Old Jin City on the Wall

Chapter 6, First Income

The next day, Wu Ling went to the Market Supervision Bureau.

He checked online and found that his grandfather had passed away. Since the business license for a sole proprietorship cannot be changed directly, it can only be cancelled first and then reissued.

While searching for materials in his grandfather's old camphor wood chest, Wu Ling discovered the property certificate for the teahouse at the bottom of the chest.

I opened it and was stunned—it didn't say my grandfather's name, but his.

Wu Ling checked the transfer date and found that it was three years ago, when the residential property was changed to a mixed-use commercial and residential property.

It turns out that Grandpa transferred the house to his name three years ago. At that time, he was still working in Chongqing and knew nothing about it.

The old man said nothing, yet he had arranged everything.

He took the property certificate and his grandfather's old business license to the window.

The teacher glanced at the materials casually.

"Where is the original business license?"

"Here it is."

"Handwritten?"

It was established in 1983.

"...Okay. Since the property is in your name, it's simple. Just cancel the old one and apply again in your name. It should take about two weeks to gather all the necessary documents."

Two weeks.

The first one isn't exactly stuck, but it won't be fast either.

The second one was done immediately. He found a piece of cardboard, wrote a line of text with a marker, and hung it on the door:

Three-flower tea, 15 yuan per bowl, refills available.

One line of text, one variety, one price.

The third message is a reply to WeChat.

Qin Xiaowan had 24 days of unread messages, the last one being, "Tell me if you die and I'll come and collect your body."

He replied with three words: "Not dead." Thanks.

Qin Xiaowan replied with a voice message immediately, but he didn't open it.

The fourth one... I haven't thought of it yet.

He put down his phone and started rummaging through the drawers in the cabinet.

Qin Xiaowan gave him the exact numbers, but there were other things hidden in the drawer.

The outstanding water, electricity, and gas bills, plus two favors that Grandpa wrote down on a piece of paper.

One note read "Sister Zhao owes 500 yuan for running the shop," and the other read "Master Li repairs pipes for 300 yuan," both dated November of last year.

Grandpa even remembered three hundred yuan.

The debts, plus the expenses for opening, such as buying tea, replacing teacups, repairing chairs, painting the signboard, and miscellaneous items.

He pressed the button on his phone, and realized that Qin Xiaowan's promise of twelve months was definitely not going to last.

Wu Ling sent Qin Xiaowan a message and sent her a photo of the details.

Thirty seconds later, a voice message came through. The bus announcement sounded once, followed by Qin Xiaowan's voice.

"You've got a hammer to fix the chair. Don't paint the sign yet, nobody's coming anyway. Buy the miscellaneous items from the wholesale market. For tea, only get Sanhua and Bitan Piaoxue for now, we can talk about Zhuyeqing later when we have customers. Save where you can. I'm getting off now."

We can save a little money, but it won't affect the overall situation.

In the afternoon, Mr. Zhang, the owner of the milk tea shop next door, came over.

He was in his early thirties, and his apron was printed with "Tea Horse Lane One Point".

It's not the chain store; it's a name he chose himself.

She always carries a cup of her own homemade milk tea in her hand, with a bent straw that makes the cup wobble as she walks.

"Boss Wu! You've opened the door?"

"It's open."

"Okay, okay." He strolled in, looked around, and said, "It's cleaner than last month! Did someone help you with that?"

A friend came to visit.

"girlfriend?"

"Childhood friend".

"Male or female?"

"...A woman."

"Oh—" he drawled, sitting down opposite Wu Ling and taking a sip of his milk tea. "Childhood friend, huh? Got it, got it."

Then he gestured towards the door with his chin. "That cat, your grandpa's?"

An orange cat was lying by the door, its belly round and plump, its eyes squinting, and its tail draped over the threshold.

"wildcat."

