Old Jin City on the Wall

Chapter 29 The Road to Incense

Wu Ling originally only wanted to hear "hot wontons".

After taking three steps, the alleyway beneath my feet seemed to have turned upside down.

The places where signs are hung during the day have become dark, while the dark places have become bright.

A faint aroma of chili oil wafts up from the base of the wall, and further ahead, a small lamp for fermented rice and egg hangs from a bamboo pole.

The area around the bridge was even more lively, with the steam from the pig's trotter soup rising up and swallowing the lower half of the lantern.

Several cart pullers, opera singers, and basket carriers stood in the steam, their faces sometimes clear and sometimes obscured.

There is no sign.

There is no counter.

There was no shopkeeper calling out to customers.

A carrying pole is a shop, and a stove is a door.

"Hot Wontons—"

The vendor scurried back along the wall, and Wu Ling followed.

The woman selling wontons was an old lady with her hair tied up in a black bun, her sleeves tightly bound, and several old burn marks on the back of her hands.

"Want a bowl?"

"Listen to me first."

The mother-in-law tapped the wooden spoon against the edge of the pot.

"Listening is free, but swallowing your saliva is extra. Don't pretend you didn't swallow."

A rickshaw driver squatted by the wall, his sweat-soaked towel on his shoulder soaking through, the handlebars resting on his knees.

"Grandma, give me a bowl of rice, don't worry about the saliva."

"You still owe two bowls, don't pretend to be reckless."

"Return the job tomorrow."

"You also said tomorrow last time."

He was cursing, but his hands were already moving.

Red oil drips to the bottom of the bowl, and chopped scallions stick to the sides.

The wontons are taken out of the bamboo box; the skins are thin, the edges are pinched tightly, and they are dropped into boiling water and turned a couple of times until the white skins puff up.

The mother-in-law gently pushed the meat filling with the back of her spoon, waiting for its aroma to rise before ladling bone broth into the bowl.

The chili oil was lifted up by the soup, and the steam rose to people's faces.

The driver took the bowl, and it was so hot that he had to switch hands twice.

"Great!"

His mother glanced at him.

"I haven't eaten yet."

"It's delicious as soon as you pick it up, but the taste is another matter."

Wu Ling stood to the side, looking at the empty wall on the left, the deep alley on the right, and a ditch at his feet.

The shout of "Hot wontons!" didn't dissipate; instead, it traveled along the wall to both sides.

His mother-in-law spoke first without looking at him.

"If you shout on the street, your voice will dissipate. But if you shout around a corner, the walls will help you shout. In old Chengdu, the walls are better at relaying messages than people."

Wu Ling swallowed back the question he was about to ask.

The driver took a slurp and looked up at him.

"Are you the manager of Wu's restaurant?"

The mother-in-law used the pot lid to suppress the steam.

"He's not looking at the bowls, he's looking at the wall. If he's not the shopkeeper, what is he?"

Wu Ling asked, "Does Grandma recognize Wu's?"

"When you sell food at night, you have to know which shop's lights stay on until what time of night," the old woman said. "Besides, there's an umbrella in front of your door today."

"The umbrella will be put away tomorrow."

"The umbrella is closed, but the shadow remains."

The driver, chewing on a wonton, gave a muffled laugh.

"Mother-in-law, you look like a fortune teller today."

"Fortune telling costs money. You still owe me this."

Wu Ling touched the copper coin.

The mother-in-law didn't answer.

"You didn't eat."

"I heard it."

"Then you owe me a bowl."

Why?

"The shopkeeper owes me a bowl of rice, which is more useful than receiving two copper coins."

The driver almost choked from laughing.

"My mother-in-law wants to go to Wu's Tea House."

"What, it's not okay?"

"Sit down, which vendor sells wontons?"

The mother-in-law tapped the wooden spoon against the edge of his bowl.

"You sell it."

The driver picked up the bowl and hid.

"My car is still outside."

The mother-in-law ignored him and raised her chin at Wu Ling.

"Keep moving forward. The sweetness is in the wind, and your nose knows the way."

Wu Ling walked with the wind.

The sweetness comes from the second alley.

It's not the bright sweetness of sugar-coated fruit, but the sweet and sour taste of fermented rice wine, warm, soft, and brushing against your nose.

The stall owner was an old man with a sparse beard and narrow eyes. In front of him was a small copper pot filled with fermented rice.

The rickshaw driver had also arrived at some point, carrying half a bowl of wontons, and leaned against the alley entrance watching the commotion.

The old man didn't even look up.

"You've owed us money again?"

The driver said, "I'm just passing by."

"Passing by with a bowl in hand, does the bowl not know the way?"

The coachman shut his mouth and drank his soup.

Wu Ling then noticed a young woman sitting next to the pot, holding a medicine bag in her arms.

She neither ate nor urged him to eat, but just stared at the white foam rising in the pot.

