Old Jin City on the Wall

Chapter 30 Guiding Potstickers

Manager Cheng arrived earlier than yesterday.

The fog at the alley entrance hadn't dissipated yet, and the bluestone slab in front of Wu's shop was already damp.

The black umbrella was not open.

Yesterday, the two burly men who followed him stood on either side of the eaves, like two wooden stakes softened by the rain.

Old Zhou sat at the table by the window, the teacup lid slanted across his face, not even lifting his eyelids.

Xiao Cui scooped the sunflower out of the bowl of water.

The petals were still wet with water, and a clean, bright yellow.

Wu Ling stood behind the counter, waiting for him to speak first.

Manager Cheng raised his hand.

"Manager Wu."

"Manager Cheng."

Manager Cheng took out ten coins from his sleeve.

One by one, the copper coins fell onto the counter.

no more, no less.

He pushed the copper coin in front of Xiao Cui.

"Girl, I'd like to buy a flower."

Xiao Cui looked at Wu Ling.

Wu Ling neither answered the call for her nor provided the reply.

Xiao Cui then handed the flowers over.

"Ten coins is just right."

Manager Cheng tucked the flowers into his sleeve.

"Yesterday, Mr. Cheng spoke rashly and offended the young lady."

Xiao Cui said, "I'll buy flowers then."

Manager Cheng's lips twitched slightly.

"Yes."

He then looked at Wuling.

"Today, out of respect for Third Master, I, Cheng, will accept Wu Ji's rules."

Wu Ling said, "Now that we've accepted the rules, let's enjoy our tea."

Manager Cheng did not sit down.

He knew that by sitting down today, he was putting all the glory of yesterday into a teacup.

"I'll drink tea another day."

His voice remained steady as he turned around.

His shoes left a shallow imprint on the wet bluestone slab outside the threshold.

"Manager Wu, the bill for the flowers is settled. We'll settle the other bills later."

Old Zhou suddenly chuckled.

"Those with many debts should remember to watch their step when walking."

Manager Cheng paused in his steps.

Just as the burly man outside the door was about to turn around, he raised his hand to stop him.

This kind of pressure is even uglier than insults.

He didn't say anything more.

The black umbrella was put away, the copper coins were left behind, and the sunflower was taken away.

As the people from the Liu family retreated from Wu Ji's door, the tension that had been building up inside the teahouse all night slowly dissipated.

Wu Ling looked out the door.

At the street corner, the oil in the fryer for tangyouguozi (a type of fried dough) bubbled and sizzled, its sweet aroma carried on the wind into Wu Ji's shop.

Old Zhou picked up his tea and said slowly, "See? To enter a room, your feet need to know the way. To bow your head, you need to know which way to lower your nose."

Wu Ling smelled that sweet fragrance and remembered the white vapor by the bridge last night.

The fragrance isn't something you shout.

Fragrance makes people stop in their tracks.

The sweet fragrance seeped in through the doorway.

When Wu Ling opened his eyes again, the sweetness of the sugar-coated fruit had dissipated, but the faint aroma of the savory sauce from the oil paper from the previous night still lingered on his nose.

The blue barricades obscured half of the modern Wu Ji Teahouse's facade.

A new tea shop has opened at the main intersection, with a light-up sign hanging at the entrance, white background with green lettering, and a glass door so new that it reflects light.

Customers coming out of the subway station will see it first, then the blue metal sheet, and finally they might turn into Wu Ji through the gap in the fence.

Under the light-up sign, shop assistants held up small flags and handed out coupons to everyone they met.

"Uncle, the road inside is under construction and it's hard to walk through. Our main road leads directly there, and there's a new store with half-price discounts."

A food delivery rider circled the alleyway twice.

The electric scooter's front wheel ran over the cable tray with a loud thud.

"Boss, are you kidding me with this location? I'm practically riding to the edge of a construction site."

Qin Xiaowan peeked out.

"This way! Don't ride over there, I'm at this end of the intersection!"

The rider parked his bike in front of Wu Ji's restaurant, took off his helmet, and his hair was flattened by sweat.

"Your store is still open? Some people on the platform said they couldn't find it and thought it was closed."

"It's open. The teahouse isn't closed, but half of the road is."

Qin Xiaowan took the takeout, and the corner of the bag was creased by the bicycle basket.

"Thank you for your hard work."

"I'm not afraid of hard work, the main problem is finding a job. You guys should change your positioning."

