Old Fashioned

A group of his friends have been living in fear since Bo Qi was discharged from the hospital.

I sneaked into the old town countless times, walking on the mottled cobblestone roads and through the maze of narrow alleys.

They knew he was hiding somewhere in a dilapidated building, but they couldn't figure out his exact location.

It’s not that I can’t find the person, it’s that I don’t dare to find him too accurately.

But the old town is too small, and people's words are like wind, so you can find out everything by just asking.

"You mean the silver-haired boy?"

"Oh, who doesn't know him in this area? He's rotten."

"Are you his friends?"

The other party looked at him sideways, his tone full of disdain.

"They don't look like the same kind of people. I heard he had a girlfriend before, but overnight, they both disappeared. I haven't heard from them for over a year."

“It’s resurfaced recently.”

The old gangster exhaled a puff of smoke and looked at him with contempt.

"He would lean against the streetlight at the corner of the alley all night long, surrounded by smoke, like a ghost. No one dared to approach him for fear that he would go crazy and bite people. He was no different from a lost dog that no one wanted."

The brothers' fists were clenched so hard that they made a clattering sound, and their eyes were burning.

How could such a dazzling and unrestrained young man become a biting dog in the mouths of others?

阽, do you still remember who the hell you are?

You are supposed to be someone who walks on light, insolent and insolent.

No matter how distressed or heartbroken the group of people were, they dared not step forward.

Know him too well.

He would rather rot than be seen in a mess.

In this world, who isn't someone who looks like a human being on the outside, but is rotten and stinking on the inside, hanging on to life by a stubborn streak?

He insisted on standing behind the light, chewing up his shameful wounds bit by bit and swallowing them into his stomach.

With blood and tears, without saying a word, it seemed as if he was swallowing the malice of the whole world.

The rich young man who hardly ever sets foot in the old city for a year would frequently frequent the grocery stores in the dilapidated streets and alleys at the end of the year.

I'm not here to reminisce, I'm here to stare at people.

Watching over a falling soul.

"Ah Xiu, this crap, why didn't I realize how addictive it was when I was a kid?"

The boy with the wolf tail shook the bubble gum in his hand, a cheap stuff that cost fifty cents a bag. He opened one, squeezed a ball of red gum into the small tin tube, and blew it into his mouth.

Colorful bubbles rose into the sky like a ridiculous firework display.

“Maybe it’s the affluence that limits imagination.”

Ah Xiu was addicted to staring at a picture book, with its yellowed pages and vivid characters.

The small grocery store holds the core of dreams. Every dusty item represents a childhood they never lived.

On a bitterly cold winter night with a temperature of -5 degrees Celsius, the boss, smoking a pack of three-yuan cigarettes and wrapped in a dark blue cotton-padded jacket sewn by his wife, squinted his eyes as he counted the bills.

He simply didn't bother to pay attention to the rich second generation behind him who was obsessed with his dream of becoming a martial arts hero.

"Don't look at it, don't look at it."

"He's gone."

With a roar, Ash was roughly pushed and instantly came back to his senses.

The dim scattered lights on the ceiling were swaying and squeaking in the north wind.

He put down the picture book with a quick movement.

Afraid that someone else would buy it, he didn't ask the boss how much it cost. He just picked up a few red bills and put them on the counter, then left in a hurry.

The lights in the millennial-era building were sparse. Under the shadow of the ginkgo tree, a few stray cats wagged their tails, their shadows stretching out.

The two of them quickly stopped the empty car.

"Master, keep an eye on the car in front."

The wolf-tailed boy spoke, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

"I'll send a message to Ah Si."

The heater in the car was blazing, and a thin layer of mist had formed on the window glass, blurring Ash's anxious expression.

Two sky blue night taxis are speeding along the neon avenue.

Bo Xi reported his destination, leaned back coldly on his seat, and fell into the darkness of the back row.

The fingers with cold joints pinched the aching brows.

Shang Yu did not return to Hangzhou and Hong Kong, he went to Hong Kong Island himself.

He had to get the girl's address.

Bai Luo is truly heartless.

When I called back the next day, the number was no longer in service.

Canceled another phone card.

Hold.

It drives him crazy.

The cold white streetlights vaguely reflected his wet and fierce eyes.

Two years ago, he missed her New Year's Eve.

Last year, he fell into a coma and the world turned off the lights.

This year, he insisted on picking her out from the vast crowd to spend the New Year with her.

Even if it's just squatting on the street corner to eat a plate of cold dumplings, even if it's just setting off a firework that doesn't go off.

Nanshan International Airport is crowded with people.

The boy went against the light and the crowd and bought a return ticket.

He was born and raised in Hong Kong Island.

The wind from the outlying islands blew through his childhood.

The snow on the top of Victoria Peak fell during his youth.

The tram, which cost three Hong Kong dollars, carried his wildest dreams.

The Star Ferry in Victoria Harbour carried him to watch the sunset.

When he was fifteen, he moved to Nanhuai with his grandfather.

My grandfather's hometown. The smell of earth. The strong dialect.

Three years later, he was admitted to Hangzhou University.