She tightened and loosened the cotton rope around the medicine bag, then loosened it again and tightened it again.

The old man asked, "A whole egg, or half?"

The woman touched her cuff.

"You sell half too?"

"Sell."

"That half."

The old man cracked open the eggshell but didn't rush to put it in the pot.

"Who should we give it to?"

The woman tucked the medicine packet closer to her chest.

"My mother."

"How many days have you been sick?"

"It's been a long time."

The old man glanced at her.

"You'll still eat half after a while?"

The woman lowered her head.

She said she wasn't hungry.

The fermented rice in the pot bubbled and released a sweet aroma.

She also said that the pain wouldn't be there tonight and that she could get out of bed tomorrow morning.

Wu Ling stopped in his tracks.

Xiao Cui was like that that day too.

His face was burning blue, his voice was so hoarse he could barely speak, yet he still forced his eyelids open and said he was fine.

Later, she sat on a bamboo chair in the outer hall, a white flower tucked behind her ear, and pushed the four eggs to him one by one.

She said, "Shopkeeper, my mother passed away three days ago."

Everything he bought was a step too late.

The old man slid half an egg into the pot.

The egg white solidified along the edge of the pot, while half of the yolk sank into the fermented rice wine.

Add a pinch of brown sugar.

The color of the soup changed from white and cloudy to light brown.

The woman's shoulders relaxed a little when she smelled the sweet aroma.

The old man asked, "What did the doctor say?"

The woman shook her head.

"He didn't say anything."

"I didn't say anything, I just finished."

The woman's eyes welled up with tears, but she didn't cry.

She hugged the medicine bag even tighter.

"You still need to take your medicine."

"The medicine tastes bitter."

"So I bought the sweet ones."

The rickshaw driver at the alley entrance stopped laughing and lowered his head to finish the last sip of soup.

The old man pushed the bowl over.

"Hold on tight. Sweet things come slowly, bitter things come quickly."

The woman took the bowl, her fingers recoiled slightly from the heat, but she immediately held it firmly.

Wu Ling noticed that her hands were trembling.

It's not that I'm afraid of getting burned.

She was afraid that when she got back, the person in her bed would no longer be waiting.

The woman took out a copper coin and placed it beside the pot.

The old man only returned half.

"Half an egg, half a coin."

"There's not a single penny to be found."

"Then you can owe it."

The woman froze for a moment.

The old man placed the remaining half of the egg upside down into a small cup on the rim of the bowl.

"If she can actually get out of bed tomorrow morning, come back and finish the job."

The woman looked at the half-egg.

After a long while, she finally gave a soft "hmm".

She carried the bowl and the medicine packet into the alley.

He took two steps, then turned back.

"What if... I can't come tomorrow morning?"

The old man added water to the pot.

"Then come back when you want something sweet."

The woman didn't ask any more questions.

The alley was dark at its deepest point. She carried the bowl of fermented rice with half an egg and walked in little by little.

The sweet scent trailed behind her for a short while, but was quickly suppressed by the smell of medicine.

Wu Ling stood by the pot, not moving for a long time.

The old man didn't look at him.

"You owe half too."

Wu Ling said in a low voice, "I didn't eat."

"You remembered someone."

The rickshaw driver tucked the empty bowl into his coat and whispered, "You charge for people too?"

The old man said, "Let's not talk about money, let's settle the bill."

The driver glanced at Wu Ling and stopped joking around.

The small copper pot started boiling again.

As the sweet aroma rose in his throat, Wu Ling suddenly felt a mouthful of cold egg yolk in his throat, which he could neither swallow nor spit out.

The old man put the pot lid on, leaving only a small gap.

"White steam is rising from the bridge."

The driver immediately raised the bowl of wontons.

"I'm delivering bowls; it's on my way."

The old man snorted.

"When have you ever not picked up a debt on your way?"

The white vapor near the bridge appeared thicker than it did from a distance.

The pig's trotter soup stand was placed next to the bridge pier, with a stove at one end and a wooden bucket at the other.

The lid of the bucket was lifted, and the pig's trotters were sinking in the soup, which was white with a few green scallions floating on the surface.

The stall owner was a broad-shouldered man with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and two old knife scars on his arms.

He heard the driver's footsteps but didn't even look up.

"Owes money again?"

The coachman sighed.

"Why do you all start your businesses the same way at night?"

"You're the only one who's lacking in everything."

The cart pullers nearby laughed.

The driver hid the bowl of wontons in his clothes.

"I brought guests today."

The broad-shouldered man looked at Wu Ling.

"Manager Wu's shop?"

Wu Ling was no longer surprised.

The broad-shouldered man ladled out a bowl of clear soup and then pressed two slices of meat into it from the bucket.

The driver looked at the two pieces of meat and swallowed.

"Even looking at it counts as a debt."

The coachman immediately looked away.

"Shopkeeper, two coins a bowl."