"Back then, your grandpa would leave fish bones for it every day," said Boss Zhang. "It would squat by the door every day. If you didn't leave any, it would just stay there; if you did, it would eat it and leave. It had guts."

"You came all this way just to talk about cats?"

"Not entirely." Boss Zhang took a sip of his milk tea. "When your grandfather was alive, I would come here every afternoon for a bowl of Sanhua tea. It cost five yuan. He was really good at it; I'm not exaggerating, the tea masters in those other teahouses couldn't compare."

"Did he take money from you?"

"They charged me for the first two months, but then they stopped. Whenever I came in, they would pour me some, and when I left, I would leave five yuan on the counter, but they wouldn't even look at it. Later, I tried leaving three yuan, and the next day they replaced my cup with a smaller one."

Wu Ling couldn't help but laugh.

"Your grandfather, he doesn't say anything, but he remembers everything." Boss Zhang's tone softened a bit. "Your family is the oldest in this alley. Your grandfather was already here when I came. The milk tea shop used to be a tailor shop, and before that, a shoe repair shop. They all left. Only your grandfather stayed."

"Um."

"So I'm happy to see you continue operating." His tone returned to normal. "But seriously, this place is only about a hundred square meters, and you're the only one living here. You could rent out the front half, from that pillar to the door. Find someone to sell dumplings or skewers or something, and you could easily make two or three thousand a month."

"No, I won't rent it."

"You go first..."

"No rent. This teahouse is not for rent."

Boss Zhang glanced at him and didn't try to persuade him further.

He picked up his milk tea, took a sip, and changed the subject.

"By the way, last month a girl came to my shop to buy milk tea. After she finished, she didn't leave. She stood at your door for a while and watched her."

"What are you looking at?"

"I took a picture of your plaque and even squatted down to look at your threshold, the one that's been worn down by people stepping on it."

"Who is it?"

"I don't know her. She was carrying a big bag, like an academic. Young, with long hair." Boss Zhang stood up. "I told her the owner of this teahouse just passed away last month, and I didn't know if it was still open. She left without saying anything."

He strolled to the doorway, bent down, and stroked the orange cat's head.

"Little Orange, you have high hopes for him."

The cat yawned.

After Boss Zhang left, the teahouse became empty again.

Wu Ling brewed himself a bowl of tea.

Still the same three flowers, made in Grandpa's tin can.

As the water was being rinsed down, he remembered what Qin Xiaowan had said yesterday: "It's worse than what your grandpa made."

What's the difference?

He lifted the lid of the bowl and took a sniff.

There is a jasmine fragrance, but it's overpowering and masks the tea base.

Grandpa's Three Flowers tea has a layered aroma of flowers and tea flavor; you smell the flowers first, then taste the tea, without any conflict.

I took a sip.

It has a sweet aftertaste, but it's short-lived.

It dissipates as soon as it reaches the back of the tongue, making it impossible to catch the next bite.

Grandpa's Sanhua tea has a sweet aftertaste that goes from the back of your tongue to the back of your throat, and the aftertaste of one sip can last until the next.

He won't last.

It's probably a water temperature issue. Sanhua is a flower tea, so it doesn't need boiling water. My grandfather never uses freshly boiled water to brew tea; he always lets the teapot sit for a while after lifting it up.

He rinsed it directly with hot water, which brought out the fragrance of the flowers but also dissipated it.

He made another bowl.

This time, I waited half a minute after the water boiled before rinsing, and the soup came out two seconds faster.

The tea soup was a bit light in color, a yellowish-green.

I took a sip, and hmm, the floral aroma had faded; it wasn't too strong, but the flavor was weak.

For the third bowl, the water temperature remained the same, and I waited a few more seconds after pouring the soup.

The color is the lightest, but when you put it in your mouth, it's simply smooth.

It glides smoothly across the tongue without any obstruction, and then the sweet aftertaste slowly rises from under the throat, lasting longer than the previous two bowls.

He placed the three bowls of tea on the table and drank them from left to right.

