stjorthotic Chapter 9 tells a story you didn't know.
Chapter 9 tells a story you didn't know.
After the rules were set, Wu Ling would go on stage every afternoon to give a short speech.
Sometimes he talks for three minutes, sometimes for ten minutes.
Grandma Zhao sat by the window in the audience, while Old Zhang and Old Li played chess. No one looked up at him.
He didn't mind and just talked about his own things.
The door was restored, but Wu Ling didn't rush over.
Last time, Old Zhou's performance was improvised; this time, he wants to prepare a serious piece.
Instead of talking about the past or the Three Kingdoms period, I'll tell you something that people from that region have never heard of.
He prepared all day.
This morning I checked the Chengdu Metro map, night view photos of Chunxi Road, and the height of the panda on the roof of IFS on my phone.
That afternoon, I went through these things in my mind three times, each time thinking about how to express them in a way that people in the Republic of China era could understand.
I made myself a bowl of tea in the evening, but after only a couple of sips, I couldn't finish it. I was afraid of messing up the things I had prepared.
Qin Xiaowan glanced at him from the kitchen doorway.
"What are you doing? You've been sitting there all afternoon."
"Thinking about things."
"What are you thinking about?"
"How do you want to tell a story?"
"Do you need to think before you tell a story? Just open your mouth and start telling it."
"Didn't you spend ages researching recipes before you made egg pancakes?"
Qin Xiaowan thought for a moment. "That's true. Then take your time thinking about it."
It got dark. I pushed open the door, and the circuit was open.
Republic of China era.
It's not winter anymore.
The air outside is warmer, and there's the scent of locust blossoms in the alley.
The waiter wore a single-layer shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Last time I came, I was wearing a cotton robe and burning charcoal in a brazier; this time, the tea drinkers were fanning themselves with palm-leaf fans.
Summer comes quickly in Chengdu, and in the blink of an eye, the streets are filled with the chirping of cicadas.
At the entrance of the alley, a vendor was selling cold noodles from a shoulder pole, while two shirtless men squatted beside him, each holding a bowl of the noodles, the chili oil glistening red.
The hawking cries trailed lazily from one end of the alley to the other.
Less than two weeks passed in Wuling, while almost half a year passed in Wuling.
There were many more people in the teahouse than in winter, about twenty-five or twenty-six, and it was more than half full.
When it gets hot, more people go out to brew tea; this is an old custom in Chengdu.
Old Zhou had changed into a thinner shirt. When he saw him come in, he stirred the teacup lid.
"They're here."
"Yes. I'd like to give a speech today."
"Speak up."
Master Liu was in the corner, a copper shovel tucked behind his ear, cleaning an old man's ear.
Hearing Wu Ling speak, he didn't stop what he was doing, but he turned his ears.
Xiao Cui peeked out from behind the curtain.
She looks much more energetic than in winter; her face has filled out, and her braids are neatly tied.
"Shopkeeper! It's been so long since you've been here."
"Busy. Things over there."
"What are you busy with? You said you'd bring me flower seeds last time."
"next time."
"You said 'next time' last time too," she pouted. "And the time before that, you said 'next time' too."
Old Zhou coughed, and Xiao Cui shrank back, causing the curtain to sway twice.
There was someone sitting in a corner near the door, someone Wu Ling hadn't noticed before.
He was in his forties, wearing a gray cloth long gown and round-framed glasses, with a bowl of three-flower soup in front of him.
There was an open book next to it, its spine facing down.
He didn't seem to be there for tea; he looked more like he'd found a place to read.
Wu Ling walked to the front of the stage, where the gavel was still in the same spot.
He picked it up and weighed it in his hand; it was still heavier than his own. He took a deep breath and tapped the gavel.
"Let's not talk about the past today. Let's talk about what's to come."
A few people in the audience looked up, but the game on the chessboard continued.
"Do you know that this alley will still exist in the future?"
"The future? In the distant future?"
The old man put down his chess pieces and looked at him.
"A very long time. Longer than you can imagine."
Wu Ling didn't explain further and continued speaking.
"Not only is it there, it's been renovated beautifully. From one end to the other, it's packed with people. They come from all over the country. Some came by train, some by plane."
"By plane?" the skinny old man asked incredulously. "Can you even afford to fly on a plane?"
"By then, everyone will be able to afford it. The journey from Chengdu to Beiping will take four hours."
"Four hours to Beiping?" The thin old man stood up. "It would take months to walk there."
"So by then, nobody walks anymore. Things that fly in the sky, run on the ground, or burrow underground can go wherever they want."
There was a buzz in the audience.
Some people laughed, thinking he was bragging.
Some people didn't laugh; they tilted their heads and pondered.
Wu Ling didn't rush to continue, letting them digest the information.
The lesson learned last time was that I was too hasty and didn't give the audience time to think, so in the end I was the only one rushing.
