lightly traced a line on the table.

He used the handful of mud in his hand to fill in a hole next to the tree root.

Someone laughed: "This counts as money?"

"Calculate."

Wu Ling said.

"You guys haven't run a shop before, so you don't know. There's a hole at the entrance, and customers trip over it every day. Sooner or later, we'll have to lose money."

The next day, another person arrived.

This time I'm not lying down, I'm sitting up.

Leaning against the tree trunk, shoes off beside my feet, toes spread out in the sun.

The man guarding the water turned pale.

Just as he was about to speak, the man looked up and asked, "How much is the water?"

Once that statement was made, it became difficult to catch up.

On the third day, two more people appeared under the tree.

One of them came to get a drink of water.

Another said, "He and others."

The water guardian asked, "Which are you waiting for?"

The man said he was waiting for someone who had promised to come.

As a result, the sun began to set, but the person still hadn't arrived.

He ended up chatting with the guy next to him who was drinking water for quite a while.

The water guardian stood by the tree and listened for a while.

I understood two sentences.

By the time we tried to get rid of them, it was almost dark.

On the fourth day, it rained.

This is really troublesome.

People crowded under the tree, bowls jingled as the rain pattered, and newly patched holes were trampled into mud again.

The water guard stood in the rain and cursed.

Cursing Heaven is blind.

Insulting people shows a lack of understanding.

After cursing, he still went to pull grass and drag bamboo.

The shed was built crookedly, one side higher than the other.

The rainwater flows down the lower side, just in time to avoid spilling the dishes.

The water guardian stood under the shed, looking at the dry bowl, and suddenly thought it would work.

Later, someone brought over a bench.

Someone brought a pinch of tea leaves.

Someone, holding a bowl for a long time, kept switching it because it was too hot, and said, "Could you set up a table?"

A table was set up, and passersby asked, "What place is this?"

The waterkeeper looks at the trees.

Look at the bowl.

Look at those few people under the shed who refuse to leave.

I thought about it for a long time.

Finally, he said, "Please sit down."

Wu Ling paused for a moment.

"He only became the manager because so many people sat there."

"A shed eventually becomes a shop."

"After the shop had been there for a while, people started calling it a teahouse."

His fingers landed on the gavel.

"So some teahouses don't just open first and then people come in."

"Someone got tired and sat down first."

"Only then, one by one, did we have the shed, the table, and the threshold."

After he said that, the audience didn't laugh immediately.

There was no applause.

Grandma Zhao touched the armrest of the chair.

The young man near the door, who had been looking down at his phone, thought he was finished talking and got up to leave.

Another one stood up.

As the two went out, the old brass bells by the door tapped softly.

Ding.

The sound was very soft.

Wu Ling didn't stop them; he waited until they left before continuing.

Whether the person who was sleeping on the ground came back later, nobody knows.

"But people have always sat on that spot."

He picked up the gavel.

That's all for today.

Grandma Zhao looked up.

"Did the shopkeeper lose money building the shed later?"

Wu Ling was taken aback.

Qin Xiaowan also looked over.

Wu Ling thought for a moment.

"I don't know."

Grandma Zhao nodded.

"Then we'll continue tomorrow."

She picked up the covered bowl and took a sip.

The tea had long since gone cold, but she still drank it.

As the store closed for the night, Qin Xiaowan was tidying up the counter.

Wu Ling leaned against the counter, holding a bowl of freshly brewed cauliflower soup.

The tea is hot.

It has no gray smell.

"The joke you told today is more plausible than you sleeping on the floor while reading a book."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome, but don't sleep on the ground tomorrow, it's an eyesore."

Qin Xiaowan walked to the door, then turned back.

"By the way, could I borrow that book for a couple of days?"

Which one?

"The one you slept on the floor."

Wu Ling handed her the book "Dead Water Ripples".

She stuffed the book into her bag.

"I'd like to see what kind of book can make someone collapse from exhaustion."

After Qin Xiaowan left, the teahouse fell silent again.

Outside the door, an electric scooter made a sound.

It went by in no time.