The third bowl is the best.

Three bowls of tea with three flowers, zero income, zero customers.

Only he felt that the third bowl was an improvement over the first.

Does this count as properly brewing tea?

I'd say roughly.

Grandma Zhao has arrived.

She pushed the door open and came in without saying hello. She sat down by the window, in the same spot as when her grandfather was alive.

Wu Ling brewed her a bowl of Sanhua (a type of herbal tea) and brought it over.

Grandma Zhao took a sip, then another.

"Less bland than your grandfather's."

"Yes. Still learning."

Grandma Zhao didn't say anything more and sat for another half hour. The light outside the window changed from white to yellow.

She left fifteen yuan on the counter when she left.

"Grandma Zhao..."

"Don't back down. Do you want to eat?"

gone.

Fifteen yuan, Wu Ling looked at the two banknotes on the counter.

My first income of the day.

This was also his first income since he opened the teahouse.

After Granny Zhao left, Wu Ling put the fifteen yuan into a drawer and placed it together with the IOUs that his grandfather had written down.

He glanced at the note that read, "Sister Zhao owes five hundred yuan for running the shop."

That was because Grandma Zhao had helped Grandpa run the teahouse for a few days, and she didn't accept the 500 yuan reward for her hard work.

Grandpa remembers, and he has to remember too; he'll have to pay it back sooner or later.

Then he took out the IOU from Master Li from the drawer and went out.

Tea Horse Lane is not long, only seventy or eighty meters long.

Mr. Li's pipes were laid deeper in the alley, and the roller shutter door was only half open, with pipe fittings and wrenches piled inside.

"Master Li."

"Which one?" A man in his fifties poked his head out from behind the pile of pipes, still clutching a piece of PTFE tape in his hand.

"It's from Wu's Teahouse. My grandfather owes you three hundred yuan for pipe repairs."

Master Li glanced at him. "Are you Old Wu's grandson?"

"Um."

"You don't need to pay that money. Your grandfather fixed my chair twice, so we're even."

"My grandfather remembers." Wu Ling placed three hundred yuan on the water pipe in front of him.

Master Li looked at the money, then at him, and pushed the money back.

"Your grandfather's debts are his own to decide. If he says he owes you, he's just being polite. Take it back. Is the teahouse still open?"

"It's on."

"Then I'll come over for a bowl of tea another day."

"Three flowers. Fifteen yuan a bowl."

"Fifteen? Your grandpa charged me five dollars."

"...Then we'll talk when you get here."

Wu Ling returned with three hundred yuan in his pocket; the IOU was not cancelled, and the money had not been spent.

I walked through the alley and recognized someone.

Back at the counter, he opened his grandfather's notebook again.

The winding line under the Huanhua River looks like both a stream and a road.

When the alley quieted down, Wu Ling was still sitting behind the counter.

The only things left in the alley were the streetlights and the orange cat.

The orange cat jumped down from the threshold, took a few steps on the stone path, and squatted down under the street lamp, its tail curled up around its paws.

Wu Ling didn't turn on the lights; the light from the streetlights shone through the window cracks and fell on the gavel on the stage, making it half bright and half dark.

He stood up, held the gavel in his hand, and did not go on stage.

He stood leaning against the bamboo chair in the first row of the audience, as if talking to someone sitting opposite him.

"grandfather."

"You once said, 'Don't rush, wait for it to awaken.' I didn't understand when I was twelve. Now I understand; you weren't talking about tea."

He twirled the gavel in his hand, the wood becoming slightly warm from the sweat on his palm.

"When I was little, I asked you, Grandpa, why don't you go out and play? You said, 'If I go out, I won't be able to come back.' I thought you meant that you were too old to walk. Now that I think about it, that's not what you meant."

"Fifty-eight years. You must have thought about leaving. But you didn't. I understand now. It wasn't that you couldn't leave, it was that you were afraid that if you left, the people here wouldn't be able to wait for you."

