Old Jin City on the Wall

Chapter 5 Qin Xiaowan

Wu Ling was awakened by the sound of knocking on the door.

It wasn't a knock, it was a slap, fast and heavy, like slapping a watermelon.

The door was already open when he came down from the second floor.

Since there was no lock to begin with, we don't know who took the picture for nothing.

Qin Xiaowan stood in front of the counter, one hand on her hip and the other holding a plastic bag, her voice already at its loudest.

"Wu Ling! Are you dead or what?! It's been twenty-four days! Twenty-four days!"

"...Keep your voice down."

"I'll speak softer? You haven't replied to my messages for twenty-four days and you're telling me to speak softer?"

She slammed the plastic bag onto the counter, and two pounds of oranges and a bunch of bananas rolled out.

"I made six phone calls. Not a single one was answered. I sent eleven WeChat messages. You didn't even reply with an emoji."

"I've been busy lately—"

"What's all the fuss about? What have you been doing in this teahouse for twenty-four days?"

Wu Ling did not respond.

Qin Xiaowan had already started wandering around the teahouse.

Short hair, jeans, sneakers, and a gray sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

He walked with a brisk pace, his sneakers making a loud slapping sound on the ground.

She turned around and came back.

"Oh ho."

"Your grandpa would be crawling out of his grave if he knew about this teahouse. Look at it—dust, cobwebs, the tables are crooked, the chairs are overturned, and there are your slippers on the floor. Have you turned this teahouse into your bedroom?"

"I've packed up..."

"You've tidied up? Tidied up where? Show me."

Wu Ling pointed to the counter.

Qin Xiaowan looked down at the dust on the countertop; the spot where she had smashed the orange was now clean.

"Your dad sent me." Her tone softened slightly. "His exact words were: 'That son of a bitch is incredibly stubborn. Go check if he's got something wrong with his head.'"

"He said I have something wrong with my head?"

"You don't think so?" She ran her hand across the counter, leaving a gray mark, then held it up for him to see. "Is this what a normal person's living space looks like?"

Without waiting for his reply, she took out a pack of wet wipes from her canvas bag, squatted down, and began wiping the table.

Her mouth never stopped and her hands never stopped; this was a skill she had honed since elementary school when she was on duty.

The whole class was most afraid of being in the same group as her.

Do you have any dishcloths?

"There's some in the kitchen."

"Go get it, wet wipes are five yuan a pack, I feel bad using them to wipe your dust."

Wu Ling went to the kitchen and found two old rags, soaked them in water, wrung them out, and started wiping from the other end.

The two of them each get half.

Qin Xiaowan wiped the table quickly, finishing in three strokes. The water from rinsing the rag was grayish-black.

She rinsed the water three times, and each time she poured it into the drain by the door, she would comment on it.

"Look at this water. What have you been doing all week?"

"Organize Grandpa's things."

"You spent a week organizing? Did your grandfather leave behind a lot of things?"

"Not many. But some things... are difficult to handle."

She could tell he didn't want to talk, so she glanced at him but didn't follow up.

As she wiped the inside of the counter, she saw a row of old things.

A bronze incense burner, several pieces of pottery with inscriptions, a rolled-up painting, and a chipped bronze knife.

"Is your grandfather's treasure still there?" She reached out to touch the bronze incense burner.

"Don't touch it."

"Tsk. You're just a miser. Are you even worth anything?"

"I don't know."

"I didn't know you treasured it this much? Should I call my cousin to take a look? He's been dealing in antiques in Songxianqiao for ten years..."

"Need not."

"Fine, fine. It's your stuff, you decide what to do with it."

She put all the tables and chairs back in their places. One of the bamboo chairs had loose legs, so she turned it over to take a look.

"Do you have a hammer?"

"There's a toolbox under the counter."

She found a hammer and nails herself, hammered them three times, turned back, and sat down to try them out.

"Alright."

"How come you can do everything?"

