story_yu_1_1

The sky has grown dark for a while now.

A snowstorm rages outside. One would do well to stay inside the restaurant where it is warm.

The chef looks to be around thirteen, fourteen years of age. He stretches out to add oil to the lamp on the table.

There is not much to do right now, but he gives the wick a little pull.

'Every flake of snow that falls upon new graves is a gold coin for the children,' or so the proverb says.

Look at all those graves outside the city. The streets will be filled with rich people in a few decades.

This wine's gone cold, Young Chef. Can you heat it for me?

Again? There won't be much left but water if you heat it again!

I might as well throw in a few tea leaves, get you sobered up, so you won't babble anymore.

Gui, your dad's funeral...

Basically done. He picked the place. I had the best stonemason in town carve the gravestone and carried it up there myself.

But the snow keeps putting out the pile of joss paper I was burning. Maybe it's Dad telling me to go.

Stop bothering him. Here's your wine, go drink it in a corner.

Have some tea first, Gui. I've kept your food warm. Got to eat a little, even if you don't have the appetite.

Thanks... say, how much did Dad owe the restaurant? I'll settle it while I'm here.

Haven't got the memory to remember who owes what. If you really have to know, ask this—

The chef points to a celadon bowl on the counter, which is half-full of coins.

I know your rules, but I also know my dad. He couldn't even find the door when he's drunk, I doubt he'd have the presence of mind to put in the coins.

How about this, I'll make a few new sets of furniture for this place one of these days, and then we'll be square.

So you're officially taking over your dad's carpentry business?

Yeah... didn't expect my first big job to be Dad's coffin, though.

Well, it's not such a bad line of work, being a carpenter. It's a skill that pays the bills. Shops come and go on this street all the time, and they've got to have a new sign every time a new shop opens.

Signs...

Here's your food, Gui. Eat up! You always liked this steamed beastmeat in flour. There's more, if that's not enough.

Thanks, Young Chef. You're always so kind...

Alright, cut it out and tuck in so you can go home before the snowstorm gets worse. Watch that you don't get your ears frozen off.

Who's looking for food in this bad weather? Just come in already, and close the door behind you!

S-Sorry.

There's hot tea on the counter, help yourself. I'll get a towel for you... come on, sit down, don't tell me you need me to pull out a chair for you?

Wow, look at you. Is the snow that bad outside?

I should be going. Take care, Gui.

The diner leaves with his lukewarm wine pot and tosses a few coins into the celadon bowl on the counter.

The coins make a pleasant clink as they hit the half-full bowl.

The sound echoes in the room with the pleasant aroma of steamed beastmeat, making the scholar's mouth water.

Here, you can use this towel. It's clean.

I-I'm fine...

Alright, thanks. Actually, I...

Have some tea—<i>please!</i>

Thanks, innkeep... but I don't have any money...

Just a cup of tea. No charge.

Wh-What I mean is, I had money, but it got stolen.

Just now? That's one hardworking thief, robbing you in a snowstorm like this. Anyway, it looks like you haven't eaten in a while.

Oh, uh, no, it happened just now...

Can I borrow a meal—two buns, that's all I ask.

I didn't know you could 'borrow' meals these days.

Well, wait here a moment.

Here, take these meat buns. They're still hot. Is that enough? Want a bowl of congee?

Th-That's plenty. I'll, er, have my family send the money soon.

I came to Baizao to take the imperial exam. The Academy will take care of my needs once I pass... I have no reason to lie.

Trying to save face never does anyone any good. We'll talk once you've actually passed.

I'm heading out, Young Chef. The steamed beastmeat was great, but... just not in the mood today.

I was thinking, this place could use a sign and a pair of couplets. I could carve them for you while I'm at it.

The furniture stuff can wait, but you really could use a shop sign...

Not like you couldn't find the place without a sign. I'm no rush, just wait for me to come up with a name.

Alright, I'll wait for you.

I-I'll be going too, then...

Those meat buns would freeze to ice in the cold outside. You can finish them here. Just close the door behind you when you leave. I'll be cleaning the pots in the back.

The snowstorm batters the windows, but the light in the restaurant does not flicker.

What is left of the plate of steamed beastmeat has gone cold, and the fat has solidified into a thin layer on top.

A candlewick cracks. The flickering light reflects off the celadon bowl on the counter and into the scholar's eyes.

If I hadn't been robbed by that cursed thief...

I walked a thousand li to come all the way here. If I can't pay the examination fee—I can't very well walk another thousand li back!

Alright, I'll just take enough to pay the exam fee, and I'll pay it back double once I'm rich.

But... I'll need to change my clothes too... and the soles of my shoes are almost gone...

The silhouette moves from one side of the wall to the other, blocking the lamplight.

All is dark in the shadow. The snowstorm outside seems to blow even fiercer.

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

As soon as the scholar sneaks out, the snowstorm rushes in as though trying to slam the door shut.