Wu Ling paused for a moment.

The teahouse was so dark that only a small patch of light remained.

The mural was in the dark, and nothing could be seen clearly.

It was darker towards the back door.

"Grandma Zhao came today, to the same spot by the window. She left fifteen yuan when she left. I remember one winter, the day her husband passed away, she sat here until closing time. You kept refilling her water all night without saying a word."

"That's just the kind of person you are. You don't say it, but it's all there."

"Also, today I went to see Mr. Li, the one who fixes pipes. I went to return the three hundred yuan, but he wouldn't accept it. He said that since I fixed his chair before, we're even."

He turned the gavel over and touched the bottom with his thumb.

The inscription has been worn away almost completely; only the fingertip can still feel a slight unevenness.

"Every day before you close the door, you have a habit of arranging everything on the counter. The bronze incense burner is on the left, the teacups on the right, and old paper is placed under the teacups. You've been doing this every day for fifty-eight years. When I asked you why, you said, 'Arranging it is like looking at it, and looking at it is like memorizing it.'"

"I brewed three bowls of tea today, the third one was the best. The menu is up, but no one has come to drink it yet. Qin Xiaowan calculated it for me, saying it would take twelve months, but I did the calculations myself, and it seems unlikely."

"Were you like this back then? All alone, with no one coming, talking to an empty teahouse?"

No one answered.

The orange cat outside the window meowed briefly, as if in response to something.

Then it became quiet again.

The lights came on at the back door.

A ray of warm yellow light seeped out from the crack in the door.

It didn't light up suddenly; it was as if someone had slowly lit an oil lamp over there, and the light seeped in little by little from the crack.

Then the voice came too.

Voices in the distance.

The lid touched the rim of the bowl.

The sound of a piece being placed.

Someone shouted "Add tea!" and by the time it reached this side, it had softened, as if separated by a wall or something else.

Wu Ling gripped the gavel tightly and walked over.

My hand rested on the door; the wood was warm.

It wasn't the warmth from the sun; it was the heat seeping in from over there.

He could feel something moving on the other side of the door.

It's not the wind, it's people.

Many people sit on bamboo chairs and move around, the chair legs gently scraping the ground.

Push away.

The tea smoke and warm light rushed towards us together.

The temperature suddenly rose several degrees, as if we had stepped into a winter greenhouse from the end of March.

The air was thick, carrying the smell of charcoal and the dampness from steaming tea leaves, along with a hint of the acrid bitterness of dry tobacco.

That's the smell of an old tea drinker smoking tobacco leaves.

There were voices, but they were thinner than when I last came.

Last time it was packed, the kind of place where dozens of people were talking at the same time.

There is a gap in the middle this time.

The waiter leaned against the counter, a teapot beside him, without a table.

In the corner, Master Liu squatted in his usual spot, a copper shovel tucked behind his ear, not turning.

Xiao Cui is not here.

Wu Ling walked over to Old Zhou's table and sat down.

Old Zhou looked at him; the wrinkles on his face were deeper than last time, and he was still wearing the same gray cloth gown, now faded in one spot.

"It's been a long time since I've been here."

"Um."

"Many people have left." Old Zhou used the tea lid to scrape the surface of his bowl, his movements a beat slower than before. "Winter. Cold."

Wu Ling looked at the empty bamboo chairs.

The old man in the melon-shaped hat who sat in the second seat by the window last time is no longer here.

The fat man in the mandarin jacket who usually sat in the third picture was also gone.

"them--"

"I'm not coming," Old Zhou said without explanation.

He picked up the covered bowl, took a sip, and put it down.

"It's good that you're here."

The charcoal brazier was burning, but the fire was not strong, and the smoke was very thin. Occasionally, there would be a popping sound in the brazier, and a spark would jump out from the ash, flashing briefly before going out.

No one spoke anymore; they just sat there.