The rider hangs his helmet on the handlebars.

The shop assistant, holding a small flag, walked right up to the delivery rider.

"Brother, it's easy to pick up orders here, there are lots of orders, and parking is easy too."

The rider's gaze shifted to the side.

Qin Xiaowan's temper flared up instantly.

"Are you handing out coupons to someone's doorstep?"

The shop assistant smiled and took half a step back.

"Sister, we're also doing an event. It's really hard to find your place here."

It's hard to find.

The three words, like a small pebble, landed right on the threshold of Wu's shop.

Just as Qin Xiaowan was about to retort, Wu Ling walked out from behind the counter.

I didn't shout.

No argument.

He simply put the notice back on the counter and turned to go into the kitchen.

Qin Xiaowan was taken aback.

What are you doing?

"Take it off the heat."

"Now?"

"Now."

Soon, the sound of guokui (a type of flatbread) being placed onto a baking tray echoed from the kitchen.

The aroma from the alleyways of the Republic of China era still lingers on Wu Ling's nose.

The sweetness of sugar-coated fritters, the thickness of braised chicken wings and flatbread, and the heat of wonton soup.

Those things cannot be copied verbatim.

The cooking temperature, hygiene, sourcing, and sales methods must all be done according to modern standards.

But one can learn the art of incense.

Lightly braised.

Small portion.

The aroma can be smelled from outside, and you can finish eating it just as you enter.

The kitchen door curtain rustled, and Qin Xiaowan followed her in.

"If you're going to do it, explain it clearly first."

Wu Ling placed the small pot on the induction cooker.

"I only make small portions."

I wasn't asking about size.

Qin Xiaowan glanced at the table.

"Cost, reputation, sourcing—which of these can be compromised?"

Wu Ling pointed to the pot of braised meat from that morning.

"Use this pot for the base."

"This pot is what I use to braise tea eggs."

"Borrow a small pot."

"You want that rider to remember the taste?"

"He remembered that only others could find it."

Wu Ling took out a small porcelain cup from under the counter.

Qin Xiaowan stared at the porcelain bowl.

"Can't I ask?"

"Um."

"Now you even have secrets from me about the braising sauce."

You'll find out later.

Wu Ling lifted the lid.

The bottom of the porcelain bowl was covered with a layer of old brine, its color so dark it shone.

Qin Xiaowan placed her hand on the switch of the induction cooker.

"Wu Ling, things of dubious origin, cannot be put directly into the guests' mouths."

"know."

Wu Ling filtered the old brine, boiled it, skimmed off the surface oil, took only a small spoonful and added it to a small pot, then scooped half a spoonful of Sanhua tea soup into the pot.

Qin Xiaowan's finger remained on the switch.

"Adding tea to the braising pot?"

"Press the oil."

"Don't ruin the three flowers."

"You ruined it by turning off the stove."

Wu Ling pushed the chicken wing bits next to him to show her.

"The chicken wings and spices were just bought today, and you prepared the braising liquid this morning."

The braising liquid in the small pot bubbled and simmered.

The aroma didn't burst out suddenly, but rather wafted outwards along the edge of the pot.

Qin Xiaowan loosened the switch and leaned down to take a sniff.

I didn't say anything good, nor did I nitpick.

She picked up the paper tray.

"Try one first. If it's not good, stop immediately."

Wu Ling flipped the small guokui (a type of flatbread) on the baking tray.

The outer shell has become brittle.

He stuffed in some minced chicken wing meat, drizzled some thickened braising sauce, and then closed the guokui (a type of flatbread).

Hot air escaped from the gap.

The delivery rider at the entrance, holding his helmet, asked, "What's that smell? It smells so good!"

Qin Xiaowan held the guokui (a type of flatbread).

"Didn't you just say that things are hard to find around here?"

"I said the location was annoying, but I didn't say the taste was bad."

"Then you should try it."

The rider took the paper tray and took a bite.

The edges of the flatbread crisp up first.

The braising sauce is not too heavy, it coats the minced meat, and the salty and sweet flavors roll onto the tongue. The final touch of tea soup perfectly balances the oiliness.

He chewed twice, and his eyes lit up.

"Okay."

Qin Xiaowan asked, "To what extent do you want it?"

The rider stuffed the remaining half into his mouth and turned towards the alley entrance.

The wind lashed against the blue fence with a whooshing sound.