Wu Ling took out two copper coins and placed them on the edge of the stall.

"It should be given."

The broad-shouldered man shoved the copper coins into the wooden box.

"They'll pay you, that's why the soup tastes so good."

Wu Ling picked up the soup.

The soup was hot, but not greasy.

The ginger flavor comes in the background, the fresh aroma of scallions floats on top, and the rich flavor from the simmered bones clings to the tongue. After swallowing, it feels like a warm hand is gently pressing down on your stomach.

A breeze was blowing under the bridge, causing the white vapor to tilt slightly.

A woman who sings opera sits by a bridge pier with a bowl in her hand. Her makeup is not completely removed, and a red streak at the corner of her eye is diffused by the steam.

There was meat in her bowl, but she didn't touch it.

The broad-shouldered man glanced at her.

"Sister Yulan, the meat will get tough if you leave it any longer."

"Even if it's tough, it's still edible."

"You'll eat it?"

"Take her back. The little apprentice in the class messed up her performance today, and her master won't let her eat dinner."

The coachman couldn't help but interject.

"If you mess up your performance, you won't eat? Then if I take the wrong turn, should I starve to death too?"

The woman looked up at him.

"If you take the wrong turn, the guests will curse you. If she sings a wrong line, someone in the audience will throw a teacup."

The driver opened his mouth, but couldn't reply.

The broad-shouldered man picked up another small piece of pig's trotter from the bucket and put it into her bowl.

The woman frowned.

"I didn't call out."

"The ones next to the bones, nobody wants them."

"You always manage to pick the perfect piece of trash that nobody else wants."

"Skilled."

The woman put the money on the stall.

The broad-shouldered man only picked up the few he was entitled to keep, and pushed the rest back.

"Leave some hot food for the younger one. We'll settle it when he sings back tomorrow."

The woman singing opera didn't push it away anymore; she picked up the covered bowl and stood up.

"I'm leaving. My little apprentice is still waiting."

The broad-shouldered man handed over the handkerchief.

"Wrap it up tightly, it's windy."

The woman answered.

"What if she flops again tomorrow?"

"Then we'll sing it the day after tomorrow."

The woman smiled, walked off the bridge, and carried the bowl wrapped in a handkerchief.

Wu Ling watched her retreating figure.

The driver whispered beside her, "She's stubborn. Every time her young apprentice is punished, she says she can't eat, and in the end, all the meat goes into the little one's stomach."

Someone coughed from the other side of the bridge.

Old Zhou was standing outside the white steam, having arrived at some unknown time.

He walked up to the stall, and the broad-shouldered man served him a bowl of clear soup without any meat.

Old Zhou picked it up and blew on it.

"You'll remember this bridge once you've been here."

Wu Ling looked up.

Old Zhou looked at the black water under the bridge.

"You can't find your way just by walking. People stop wherever the heat is rising."

Old Zhou finished his soup and returned the bowl.

"Let's go. If it gets any later, Xiao Cui will really think you've been kidnapped by Chao Shou."

The driver quickly said, "I didn't abduct him."

The broad-shouldered man said, "Who can you possibly lead? You're being led around by the tent yourself."

The driver was dissatisfied, pushed the cart a couple of steps, and then turned back.

"Manager Wu."

"Um?"

"If you come to the Liu residence again tomorrow, I'll park my car at the entrance of your alley."

Wu Ling was taken aback.

The driver tossed his handkerchief over his shoulder.

"I'm not trying to help. I just thought that your doorway would be a good place to rest in the future."

After he finished speaking, he pushed the cart and crawled into the back of the white vapor.

The bell rang once, and then quickly disappeared into the distance.

Wu Ling and Old Zhou walked back.

The way back was different from the way we came.

When he arrived, he only called out "Cover your hands".

Looking at these alleys now, you can see that the corners of walls can hide sounds, the wind can carry sweetness, and the bridges can send out a breath of warm air that can be seen across half the street.

When I arrived at Wu Ji's teahouse, the lights were still on.

Xiao Cui sat behind the counter, nodding her head slightly, her hand still protecting the half of the flatbread.

The sunflowers beside it closed up even more tightly, leaving only a little bit of yellow edge.

Master Liu opened one eye.

"Did you catch up?"

"We caught up with them."

Xiao Cui woke up immediately.

"What does it taste like?"

Wu Ling thought for a moment.

"The red oil at the base of the wall, the sweetness in the wind, the white steam by the bridge."

Xiao Cui blinked.

"It sounds like they haven't eaten enough."

Master Liu chuckled.

Wu Ling also laughed.

"Tomorrow you'll sell flowers, and I'll sell incense."

Xiao Cui was stunned.

"How much is the incense?"

"Let people smell it."

Xiao Cui looked at the sunflower on the counter, then at the half-eaten flatbread.

"Then I'll move the flowers closer together tomorrow."

Why?

"Flowers have fragrance too."