I. First Encounter on the Bluestone Slab
The afternoon sun scorched the town's cobblestone streets, yet the dense shade of the old locust trees lining the streets dappled the ground with golden light. As Ah Yu and her group dragged their suitcases onto the stone arch bridge at the town's entrance, several white ducks flapped their wings and darted under the arch, their slightly tanned faces reflected in the ripples on the water. The first to notice them was an old woman selling malt candy by the bridge. She squinted at them with her bamboo rattle, her wrinkled lips curving into crescents: "Guests from the city, aren't you? Take a rest, the sun's blazing."
Before she could finish speaking, the owner of the nearby tea stall had already come over carrying a rough earthenware teapot, several blue-rimmed porcelain bowls stacked steadily on his arm. "Just arrived in town? Have a bowl of cool tea to beat the heat." The dark brown tea had a refreshing minty flavor; even before tasting it, the aroma of herbs filled the air. Ah Yu quickly thanked him, but when she reached for her wallet, the owner waved her away: "Here, we don't expect first-time customers to pay."
Just then, the sound of wooden clogs tapping on the stone slabs came from the alleyway. A little girl with a red ribbon in her hair ran over, clutching a bunch of wild daisies, the flowers still glistening with fresh dew. She tilted her sun-kissed, rosy face up and stuffed the flowers into Afang's hand, who was closest to her, before shyly hiding behind the stone wall, peeking out with only half an eye. Afang looked down at the bunch of wildflowers, still carrying the scent of earth, with a tiny ladybug perched on one of the petals. Suddenly, she remembered what her grandmother's backyard looked like when she was a child.
II. The walking stick of an elderly man with white hair
Just as everyone was somewhat bewildered by the sudden surge of enthusiasm, an old yet resonant voice rang out from the alley: "Make way, make way, give the old tree root some space!" The crowd automatically parted, revealing an elderly man with white hair leaning on a cane carved from a root shaped like a bamboo joint. He wore an indigo homespun hat and a faded blue cloth jacket, but it was starched perfectly. Most striking was his silvery-white goatee, which swayed gently with each step.
"My surname is Chen, everyone calls me Old Man Chen, or just 'Old Tree Root'." The old man tapped his cane on the ground, his eyes narrowing into slits with a smile. "Seeing you carrying cameras and big suitcases, you must be here to have some fun. If you don't mind, how about I, this old man, show you the way?" As he spoke, seven or eight residents had already gathered behind him, carrying winnowing baskets and sewing kits. Some offered him freshly picked plums, while others slipped a handful of dried mugwort into Afang's hand, saying it would repel mosquitoes.
Aming couldn't help but whisper to Ah Yu, "This old man looks like a storyteller, is he reliable?" Before he finished speaking, Old Man Chen suddenly turned his head, his ears so sharp they seemed to hear whispers in the wind: "Young man, don't underestimate me just because I'm old. From the crooked tree at the east end of this town to the earth god temple at the west end, I know every brick and every blade of grass. My great-grandfather married my grandmother by giving directions to passersby." Everyone laughed at his words, and the previous restraint dissipated.
III. The Story of Time Within the Brick Walls
Old Chen's cane tapped on the stone pavement, making a "tap-tap" sound, like a rhythmic beat for time. He led the group into a narrow alley, the brick walls on both sides mottled and uneven, with seashells and shards of porcelain visible in some places. "See this wall?" the old man asked, pointing with his cane to a darker-colored brick. "In 1934, there was a heavy rain, and half of the wall collapsed. Old Wang, the stonemason from the east end of town, worked through the night to rebuild it, embedding two pieces of silver he had saved from his wedding into it, saying it was a 'guardian wall'."
He reached out and touched the wall, his fingertips tracing the uneven texture: "You can still feel the coolness when you touch it now. Grandpa Wang later had five sons, all of whom became craftsmen. Some people say it's because this silver was blessed with good fortune." Afang couldn't help but reach out and touch it as well. There really seemed to be a faint coolness under the rough brick surface, like some distant temperature that had traveled through the years.
At the end of the alley stood an old house with a carved gate, and a pair of worn-smooth stone lions guarded the entrance. Old Chen gestured for everyone to look up at the plaque above the door; the faded bluestone slab bore the inscription "Jishan Tang" (Hall of Accumulated Good Deeds). "This was the residence of Mr. Li, a scholar who passed the imperial examinations during the Daoguang era of the Qing Dynasty," the old man said softly. "During the famine, Scholar Li opened his granary to distribute porridge, while his own family ate only thin porridge every day. One night, an injured egret crashed into his window and then stayed by his pond, refusing to leave."
He pointed to the pomegranate tree in the courtyard, which took two people to encircle: "Look at this tree, they say it was planted by egrets. Every year when it bears fruit, one or two pomegranates look like egret heads." Just then, an old woman in a blue cloth shirt came out of the house, carrying a winnowing basket of freshly washed mulberries: "Brother Chen, are you telling stories to your guests again? Come and try some, they're from our own tree." The purplish-black mulberries gleamed in the bamboo basket, and when you bit into them, the sweet juice splashed out, staining your lips purple.
IV. Echoes of Time by the Well
Passing the old house, you reach the heart of the town—the famous "Crescent Moon Well." The well platform is carved from a single slab of bluestone, its edges worn deep by centuries of ropes. Old Chen had everyone take turns peering over the well; the water's surface reflected the sky and clouds, indeed resembling a crescent moon. "This well has a story," the old man said, squatting down and pointing with his cane to a faint mark on the well wall. "See that? That's a bullet mark from the War of Resistance."
His voice suddenly lowered: "That year, the Japanese invaders entered the town and wanted to fill in the well. Uncle Zhou, the blacksmith from the west end of town, secretly came at night and sank his anvil, which he used to forge kitchen knives, into the well, saying it was to 'suppress the well water and prevent the Japanese from contaminating it.' Later, when the Japanese left and everyone retrieved the anvil, they found this mark on the well wall. They all said it was the anvil's magic that caused the bullet to miss."
Just then, a woman wearing an apron came to fetch water. Seeing everyone, she greeted them with a smile: "Uncle Chen, are you telling the story of the well again? My son always says that this well water tastes like an anvil." She skillfully put down the wooden bucket, and when she lifted it up, the water inside shimmered like scattered silver. Old Man Chen took the bucket, scooped up a ladleful, and handed it to Ah Ming: "Try it, it's refreshingly cool." Ah Ming hesitated for a moment and took a sip. It was indeed sweet and refreshing, with a faint mineral taste, as if it had washed away the heat of the entire summer.
My dear reader, there's more to this chapter! Please click the next page to continue reading—even more exciting content awaits!
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