Afraid about making a sound, he turns around to close it gently—

Just before the door is closed shut, he catches a glimpse of a steaming hot bowl of congee on the table nearest the door. It is warm and white, giving off a pleasant aroma.

But it is too late.

The door is shut.

The snowstorm has subsided.

Twin moons hang high in the sky.

The moons are bright tonight. Saves a lot of lamp oil.

The chef blows the oil lamp out and opens the window, allowing bright moonlight to pour in.

The wind causes shadows to ripple across the snowy ground like water.

The restaurant has been here for decades. Every night, it leaves a single lamp lit behind the window, to light the path for people passing by, inside and outside.

Tonight, though, the moonlight seems warmer than the lamp.

I've almost forgotten about this pair of lights above our heads! Much brighter than an oil lamp. You two can illuminate the place tonight, so my lamp can take a break.

Young Chef—

What's going on, Gui? Why the firecrackers in the middle of the night?

Come outside! I got your sign!

<i>Savors at Yu's</i>... took you years to think of the name. What's the meaning behind it?

What meaning could there be? You savor the dishes Yu serves—it's that simple.

True! And here, take this red envelope!

What's that about? Made a few coins, and now you're acting all rich?

Of course not! I want to reserve a banquet for my son's Manyue shower, which is in two days' time! This is the deposit.

Besides, my new storefront has just opened. Might as well celebrate both of them together!

I was wondering why you were grinning all day. Guess you did a bit of good business.

But spare the red envelope. It's so banal! Besides, what does it matter? Sounds like you could use the money with all that's going on in life.

Of course it matters! I remember when my dad died twenty years ago, and you treated the entire neighborhood to the funeral banquet out of your own pocket.

I can't owe you any more debts. Besides, my shop's business has been going pretty well lately.

Fate works in mysterious ways, doesn't it? With the expansion of Baizao, this old street will become part of the new town's commercial district soon.

Why is the restaurant opposite the street setting off firecrackers too? Are they celebrating something as well?

Of course not. They just want to one-up us on everything.

What's their name again, Fortune House, I think? Not a single bright match in the entire box, from the owner to the waiters.

It's been a dozen years, hasn't it? When you do breakfast, they do breakfast; when you do late-night, they do late-night. Whenever business is good here, they do special offers...

It's almost like they WANT people to know that their chef learned all he knew from you! Now they're trying to run you out once they've started making a few coins!

What? Don't let them walk all over you if that hunzhang really tries to run you out, Young Chef!

And since when have you seen me let anyone walk over me?

He wanted to buy this place to open a second branch, but I turned him down.

I told him the reason. One, I don't own the place, my brother's just lending it to me. Second...

Where will you find an inexpensive place like this to eat, if I move out? They'll sell bean sprouts at thirty times the price!

I'm just concerned that he'll use some underhanded means to run you out, like arson or something...

Now that you mention it, I seem to remember him saying something like that...

What? Be careful! We can report it to the mandarins, if you feel the need.

Is there something that needs to be reported to a mandarin?

A gong rings a few times, and a procession of magnificent guards walk into the small restaurant, clearing a path.

A man wearing a mandarin's brocade robe walks through their ranks. A servant follows behind, carrying an embroidered box.

I will hear you out, if there is anything you want to say.

No one answers. The mandarin sits down at a table, and the servant immediately places an embroidered tablecloth on it.

The mandarin closes his eyes and takes in the aroma.

What are you cooking?

The subtle sweet smell is like the frosted fin soup I had at Dusk City, but even better, with a hint of Danyan pear.

Must be an outstanding nose, to smell fin from a pot of rock-sugar simmered pear.

I take it you've never tasted them. If you have, you'll know that I'm right.

What would you like? I'm not sure if our household dishes would suit your palate—

I'm in no hurry. What were you saying about someone with arsonist intent?

Yes! That Fortune House across the street!

They're trying to be the only restaurant in the area, driving all nearby competitors out of business, even if they have to operate at a loss.

Once they're rid of competition, they'll raise their prices... if there are no other restaurants in the neighborhood, anyone who needs to hold a banquet will have no choice but to go to them.

It's not just the big restaurants. They won't even let small restaurants like this one off the hook. It's going way too far, don't you think?

Sounds like you have quite the bone to pick with this Fortune House.

I've only recently taken office, and I don't usually involve myself in the local business...

But food is most important to the people, and I will not turn a deaf ear to the people's cries.

The mandarin gestures to his servant, who immediately heads to the restaurant across the street.

The firecrackers soon cease. There is no sound of argument or discussion, just sweet silence.

No need to worry about Fortune House anymore. There will be a thorough investigation.

Impressive. A wave of the hand is all it takes to rip the roof off a big restaurant.

Well, this one is small and old, so don't go waving your hand again. Just tell me what you would like.

Now I'm starting to get a bit peckish. How about...

A bowl of plain congee.

The servant takes out a bunch of coins and tosses them into the celadon bowl on the counter.

