yu

You don't plan on inheriting Gui's carpentry business?

Being a carpenter won't make you rich, but it's a stable career.

My mind is made up. I'm not built to be a carpenter. Neither was my dad; he relied on business from the neighbors all these years.

Don't say that... Your dad inherited your grandpa's business when he was around your age.

(Shakes head) Maybe you're just trying to convince me because you're used to having a carpenter on this street.

But I know that's not I want.

His eyes still red, the young man bows and leaves.

He almost runs over an old beggar at the door. Holding a chipped bowl in his hand, the beggar seems almost deranged, muttering under his breath, half-crying and half-singing—

'A thousand years of sorrow, a fleeting moment of mirth. Fame and wealth, all to nothing, in the blink of an eye...'

The young man stops and listens for a while, then tosses a few coins into the beggar's bowl.

A clink, and the young man is already gone, not looking back.

Duoxie... thank you...

What a heavenly smell... please, good master, a few scraps for an old beggar... wait, this place...

The beggar's eyes go wide. He staggers back a few steps, then rushes forward, scanning the restaurant with his eyes—with one clouded eye.

The interior of the restaurant does not seem to have changed in the slightest, even after decades have passed.

There is a single oil lamp on the old counter, and the same half-full celadon bowl next to it.

No... how did I get here? Where's Fortune House across the street? I... I must go...

Oh, it's you. Don't just stand there, take a seat.

I...

The chef sighs and goes into the kitchen, emerging with a bowl of congee in his hands.

The congee is white as snow, its surface perfectly flat like a mirror.

You... you recognize me?

Of course I do. I wouldn't have invited you in if I didn't.

You recognize... no, you don't!

You said you didn't know me when I came to you with a box full of gold! And now... you're saying you recognize me NOW?

Look at me... thirteen years behind bars. I lost half my teeth, lost an eye... I wouldn't even recognize myself in the mirror, if I had one!

I stay out of sight and hide my face so that no one will recognize me! There's nothing I fear more that hearing someone say—

'Hey, if it isn't Lu Chun! Wow, what happened to you?' Ha! Haha—hahaha!

The old beggar smashes his bowl on the ground in frenzied rage.

I-It was you, wasn't it?! It was you who put that bowl of congee on the table! You saw all of it, didn't you?

One mistake... all because of one mistake! I stole the money, got promoted... went to jail! Ended up like this!

Was it all because of 'one mistake'?

Wh-What do you mean?

You still don't understand, do you...? Does it matter whether I know you or not?

To me, you're just a diner who came to eat. Great mandarin or beggar, if it's a bowl of congee you want, then it's a bowl of congee you get.

But what is that bowl of congee to you? Is it to fill the stomach, to show off, or to justify yourself?

What... what is it... to me...?

Look at you. All these years, and you couldn't even figure out this one simple question.

Even that carpenter's son has a clearer head than you. At least he knows he doesn't want to be a carpenter, and it's none of his concern that other people want him to be one.

What about you?

Don't... get... seen...

My achievement is known to all Yan!

I stay out of sight and hide my face so that no one will recognize me...

Lost for words, the mad beggar laughs hollowly, thick tears rolling down his haggard face.

He lifts the bowl and gulps down the congee.

The chef turns around and retrieves the box of wet matches from behind the counter.

He flicks, and a small flame dances on his fingertip.

He carefully transfers the flame onto the dry lamp wick. The tiny light of the lamp is hardly visible under the sunlight.

He places the lamp back at the window, and the flame grows, swaying, lighting the path for people passing by, inside and outside.