He swallowed, then raised his hand and pointed.

"I won't use navigation next time."

Qin Xiaowan raised an eyebrow.

"Then what are you looking at?"

"Smell it."

The rider folded the paper tray.

"As soon as the aroma of guokui (a type of flatbread) wafts out from the blue fence, you know it's time to turn."

Wu Ling put the second small potsticker into the bamboo basket.

"Then let's call it 'Guide Pot-shaped Bread'."

Qin Xiaowan read it aloud once.

"Guide-style flatbread... Okay."

Qin Xiaowan dialed the calculator a few times.

"Two small flatbreads, a cup of Sanhua tea, and nineteen."

Wu Ling said, "This price isn't high; it's practically free."

"know."

Qin Xiaowan put down the calculator and pointed to the main room.

"People think nineteen dollars is too expensive if they stand outside to eat. But if they sit inside, there's tea, chairs, and a place to rest, then the price is acceptable."

The rider interjected, "Is there any left? I'll pay for it."

Qin Xiaowan pulled the bamboo basket towards herself.

"Yes, but you just said you won't take our orders next time."

The rider quickly said, "I'll fix it."

"How do I fix it?"

"I'll let you know in the group chat that this location tracking is really going to get people killed."

Qin Xiaowan said, "Change the location this afternoon, don't write it like GG."

The rider took out his phone.

"Our group leader hates guys the most."

He looked down and typed.

Wu Ji Restaurant in Cha Ma Xiang is still open; don't follow the navigation and end up at a construction site.

When you reach the row of blue fences, turn right at the entrance where you smell the aroma of guokui (a type of flatbread). Park your car outside and walk a few steps to reach it.

Qin Xiaowan nodded after reading it.

"That's fine."

The rider puts on his helmet and pushes the bike out.

The electric scooter bypassed the cable trench and did not go into the construction site again.

The entrance fell silent.

The aroma of the guokui (a type of flatbread) still lingers.

Old Zhang and Old Li arrived at three o'clock.

The two men walked one after the other; Old Li carried a chessboard, and Old Zhang carried an old cloth bag.

They used to be able to see Wu Ji's wooden plaque as soon as they reached the alley entrance.

Old Zhang stood outside the blue fence and almost walked towards the new tea shop.

Old Li nudged him with the corner of the chessboard.

"We've passed by."

Old Zhang frowned.

"How would you know if you can't even see the plaque?"

A breeze blew out from the gaps in the fence, carrying with it a wisp of warm fragrance.

Old Li took a breath.

"Over here."

When the two entered, Qin Xiaowan had just taken over from Wu Ling to continue making guokui (a type of flatbread).

Old Zhang put the cloth bag on the side of the chair.

"The teahouse has switched to serving meals?"

Qin Xiaowan immediately said, "It's just a limited-edition tea snack, served with three kinds of flowers."

Old Li placed the chessboard on the table by the window.

"Don't suppress the tea flavor."

Wu Ling brought over two bowls of Sanhua (a type of steamed bun), and cut a small pot-shaped flatbread in half.

"Try a bite."

Old Zhang didn't eat right away.

He first served the tea, blew on two tea leaves to loosen them, and took a sip.

Old Li had already picked up half a guokui (a type of flatbread).

Click.

The sound was very soft.

Old Zhang then took a bite.

The chessboard is placed in the middle, and the red and black pieces have not yet been separated.

Qin Xiaowan stood to the side, holding a pair of clips in her hand.

"How is it?"

Old Li took a sip of tea.

"I didn't rob it."

"What wasn't stolen?"

"I didn't steal the tea."

Old Zhang put the half-eaten guokui (a type of flatbread) back into the paper tray.

"The food outside, after just one bite, you can't taste any tea at all."

He picked up the Sanhua (a type of fried dough) and took a sip.

"After finishing this, I want to take the bowl again."

Old Li moved the chessboard to the window.

"Then it still counts as teahouse food."

Qin Xiaowan put the clips back on the tray and tucked the bamboo basket into the counter.

"Keep the rest for now."

Wu Ling asked, "Not selling anymore?"

"Wait until three o'clock."

Old Li picked up a chess piece.

"Will."

Old Zhang raised his hand.

"eat."

The sound of chess pieces striking the board brought back the energy to the main room.

The sound of the electric drill outside was intermittent.

The blue fence felt heavy and dull from the wind.

A few minutes to three.