I have only been able to return to Hong Kong Island a few times.

He always knew that the wolf-tailed boy and Ash were secretly following him.

It’s just that it wasn’t exposed or pointed out.

I know their good intentions and I’m afraid something might happen to him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, flight CH0123 to Hong Kong Island is now boarding. Please prepare your boarding passes and check in at Gate 2 in an orderly manner."

The airport boarding announcement was broadcast in real time in English, and Bo Xi creased the boarding pass, which was neither too thin nor too thick.

The moment the heavy cabin door was completely closed, a vast expanse of white snow fell without warning over the sky above Hangzhou Port.

Thousands of snowflakes saw him off.

At midnight, ten thousand meters above the sky, misty cloud shadows overlapped layer upon layer, and a silver-white passenger plane flew smoothly through the sky.

The cabin was warm and inviting, the lights dimmed to a faint, intoxicating orange. Some people closed their eyes to rest. Some listened to music or read. Some were lost in thought.

In a trance, the sky and the earth changed color.

A huge fog surged in, completely engulfing the entire plane.

Visibility dropped to zero, there were no more stars or city lights outside the window, only an endless milky white ocean.

The old man sitting by the window frowned and looked out the window, muttering.

"Why can't I see anything?"

The man sitting next to me was flipping through his phone, the light from the screen illuminating his uneasy face.

The signal bar has turned gray.

The flight attendant walked lightly in her high heels, and her voice of warning was more cautious.

"Dear passengers, please fasten your seat belts. We are traveling through a complex weather area. Please trust our crew and aircraft performance."

He closed his eyes in irritation, his brows furrowed, and could not sleep soundly, nor could he dream peacefully.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw the sunrise over Taiping Mountain. The light was orange-pink.

The wind from Victoria Harbour carried the smell of salt and money, ruffling the hair of the passengers filing out.

Some people's legs are weak. Some people chant Buddha's name.

Some people are in a hurry to post on WeChat Moments.

The caption reads: "Survived the disaster, grateful."

Illustration: blue sky and white clouds.

Bo Xi was cold and indifferent, completely unaware that he had just returned from a stroll through the gates of hell.

The familiar Hong Kong atmosphere. The familiar skyscrapers. The familiar extravagance and brilliance.

The morning rush hour arrived as expected. The dark grey asphalt road was thronged with traffic. The subway station was packed, a group of speechless shadows. People were rushing to check in, rushing to live.

Bo Xi didn't want to waste time, so he waved his hand casually and called out "Taxi."

A signature red taxi beeped and screeched to a halt right in front of us.

The driver was a genuine old Hong Kong man with slightly gray hair but bright eyes. He was wearing a washed-out Polo shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his forearms.

"Where are you going, pretty boy?"

His voice is loud, a mix of Hong Kong dialect and Mandarin, and every word is powerful.

Bo Yi pointed out the address of an old neighborhood in Sham Shui Po. The old man raised his eyebrows, shifted gears, and the taxi slid into traffic, weaving through the neon lights of Nathan Road.

Outside the car window, tenement buildings and skyscrapers stand side by side, with signs stacked on top of each other and neon lights on top of each other, looking like the flags of all nations that cannot be blown away by the wind.

Bo Xi looked out the window with a blank look in his eyes, and the familiar old scene replayed itself like an old movie.

The old man glanced at him through the rearview mirror from time to time.

"Are you traveling to visit relatives?"

Bo Xi came back to his senses and curled the corners of his lips slightly.

"No, that's where I was born."

I haven't spoken Cantonese in a while, so my tongue is a little stiff. But I haven't lost any of that local flavor.

The taxi happened to pass through the entrance of the Hung Hom Tunnel, weaving in and out, bypassing the night market stalls on Temple Street, and then braked in a drifting manner.

Bo Yi paid the fare, but the old man insisted on getting an old Ding Ding bus ticket as a souvenir.

"Leave me a thought. Hong Kong Island won't always be waiting for you to come back. But, it still remembers you."

He nodded to the old man, said "thank you", and got out of the car.

The stifling morning breeze blew against my face. Behind me was the city, bustling with noise and a bloody, relentless stream of traffic.

Ahead lay the old road, deep in my memory. The yellow light, like a harbor, illuminated my memory, inch by inch.

The young man under the dead tree at the street corner looked around.

The old street looked dilapidated, with narrow alleys lined with mottled old-style arcades and hanging signs swaying in the wind.

The air is filled with the aroma of fried eggs from the tea restaurant, the bitter fragrance from the herbal tea shop, and the fragrance of medicine slowly simmered over someone's stove, blending into a "home taste" that only Hong Kong people can understand.

In the old street filled with the smell of fireworks, there is a dessert shop that he often visits.

＿＿

Every time she was being affectionate with Bai Luo, she would always ask with a wink.

"How wild were you as a child?"

He smiled lazily and casually mentioned the dessert shop.

She interjected.

"Could you bring me a copy next time you go back?"

He didn't take it seriously at the time and just responded in a muffled voice.

"Okay, little ancestor."

＿＿

Now, people have dispersed and things have become cold.