Clink, clink—

One bowl will do.

A bowl of congee is quickly served, filling the restaurant with a warm and pleasant aroma.

The mandarin smiles, but does not look at the congee.

One who is truly grateful repays a debt tenfold.

It was one meal on a snowy night, twenty years ago, but I've never forgotten. Don't you remember?

Really? (Scratches head) Doesn't really ring a bell.

With a smile, the mandarin stands up and pushes the chef forward, presenting him to the other diners.

Twenty years ago, I came to Baizao with great ambitions in my heart, only to have all my money stolen. It was you who gave me a meal to eat when I was cold and hungry.

I made it through the night thanks to that one meal, allowing me to walk through the doors of the Academy and submit my examination, such that my learning did not go to waste.

The imperial court recognized my ability, and now my achievement is known to all Yan! I have risen through the ranks, from administrator of a village all the way to governor of an entire province. I have protected the people from disaster and repaired the roads. I have moved mountains to dig new mines.

(Whisper) Doesn't that sound a little weird?

(Whisper) Why did it take him twenty years to come back, if that's really how he feels?

Shh!

If not for your generous aid, I, Lu Chun, would have died by the roadside, never achieving these great works.

This kindness is worth a thousand golden ingots!

The servant places the heavy embroidered box on the table. The aged wood creaks slightly.

The mandarin opens the box, revealing the shiny, round gold ingots within.

The restaurant falls silent, save for the occasional gulp. The chef frowns.

Let no one ever say that Lu Chun does not reward kindness generously.

The mandarin nods at the onlookers, then turns around and leaves.

It seems he did not need an answer. Or, rather, he has already gotten what he wanted.

The gong rings a few times once more, and the soldiers follow, disappearing from sight at the end of the street.

That was flamboyant. What position does he hold?

Screw the flamboyance! He left a bowl of perfectly good congee untouched. What a waste of food!

Using his power to put others down... He's no different from the owner of Fortune House.

All this gold, though...

Easy. He said he came to repay a debt. Any of you who's done an act of kindness that went unpaid can help yourselves.

Let's just say that he's helping everyone who owes a debt of kindness repay it. He likes fame and face, right? It'd make him happy, I'm sure.

I could open a couple of new storefronts if I had the funds...

Education for my kids, too... that's expensive...

A few diners stand up and toss coins into the celadon bowl, without casting a single eye towards the gold.

The rest hesitate, ponder, ruminate.

A dark cloud shrouds the moon. There is only the sound of clothes rustling in the restaurant. No one can see what anyone else is doing.

The clouds disperse, and the moon sets.

The sky is clear.

What's this...? The lamp's gone out, and my matches keep breaking.

Are the matches wet? They don't expire, do they?

The chef of the small restaurant walks to the door, reading the faint printing on the matchbox by the warm sunlight.

'Gui's Woodwork Grand Opening'... oh, I got this when Gui held the Manyue shower for his oldest son here.

Hm, the quality's definitely mediocre, if it won't light after just a couple of decades.

He tosses the matches behind the counter and closes his eyes to enjoy the warmth of the sun. When he opens them again, he sees a familiar figure standing before him, who seems to have been waiting there for a while.

Running errands for your dad again? I was just bad-mouthing him! Come in, have a seat.

I have his steamed beastmeat in flour ready. Don't ask me how I knew—I just looked at the calendar and had a hunch old Gui was starting to miss it again.

My dad...

...When?

Last night. He passed in peace. Didn't say anything.

So sudden...

Dad left instructions. He wants you to prepare a three-day funeral banquet for him.

Worrying about his funeral while he was still alive. Gui always worried so much.

Dad always wanted to do everything himself. He even made his own coffin... that was the last thing he ever made. He couldn't lift his tools after that.

Besides the funeral banquet, there's also this...

The young man points out the door, at two long planks wrapped in cloth, leaning against the wall.

A breeze presses the cloth against the wood, revealing the etched words.

'Four tables stand throughout a century, with guests from all across the land. Not for power, not for wealth, not for fame.

'Three meals served every day, with two chopsticks and a single stove. All for friends, all for stories, all for love.'

Dad said he promised you a pair of couplet plates with the sign. By the time he got the couplet, though, he only had the strength to carve the words. I finished the paint job a few days ago.

It's made from the finest wood... if you could consider it payment for my dad's debt.

Your dad didn't owe me anything.

Years ago, he borrowed a few gold ingots from this place to open a couple of new storefronts. He never forgot.

But Baizao expanded again soon after he opened the new storefronts. The routes changed, and business dried up.

It wasn't your dad's fault. Precious few people can read the future.

See what became of Fortune House across the street after the glory days were gone? Even their sign became firewood.

*Sigh*...

Once my dad's funeral is done, I plan to close the last shop and start a business elsewhere.

Already quiet to begin with, the restaurant is now completely silent. Not even the sound of chopsticks can be heard.

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.