"Go east from this alley for about 15 minutes, and there is a street called Chunxi Road."
"I know Chunxi Road," said the old man with the chessboard. "The one that sells silk."
"It will still be called Chunxi Road. But we won't sell silk anymore. We'll sell something called milk tea. Milk and tea mixed together, with sugar and ice, served in paper cups."
"Milk and tea mixed together?" Old Zhou frowned. "That's a waste of tea leaves."
The audience laughed.
"Put a straw in the cup. Drink while walking."
"Walking around for tea?"
"Drink while walking. Drink while standing. Drink on the subway."
"What's a subway?"
"A very long tunnel was dug under the road. The metal vehicle ran through the tunnel. It took about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea to go from one end of the city to the other."
"A sports car underground?" the skinny old man's voice rose. "Won't it collapse?"
"It won't collapse. It's been sturdily repaired. Millions of people sit on it every day."
"Millions? Chengdu doesn't have millions of people!"
"By that time, Chengdu will have a population of 20 million."
The entire teahouse fell silent for two seconds.
Twenty million.
Chengdu during the Republic of China era had a population of less than 600,000.
No one in the audience could imagine what 20 million meant.
The old man placed the chess pieces on the board and stopped playing.
He wants to hear it.
The opponent next to him stopped urging him; he wanted to listen too.
Master Liu's copper gong stopped in mid-air.
The old man next to him, who was waiting to have his other ear cleaned, stared at the stage with his mouth agape, forgetting to urge them on.
This is something Wu Ling deliberately practiced: when talking about big things, he doesn't rush, but lets the audience visualize the images in their minds.
"The houses on both sides of the road are no longer two or three stories high. They're dozens of stories tall. The tallest one is a hundred times higher than the city wall."
"A hundred times? That's practically sky-high!"
"Pretty much. Standing up there and looking down, the people below look like ants."
"Aren't you afraid to live so high up?" Xiao Cui asked.
"Once you get used to it, you won't be afraid anymore. People back then felt that living high up was more comfortable, because you could see farther, the wind was stronger, and it was cooler in the summer."
"What about going downstairs? Climbing dozens of floors every day?" The old man with the chessboard didn't believe it.
"No need to climb. There's a metal box; you stand inside, and it rises by itself. Press once to go to the tenth floor, press again to go to the thirtieth floor."
"That means they ascended to heaven," the skinny old man said.
The audience laughed again.
"At night, looking down from a high place, the whole city is lit. You've seen electric lights. But at that time, it wasn't just one or two—it was the whole street, the whole building, from top to bottom. The signs were lit, the roads were lit, even under the bridges were lit. White, yellow, red, green, constantly changing."
He thought about it.
"Like a sky full of fireflies falling to the ground, but ten thousand times brighter than fireflies."
Master Liu put down his copper shovel completely.
He squatted there, tilting his head to look at Wu Ling, having completely abandoned his ear-cleaning duties.
Xiao Cui rested her chin on her knees, her eyes fixed on the stage.
"There are more people on Chunxi Road at midnight than you do during the day. Men, women, young and old, all of them are holding something in their hands, a palm-sized piece of metal that glows."
"A sheet of metal? What's it for?" Xiao Cui asked.
"Look," Wu Ling said, "you can see words, pictures, and even the faces of people thousands of miles away. You can talk to anyone without meeting them; just talk to the metal plate."
"That's not a god."
"They're not gods. Everyone has them. Vegetable vendors have them, cart drivers have them, ear cleaners have them too."
Master Liu was stunned for a moment.
"Not only can you see things, you can also use this metal plate to order food. With a swipe of your finger, someone will deliver your food to your doorstep in half an hour."
"Delivered to the door in half an hour?" Old Zhou frowned. "And the food will still be hot?"
"Sometimes it's hot. Sometimes..." Wu Ling thought of self-heating rice, smiled, and "sometimes it's hard to say."
Old Zhou snorted, remembering the taste of the self-heating rice he had eaten before.
The middle-aged man in the gray cloth long gown near the door gently closed the book beside him.
Wu Ling paused for a moment.
"but..."
All eyes in the audience were on him.
There is one thing that has never changed, no matter how many years have passed.
No one spoke, and even the palm-leaf fan stopped.
"A covered bowl. Three-flower design. A bamboo chair."
He looked at the people below the stage.
The old man with the chessboard, Master Liu who cleans ears, Old Zhou who carries bowls, and Xiao Cui squatting at the foot of the table.
"In Chengdu, people still go to a teahouse in the afternoon, order a bowl of 'Three Flowers' (a type of tea), and sit down. The sun is shining, the wind is blowing, and the covered bowl is steaming."
"Exactly the same as you are now."
What you are doing here today, people will be doing in the future.
Wu Ling gently placed the gavel on the stage, and his prepared story came to an end.
The teahouse fell silent.