The small wooden sign that read "Storytelling at Three O'Clock" leaned against the wall by the door, its corners dusty.

Wu Ling walked around from behind the counter, took the gavel, and went to the storyteller's platform.

Old Zhang leaned back in his chair.

What will we be talking about today?

Wu Ling placed the gavel upright.

"Let's talk about a pot that can't be advertised."

Old Li smiled.

"If you don't advertise, will you sell to ghosts?"

The wake tree fell.

Snapped.

The main room fell silent.

"There's a night food stall on the old street in the south of the city."

"The stall owner's surname is Luo. He is one-eyed, deaf in his left ear, and missing half of his right little finger. He has been selling hot soup for thirty years and has never called out once."

"He has three rules at his stall."

First, do not hang lamps.

Second, no credit sales.

"Third, after midnight, the pot lid should not be lifted a third time."

Old Zhang put the teacup back on the table.

"This isn't about making a sale, it's about driving customers away."

Wu Ling said, "People in the old street also curse him like that."

Luo the One-Eyed only replied: "I sell hot soup, not human lives."

"That street is narrow. The sedan chair bearers, shopkeepers, medicine deliverymen, and those who keep vigil for the deceased don't sleep until dawn. Once the lamps are hung up, they beckon people. Once their voices are rang out, they disturb the sleep. If the pot lids are lifted too often, the aroma wafts far and wide, and more people get hungry."

"He's hard-hearted, like pressing the pot lid down tightly."

"But hard-hearted people are most afraid of hearing chaotic footsteps."

Wu Ling lowered his voice.

One year in the twelfth lunar month, it rained in the middle of the night.

"A young man ran across the street, carrying a packet of medicine in his arms, his sleeves soaked and his shoes covered in mud."

"The medicine is for his mother."

"His mother had a fever for three days. The pharmacy owner was kind-hearted and prescribed the medicine, telling him to pay the difference before dawn."

"The money hasn't been raised yet, but the debt collectors have already arrived."

Old Zhang's teacup stopped at his lips.

"That young man dared not walk on the main road."

"He ran close to the wall, clutching the medicine bag to his chest, afraid it would get wet in the rain and also afraid someone would steal it."

"Two debt collectors are right behind us."

"Luo the One-Eyed had already put the pot lid down."

"After midnight, the pot lid is not lifted a third time."

"That's his rule."

Wu Ling paused for a moment.

"But that night, Luo, the one-eyed man, heard a series of footsteps in the rain, and his hand was already on the pot lid."

"The first time, the heat shot out and disappeared into the rain."

"The second time, Tang Xiang walked out along the wall."

"The debt collectors smelled it and thought the young man had turned into the alley."

"The young man took advantage of the two steps to run home and deliver the medicine to his mother's bedside."

The main room fell silent.

"After everyone had left, the young man returned, clutching two copper coins in his hand."

"Luo the One-Eyed confiscated it."

The young man asked, "Didn't you say you don't offer credit?"

"Luo the One-Eyed pressed the pot lid back down."

"No soup for sale today."

Old Li asked, "So what do you sell?"

Wu Ling turned the gavel over.

The character "唤" at the bottom is facing upwards.

"Lead the way."

Wu Ling looked at the gap in the fence outside the door.

"Later, everyone in the old street knew that Luo the One-Eyed's pot had saved people and also starved them."

"The ones who are hungry are the debt collectors."

"They were saving people who were in a hurry."

"The pot doesn't shout, but the aroma will."

"Even if you don't pull people, they'll recognize the road."

Qin Xiaowan stood behind the counter, her fingers resting on the calculator, but she didn't press any buttons for a long time.

After a while, she brought back the small wooden sign from the doorway.

Originally it said:

Three points to tell stories.

She wiped away the layer of dust and added a line:

Twenty portions of the "Guide to the Way" flatbread made today.

The blue construction barriers were still in place by evening.

The signs for the new tea shops are still lit.

The small bamboo basket at the entrance of Wu's shop was empty.

Qin Xiaowan washed the tongs and hung them to dry on the side of the tray.

"Twenty servings tomorrow."

Wu Ling asked, "Not adding it?"

"No."

"Afraid you won't be able to sell them?"

"I'm afraid of selling too much."

The electric drill outside is running again.

The sound is still unpleasant.

But this time, when the wind blew through the gaps in the fence, it carried away more than just dust.

There's also a hint of Wu Ji's own fragrance.