On the fifth day after the Waking of Insects, the morning mist in Beijing's West Market hadn't yet dissipated, but already, crowds of people gathered in front of the sugar painting stall. Master Zhang wore a blue cloth apron, its mottled sugar stains gleaming amber in the morning light. In his left hand, he held a copper spoon, bubbling with boiling malt sugar. In his right, he grasped a small bamboo stick. With a twist of his wrist, a translucent thread of sugar cascaded from the spoon's edge, like a golden waterfall cascading onto the bluestone slabs.
"Uncle, I want a phoenix! I want the biggest one, with a tail this long!" A young girl with twin buns squeezed into the front row, the hem of her floral skirt brushing the trouser leg of the old man beside her. She clutched three polished copper coins, her large, dark eyes fixed on the copper pot, unblinking. Beads of sweat on the tip of her nose gleamed in the morning light.
Master Zhang responded with a resounding response, his copper spoon gliding across the stone slab. Where the boiling sugar flowed, the outline of a phoenix, its head held high, formed, its wings unfurling, its tail feathers fluttering. Suddenly, with a flick of his index finger, the thread of sugar suddenly tightened, unfurling a three-foot-long, shimmering tail feather, which shone a rainbow of colors through the mist. The children watching exclaimed in delight, and the little girl, mesmerized, realized she had forgotten to reach out until the sugar painting was presented to her.
Holding the phoenix sugar painting, nearly as long as her forearm, the little girl smiled broadly. Turning to show it off to her friends, she bumped into a passerby's chest. With a crisp "crack," the glittering sugar painting fell to the bluestone slab, shattering into countless glittering fragments.
"Wow--" The little girl pouted, tears welling up in an instant, rolling down like pearls from a broken string.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" The young man squatted down quickly. He was wearing a half-worn moon-white shirt and holding a newly bought sugar dragon in his arms. The dragon's body was crooked and its tail was curled into a coil, really like a wriggling earthworm. "I'll compensate you with one, okay?"
The little girl looked up with tears in her eyes, caught a glimpse of the sugar dragon in his hand, and suddenly burst out laughing: "The dragon you drew looks like an earthworm!"
The boy was stunned for a moment, then burst into laughter, revealing two sharp little fangs. "You actually saw through me!" He handed over the "Earthworm Dragon" and said, "I'll give this to you as compensation."
The little girl waved her hands in disdain: "No, I only want the Phoenix!"
The young man rubbed the back of his head and pulled out an oil-paper bag from his bosom. Inside lay a few copper coins. "Then I'll buy you another one as apology, okay?"
Watching the little girl scamper off again, clutching the phoenix sugar painting, the young man rubbed his brow. When he bumped into her earlier, the stubborn look in her eyes had sent a sudden jolt through his heart, as if he'd seen her somewhere before. He instinctively touched the bamboo he'd hidden close to his body. It was an old, jade-soft piece, rubbed smooth with care. The word "Phoenix" was faintly carved into it with a knife, its edges smooth and shiny from years of handling.
Ever since he could remember, he'd had the same dream: in front of a West Street sugar painting stall, the setting sun dyeing the ground a honey-colored hue. A little girl in a pomegranate-red dress, her hands on her hips, said the dragon he'd drawn looked like an earthworm. He'd burst into laughter and thrust his own phoenix into her hand. Every time he woke from the dream, his chest felt empty, save for the bamboo slips in his arms, which held a strange warmth.
"Young man, do you want more sugar painting?" Master Zhang wiped his hands and asked with a smile.
The young man shook his head, his eyes following the little girl's back. Suddenly, he remembered something and took out the bamboo slip: "Master, please take a look at the words on it. Do you recognize them?"
Master Zhang took the bamboo slip and examined it against the skylight. "It looks like the word 'Phoenix.' Judging by the patina, it's probably fifty years old." He suddenly remembered his grandfather's last words. "My grandfather always said that decades ago, there was an elderly couple who always came to buy phoenix sugar paintings. The old man always laughed at the old woman because the dragons she drew looked like earthworms. The old woman would hit him with her handkerchief, but her eyes were full of laughter..."
The boy's heart trembled, and the bamboo slip nearly slipped from his fingers. He recalled the angry eyes of the girl in the red dress in his dream, and the sense of loss he felt upon waking. It turned out that it wasn't a dream. Those blurry images, those familiar feelings, were memories etched in his soul.
Meanwhile, under the wisteria trellis in the prime minister's back garden, Xiaoyue was telling stories to her grandchildren. She wore a fresh wisteria flower in her hair and waved an ivory fan passed down from her mother, on which the four characters "Sweeter than honey" (Sweeter than honey) were still etched.
"The story of my great-grandmother and great-grandfather begins at the sugar painting stall in the West Market..." She pointed to the clouds in the sky dyed red by the setting sun. "That year, my great-grandmother had just come of age, and her stepmother wanted to marry her off to a young man from the Wang family who was in debt at the gambling den. She was so angry that she overturned the table at the coming-of-age banquet, and her rouge and powder all over her stepmother..."
"Grandma is so amazing!" The five-year-old great-grandson opened his eyes wide, holding a piece of malt sugar that was about to melt in his hand.
"That's right!" Xiaoyue tapped his little head. "Your great-grandmother never gave up in her life. When she encountered a marriage she didn't like, she'd flip the table. When she met someone she didn't like, she'd throw the account book away. And when she met someone she liked—" She remembered her mother describing the scene back then, her eyes warmed slightly, "she'd go grab the sugar painting!"
"Where is great-grandfather?" the children asked, looking up at their little faces.
"Your great-grandfather, while appearing to be a poor scholar, was actually quite a shrewd man!" Xiaoyue'er gazed at the newly sprouted buds on the grape trellis, as if she were witnessing the past. "Even though his own phoenixes were the most exquisite, he'd mock great-grandmother's dragons for looking like earthworms, just to find an excuse to give her the phoenix. Later, great-grandfather became the top scholar in the imperial examination, and great-grandmother became a renowned storyteller in the capital, leaving behind all those who had bullied her. Even after becoming prime minister, great-grandfather would sneak off to the West Market to buy sugar paintings, returning with the following refrain: 'Jinli, your dragon still looks like an earthworm, but I like it.'"
A gentle breeze blew by, and wisteria blossoms rustled down. A lavender flower landed in Xiaoyue'er's hair. She suddenly remembered her mother's dying smile, a smile warmer than the sweetest sugar painting: "Xiaoyue'er, look, the honey of this life will be sweeter in the next."
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