"Anyone who has run a skewers shop needs to know everything," she said while sweeping the floor. "Although my shop closed down after only two months, I did all the renovations myself. I connected the plumbing and electrical lines myself, painted the tables myself, and drew the signboard myself... saving me over ten thousand yuan in renovation costs."

"So how did it collapse?"

"I've chosen the right location. There's a snail rice noodle shop next door. When customers walk in, they don't smell the skewers, they smell pickled bamboo shoots."

"Why not just change seats?"

"Changing locations costs money. I borrowed money to open the shop, and after two months I haven't earned a single penny, I'm even in debt for eight thousand. Where am I going to get the money to pay it back?" She swept the dust into a corner, "It took me half a year to pay back that eight thousand."

"So now you..."

"I take odd jobs. Doing bookkeeping, running errands. Last month I did three days' worth of inventory for a hot pot restaurant and made eight hundred." She straightened up. "Eight hundred. Three days. Definitely better than you! How much do you earn in a week?"

"zero."

"Then I am indeed better than you."

When she swept the corner, she found an old tin tea canister. It was rusty, and the lid wouldn't open. She shook it, and it made a rustling sound inside.

"There's something in here. Tea leaves?"

"Perhaps. Don't open it."

"You're saying no to everything. If you don't allow anyone to touch anything in this teahouse, then what's the point of opening it?"

She put the tea canister back on the counter and picked up a slip of paper from the floor. It was yellow, old, and contained four words.

"Make good tea," she read aloud.

"Um."

"Was it written by your grandfather?"

"Um."

"Make good tea."

She read it aloud again, gently placed the note back on the counter, and said nothing more.

It was almost 11 o'clock when I finished the work.

The teahouse has changed.

The original wood color of the tabletop was revealed, the chairs were neatly arranged, the floor was swept, the cobwebs were removed, and the window was opened to let in some fresh air. The wind at the end of March carried the scent of grass from the alleyway.

Qin Xiaowan leaned back in the bamboo chair, which creaked.

Do you have any tea?

Wu Ling looked at her.

"You run a teahouse, right? I've been working here all morning. Aren't you going to pour me a bowl of tea?"

He went behind the counter to look for tea leaves, specifically the Sanhua variety, from the white tin can his grandfather had left him. When he opened it, there was still a hint of jasmine fragrance.

Boil water, warm the bowl, scoop a pinch into the covered bowl, rinse it with water, put the lid on, and push it in front of her.

Qin Xiaowan used the tea lid to stir the floating tea leaves.

She learned this gesture from Grandpa Wu Ling when she was a child, and she mastered it after just one try.

I took a sip.

"good."

Is "okay" good or bad?

"It's alright. Better than those teahouses outside, but worse than your grandfather's."

Wu Ling also made himself a bowl of soup and sat down opposite her.

The teahouse was quiet for a while.

Someone rode by on a bicycle outside the window, and the bell rang once.

Someone in the alley is stewing pork ribs; the aroma wafts in.

The steam from the covered bowl rose in a curved pattern, spreading between the two people.

"Let's get down to business." Qin Xiaowan put down her bowl, took out her phone, and opened the calculator. "How much money do you have?"

"A little over thirty thousand."

"rent."

"No. It's from my own."

Her fingers stopped, and she looked up.

"This location, is it your own?"

"Grandpa's house."

Do you know how much the monthly rent is for street-front shops in Qingyang District?

"I don't know."

"One hundred square meters, at least eight thousand. At least. You're basically getting eight thousand for free every month." She looked down and continued pressing the buttons. "What about the water and electricity?"

"About six hundred."

"living expenses?"

"One thousand and five."

"1500 yuan a day, 50 yuan. Breakfast is 10 yuan, lunch is 15 yuan, and dinner is 15 yuan. If you get hungry in between..."

I'm not hungry.

"Whether you're hungry or not is up to your stomach, not you. What about the tea leaves?"

"Three-flowered [product name]. Thirty yuan per jin, five jin per month."

