The speaker was an old man wearing a melon-shaped hat. On the stone table in front of him sat a purple clay teapot, its surface thickly patinated, like a pebble polished smooth by time. As Amin sat down, the old man handed him a rough porcelain cup: "Try our local Lao Yin tea; it'll cut through the grease." The tea was amber in color, initially slightly bitter, but with a sweet aftertaste, much like their conversation under the starry sky the previous night.
"Judging from your accent, you're from the south?" the old man asked, stroking his beard. Amin nodded, and as he spoke of the city's skyscrapers and subway, the old man shook his head. "Our little place is better," he said, "life moves slowly here, and people are slow too." He pointed to the teapot on the stone table. "I've used this teapot for forty years, from when I got married to when I had my grandson. The more I use it, the more comfortable it becomes, just like this small town. Once you've stayed here long enough, you don't want to go anywhere else."
Just then, Ayu and Afang came over carrying a bunch of things. Ayu was carrying an oil paper bag containing freshly bought osmanthus cakes, while Afang was holding a piece of tie-dyed cloth, with a dried lotus seedpod hanging from the corner. The old man's eyes lit up when he saw Afang's cloth: "This must be from Alan's family, right? Her grandmother's handiwork was superb." He pointed to the lotus scrolls on the cloth, "My wife used to love wearing clothes like this. When she passed away, she was wearing the blue floral dress I bought for her."
Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the locust tree, casting dappled shadows on the stone table. The old man poured tea for everyone; the tea swirld in the rough porcelain cups, reflecting the clouds in the sky. Ah Ming, holding a cricket cage, suddenly felt it was a pity it was empty and asked the old man, "Can we catch crickets around here?" The old man laughed heartily, "There are plenty on the back hill! Follow the chirping sounds at dusk, and you're sure to catch the fattest ones."
V. Fragments of Time Wrapped in Lotus Leaves
As they left the market, everyone's hands were heavy. Ayu's basket held freshly picked green beans, a bundle of scallions with roots still attached, and a piece of cured meat wrapped in lotus leaves, the fat slowly seeping into the leaves, leaving dark stains. Afang held a tie-dyed cloth, the lotus pods at the corner swaying gently in the wind, like a rhythmic beat. Aming's cricket cage was empty, but it contained half a tea cake given to him by the old man, wrapped in kraft paper, on which the old man had written the words "aftertaste sweet" in calligraphy.
Passing by the old woman's rice cake stall, Ayu suddenly remembered something and turned to run back. The old woman was packing up her stall. Seeing her return, she smiled and asked, "What did you forget?" Ayu shook her head and took out half a piece of osmanthus cake that she hadn't finished that morning from her basket: "Grandma, this is for you." The old woman was stunned, her hand trembling slightly as she took the cake: "Silly girl, this is something I sold. How can you give it to me?" Ayu, however, stuffed the cake into her hand: "You added extra honey for me this morning; this is a return gift."
Looking at the osmanthus cake in her hand, Grandma suddenly pulled a paper package from her apron pocket: "Here, this is freshly baked rice cake. Eat it on the way." When Ayu took it, she found the package was still warm, and she could feel the soft, chewy texture of the rice cake even through the paper. Grandma smoothed her wind-blown hair: "Next time you come, Grandma will make you rice cake with walnuts."
Walking back to the guesthouse, the cobblestones were scorching hot from the sun. Afang suddenly stopped and unfolded the tie-dyed cloth: "Look, doesn't this flower look like the Milky Way under the starry sky last night?" Aming leaned closer to look; the white lotus vines meandered against the indigo background, indeed resembling a flowing galaxy in the night sky. Ayu switched the basket to her other hand, smelling the aroma of cured meat and scallions, and suddenly said, "Let's stir-fry this cured meat with vegetables tonight, and pair it with the green beans we just bought; it'll definitely be delicious."
Sunlight filtered through the loofah vines, casting dappled patterns on the ground. A few barks echoed in the distance, and wisps of smoke rose from a chimney, drifting towards the green hills. Ah Ming, clutching the cricket cage, suddenly felt it was no longer empty—it contained the vibrant atmosphere of the entire market, the aroma of tea under the old locust tree, the warmth of his grandmother's palm, and the slow passage of time along the cobblestone path.
When they returned to the guesthouse, Ayu hung the cured meat on a hook in the kitchen, the grease dripping into the ceramic basin below with a soft "drip." Afang spread a tie-dyed cloth on the wooden table, sunlight filtering through the fabric and casting blue and white floral shadows on the floor. Aming placed a tea cake on the windowsill; the words "aftertaste" on the kraft paper gradually blurred in the sunlight, yet seemed to seep into the wood, leaving a faint tea fragrance.
That evening, they indeed followed the old man to the back mountain to catch crickets. As the first emerald green cricket hopped into Ah Ming's cage, smoke rose from the distant mountain valley, and the lights of the market lit up one after another, like stars scattered across the valley. Ah Yu chewed on the rice cake her grandmother had given her, watching the cricket hopping around in the cage, and suddenly realized that this trip to the market had bought them more than just handicrafts and snacks—they had bought the wrinkles of time smoothed out by the city's hustle and bustle, the warmth of human life hidden in the cracks of the bluestone slabs, and the warm kindness passed from the palms of strangers.
That tie-dyed fabric was later made into a skirt by Afang. Whenever she wore the skirt and walked down the city streets, the hem would flutter in the wind, carrying the aroma of tea from under the old locust tree and the faint, earthy smell of the market.
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