It was longer than the last time I talked about Old Zhou. Last time it was three or four seconds, this time it was seven or eight seconds.
No one spoke, no one drank tea, and no one moved the chess pieces.
The thin old man looked down at the teacup in his hand.
"Alright," he muttered, "If I'll still be drinking Sanhua tea in the future, then this bowl of tea was worth it."
Some people laughed, not at Wu Ling, but at the sudden increase in value of the bowl of tea in their hands.
Xiao Cui didn't laugh. After everyone had left, she leaned over and asked in a low voice.
"Shopkeeper."
"Um?"
"Does everyone really have that piece of metal?"
"real."
"If I had one, what would I be able to see?"
"You can watch whatever you want."
Xiao Cui thought for a while.
"Then I want to see the sea. I've never seen the sea before."
Wu Ling looked at her.
The girl, aged twelve or thirteen, grew up in Chengdu and has never left the city; she may never leave the city in her entire life.
"I'll show it to you later."
He didn't actually have any videos of the ocean saved on his phone; he'd have to go back and download them online.
"You mentioned later again."
She took the bowl back, and the curtain swayed twice more.
The waiter walked from one end to the other before remembering who he was supposed to refill the water for.
Mr. Liu squatted there for a long time without moving.
It wasn't until the old man next to him urged, "Master Liu?"
He then picked up the copper shovel, his work slowing down slightly.
Old Zhou took a sip of tea.
"interesting."
Wu Ling waited.
"Unfortunately, I can't remember it after listening to it."
"What can't you remember?"
People. They can remember cars, lights, and twenty million. But they can't remember a single person.
He picked up the bowl and took another sip.
Wu Ling felt a heavy weight in his heart.
Every word Old Zhou said was correct.
He said a lot of interesting things, and the audience was quiet for seven or eight seconds.
That silence was one of surprise, not emotion.
What's the difference between surprise and being moved?
Surprise comes from hearing something you've never heard before; emotion comes from hearing something relevant to yourself.
Wu Ling sat back down at the table, picked up the now-cold tea, and took a sip.
The chess pieces were placed again on the other side of the chessboard, and the waiter carried a kettle to refill the water.
Someone whispered to the person next to them, "Twenty million people? That's just bragging."
The middle-aged man near the door stood up.
He walked slowly to the counter, put down the money for the tea, and stopped as he passed Wu Ling.
"Young man."
Wu Ling looked up, and the eyes behind his round-framed glasses were very bright—not just politely bright, but genuinely looking at him intently.
"Well said. Your comment about drinking Sanhua tea in the future is a good one."
"What happens next?"
He smiled.
"We've covered too much groundwork upfront. We've talked about cars, lights, and roads for most of the time. By the time we got to that last sentence, the audience was already getting a bit tired."
Wu Ling's heart skipped a beat; it was the same thing Old Zhou had mentioned. Only this person had put it in more detail.
"Then how should I say it?"
"Instead of talking about a metal-shelled car, tell us about a person sitting inside it. What does he do for a living? Where is he going? What is he thinking about on the way? One day in the future, a person, from morning till night. After listening, the audience will say, 'Oh, so this is how people in the future live their lives.'"
"What is your surname, sir?"
"No need for formalities, my surname is Li." He picked up his book and tucked it under his arm. "I also write a bit. What you said would be excellent material if written into a book."
After saying that, he turned and left.
Wu Ling watched his figure disappear into the alleyway.
"There are few people in Chengdu who can write books as well as Mr. Li."
"What books does he write?"
"It's a novel, set in Chengdu. It's about these neighbors, these teahouses, these people." Old Zhou stirred the surface of his bowl with the lid of his teacup. "Listen to what he's saying. He knows what makes a good story."
"How many times has he come here?"
"He's been here for two or three months. He doesn't come every day, just every few days. He sits in that corner, makes a bowl of tea, and reads a book all afternoon. He doesn't talk to anyone. Today is the first time I've heard him talk to someone so much."
Wu Ling remembered it: his surname was Li, and he wrote novels about Chengdu.
It was already past midnight when I went back inside.
He lay in bed unable to sleep, Old Zhou's words echoing in his mind.
I can remember the car, I can remember the lights, but I can't remember a person.
Then I remembered what Mr. Li said before he left.
"I'll write something too."
Wu Ling picked up his phone and searched.
Li, Chengdu, novel, Republican era.
He was stunned when the first result popped up.
Li Jieren was born in Chengdu in 1891.
Writer, translator, journalist, restaurant owner.
Representative works include "Dead Water Ripples", "Before the Storm", and "The Great Wave".
The writing is all about Chengdu, teahouses, and the people in these streets and alleys.
Guo Moruo called him "China's Zola".
Wu Ling stared at the screen for a long time.
That's the middle-aged man who was drinking tea and reading in the corner just now.
Round-framed glasses, gray cloth long gown.
"I'll write something too."