"One hundred and fifty. Miscellaneous expenses are two hundred." She finished pressing the buttons, turned her phone over to show him, and said, "Monthly expenses are two thousand four hundred and fifty. Thirty thousand yuan."

"How long can we hold out?"

"You can remove it yourself."

"...twelve months."

"Twelve months and a few days. And then?"

"There will be income."

"Why should I? Where are your customers? Where's the menu? You haven't even put up a sign."

"It will happen."

"Wu Ling, the words 'it will happen' won't cook up a bowl of noodles. You need something different—something that sets you apart from the others. There are teahouses everywhere; why would anyone choose yours?"

He took a sip from the covered bowl but didn't answer.

"Let me know when you figure it out." Qin Xiaowan put her phone back in her pocket, looked at the note, and said, "Your grandpa said to brew good tea—but just brewing tea isn't enough. You need to have something to go with it. Tea with snacks, that's how you raise the average order value."

"Don't rush, I'm thinking."

"So you want to hurry? It's lunchtime, and I'm hungry. What kind of food do you have at your house?"

There are eggs in the refrigerator.

"Just eggs?"

"There's also leftover food from the day before yesterday."

"You survived a week on eggs and leftovers." She shook her head and walked towards the kitchen. "Wait here, I'll do it."

She opened the refrigerator door, took out an egg, weighed it in her hand, and turned it over to look at the shell.

"This egg is wrong."

"What's wrong?"

"Heavy. Heavier than normal eggs. The shell color is also darker, look at this brown, the eggs in the supermarket aren't this dark. And the size is smaller. This isn't from a farm."

"Free-range eggs. A gift from a friend."

"Who exactly is this friend of yours? I had no idea you had such a friend."

You don't know him.

Qin Xiaowan stared at him for two seconds.

"Okay. I've got it."

She cracked the two eggs onto the rim of the bowl.

She stopped when the first egg yolk slid out.

Deep orange, round, thick, like a drop of solidified amber, not dispersing.

She smacked the second one too, and it was the same color.

"Come and see." She beckoned to Wu Ling. "I ate free-range eggs in my grandmother's village for twenty years. They were from free-range chickens that roamed all over the mountains. Even the yolks weren't this color."

"They're probably different varieties."

"What kind is it? Tell me."

Wu Ling took the bowl from her hands.

"I'll cook it. You chop the scallions."

Heat the oil in a pan, then pour in the eggs.

Qin Xiaowan was chopping scallions when she stopped.

She turned her head, took a step closer, and then another step closer.

"Wu Ling".

"Um."

"What does this taste like?"

"This is what scrambled eggs taste like when they're cooked through."

"Don't talk nonsense." She practically put her face to the edge of the pot. "These are definitely not ordinary eggs. The taste—"

She took a breath. "It's too strong."

Wu Ling scrambled the eggs, poured them into the leftover rice, stirred them a few times, and sprinkled chopped green onions on top.

Two bowls of egg fried rice.

Qin Xiaowan picked up the bowl and took the first bite.

He chewed twice and then placed his chopsticks on the rim of the bowl.

I took another bite.

Then, without looking up, he scraped every single grain of rice from the bottom of the bowl clean with his chopsticks.

Wu Ling was also eating.

The scrambled eggs are wrapped in rice, and every bite has that flavor, which travels from your tongue to your throat and then to your nasal cavity.

It's not thanks to the seasonings or the cooking time; it's just that the egg itself is like that.

Qin Xiaowan put the bowl down.

"Wu Ling".

"Um."

"These eggs weren't bought from a supermarket, a wet market, online, or from any farmhouse restaurant around Chengdu."

How can you be so sure?

"I stocked up on eggs for two years before opening my skewer shop. I've seen hundreds of kinds of eggs. Free-range, caged, free-range eggs, black-shelled eggs, organic, fake organic. None of them tasted like this."

She stared at the empty bowl.

"Tell me the truth. Where did this egg come from?"

"I already said. It was a gift from a friend."

"Could you take me to your friend's chicken farm?"

"I can't go."

"Why can't we go?"

"I just can't go."