But the first thing he did when he returned to Hong Kong Island was not to look at the sea.

It was to buy a bowl of sweet soup for the girl who was far away and she would never know that he had bought it.

"Alan Tangshui" is nestled at the end of the street, with three plastic tables supporting half of the street's atmosphere.

The proprietress was wearing an oil-stained apron and holding a copper spoon, stirring a pot of boiling mango pudding.

Steaming hot, like the last bit of humanity in the city.

The orange-pink morning glow in the sky is alluringly beautiful.

When he raised his eyes and caught a glimpse of Luotuo's figure, his hand froze and the spoon fell to the edge of the pot with a "clang".

"You're back? I thought you immigrated to Mars and would never come back!"

"About the same."

Bo Xi sat down lazily, with the corners of his lips pulled up and smiling nonchalantly.

"On Mars, there's no place like you with a bowl of sago."

She snorted, turned around and filled a large bowl. Her hand trembled, and she added a double portion of mango.

"You know how to speak human language. Here's a reward for you."

Looking at the sago dangling on the table, he lowered his voice with a hint of pleading.

"Sister, I want to learn how to make this bowl of sweet soup."

The proprietress's hand froze, the copper spoon hanging in the air, and she turned her head to look at him carefully.

"Learning to make sweet soup? You didn't even know whether to boil water before, why do you suddenly want to learn now?"

Bo Yu lowered his head, his fingertips stroking the patterns on the plastic tabletop, his voice steady and indifferent.

"For one person."

"He said he wanted to try the authentic desserts from Hong Kong Island, but he wasn't in mainland China, so I decided to learn how to make them."

The proprietress was silent for a moment, her eyes changed from doubt to gentleness, and she stared at the boy in front of her whom she had seen grow up.

The silly boy who once ran into a store in his school uniform, holding a straw in his mouth and shouting "Sister, it's the same as before".

But now he is cold, with fierce brows and eyes, and a ruthless spirit that refuses to bow.

"Are you really willing to go through so much trouble for a girl? Is it worth it?"

"It's not just for him."

He raised his eyes, his gaze piercing, his paranoia deep in his bones.

"It's also all for myself. This bowl of sweet soup isn't just about taste; it's about memories, it's about obsession, it's the thread that has never been broken between us. If it were, I wouldn't be myself anymore."

The proprietress let out a long "Oh" and suddenly smiled, with a smile that was a bit appreciative and a bit sad.

"Okay, since you're willing, how can I not teach you?"

She knocked the copper spoon against the edge of the pot, and a crisp sound seemed to seal her promise.

"But let me be clear, I won't let you down. One wrong move and the whole thing will go to waste. You have to follow my lead and learn from the beginning."

"I'd like to start from the beginning."

His shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing his bony wrists. His voice was cold and empty.

"Start by washing the tapioca pearls. You can't go wrong with any of these steps."

There is a busy figure in the old shop in the early morning.

Bo Yu stood in front of the boiling iron pot with a calm look.

The sugar water in the pot was boiling and the heat was blowing in his face. He held the spoon steadily and imitated the boss lady's movements.

Stir, control the heat, control the temperature, taste, and adjust the thickness of the syrup.

The coconut milk must be smooth but not greasy.

The tapioca pearls should be cooked thoroughly but not loose, with each grain distinct and separate.

The rock sugar should be dissolved thoroughly without leaving any particles and should not be too watery.

He memorized every step silently, as if repairing an old dream that had been broken up by time.

In the dream, there was a young boy running on the way home from school, just because of his obsession with a bowl of sugar water.

The proprietress leaned against the stove, patiently giving instructions and chattering away.

"Do you still remember? Back then, every time you got out of school, you would always come over to my place for a bowl of sweet soup."

"One time, when I didn't open, you called me based on the note on the door and told me that you felt empty inside because you couldn't eat the dessert I made."

Bo Xi remained silent, only lowering his eyes to gaze at the milky white sugar water boiling in the pot. The hot steam blurred his vision and also blurred the boundary between the past and the present.

In an instant, he saw a young man with a schoolbag on his back, sweating profusely, knocking on the iron gate hurriedly with a clear sound.

"Sister! Sugar water!"

Young people do not know the pain of parting, they only think that meeting is common.

When the first bowl of sago pudding made by him was served, it was crystal clear and full of coconut aroma.

The proprietress scooped a spoonful, tasted it slowly, closed her eyes, opened them again, and raised the corners of her mouth slightly, like an old veteran watching a young man coming out of retirement.

"Not bad, about 80% of it is similar to my taste. The remaining 20% ​​is not about skill, but about time and dedication. I have to cultivate it slowly and make up for it first."

Bo scooped a spoonful and put it into his mouth. It was sweet but not greasy, and it went down his throat warmly.

"Sister, I'm leaving now. I'll come visit you when I have time."

There was moisture in her eyes, hiding her reluctance, but she only responded softly.

"Okay, I'll remember that. Please don't bother me."

The words "Please don't bother me" are a concern, an agreement, the traditional customs and the most important promise.

The boy turned and left, his back silent but carrying weight.