She looked at him, and her lips moved slightly.

"OK."

She went to wash the dishes, and halfway through, she suddenly turned around.

"You just said this egg was a gift from a friend. How old is that friend?"

"...It's quite large."

"Where are you staying?"

"It's too far. You can't go."

"Does he have anything else? Like..." She turned off the water, turned around and leaned against the sink, "In Chengdu, egg pancakes are sold everywhere, but if you make a different version, the old recipe, handmade..."

"Where did you get this old recipe?"

"You know, that 'bigger' friend of yours. He'll even give you eggs. Ask him if he has the recipe."

Wu Ling almost dropped the bowl.

"...That friend isn't that kind of friend."

"What kind of friend?"

"Never mind that."

"Fine, fine. I don't care." She turned the water back on and continued rinsing the dishes, muttering, "What kind of friend is so mysterious?"

"If we can get a lot of these eggs, organic eggs in Chengdu cost five to eight yuan each. These eggs of yours will cost at least fifteen to twenty yuan."

"Not for sale."

"I didn't say sell. I meant you should be aware of this."

She washed the dishes clean and wiped the stove.

I went back to the front hall and walked around again, this time slowly, to examine the layout.

"There are twelve tables, with four seats at each table. A full house is forty-eight people. Tea costs fifteen yuan a bowl, so a full house costs seven hundred and twenty yuan per round. If you add tea and snacks, the price per person can reach thirty yuan, so a full house costs one thousand four hundred and forty yuan per round."

"Where did forty-eight people come from?"

"I'm talking about the ceiling. You need to know where the ceiling is before you tell me where the floor is."

She walked up to the mural and stopped.

"This painting..."

Wu Ling paused for a moment as he picked up the covered bowl.

"I remember when I was little, my mom brought me to your grandpa's place. Back then, this painting was all gray and you couldn't make out anything." She tilted her head and looked at it for a while. "Now it seems like there are a few pieces. Look here, there's color. It looks like a roof."

"It might be light."

"It's a cloudy day. Where would the light come from?"

She looked at it for a few more seconds, then shifted her gaze to the center.

"And this middle part—why is it empty? There are things all around, but the middle part is completely empty."

That's just how it is.

"Was it originally empty? Was it left by the artist?"

"I don't know."

"You wouldn't know." She shook her head, picked up the broom, and leaned it against the wall. "Never mind. Maybe I remembered it wrong. It was something from when I was little."

It was past two o'clock in the afternoon when Qin Xiaowan dusted off her pants and stood up.

She stood in the doorway and started counting on her fingers.

"First, the business license is still in your grandfather's name, so you need to change it to your name."

"it is good."

"Second, the menu. Even if you only sell three kinds of flowers, write down the prices and post them out for me."

"it is good."

"Third, remember to reply to WeChat messages. My mom introduced me to a blind date last month, a guy who sells insurance, and he replied faster than you."

"A blind date?"

"After only three sentences, they asked me if I wanted to buy critical illness insurance."

"...Did you buy it?"

"Are you out of your mind?" She rolled her eyes. "Fourth, figure out exactly what makes your teahouse different from others. That's the most important thing."

"Understood."

"Fifth, forget it. Let's deal with the first four first. I'll come back next week."

She stepped out of the door and took two steps.

Stopped.

"Wu Ling".

"Um?"

"That egg."

"Um."

"If your friend still has any, could you get me a few?" She didn't turn around, her voice softening slightly. "Get a few for my mom. She hasn't had much of an appetite lately."

The electric scooter started up with a hum, turned a corner in the alley, and the sound faded into the distance.

Wu Ling stood at the door. The wind at the end of March came from the alley entrance, damp and carrying the smell of cooking oil from who-knows-where.

The tables in the teahouse have been wiped clean, and the chairs have been arranged.

Next to the tin tea canister on the counter was a note with four words on it.

He went back to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

There was one last egg left, with a brownish shell and a small size, sitting quietly in the egg case.

He watched for a while, then closed the door.

This is not fried.