(1)
The old man placed a pink plastic hot water bottle in front of them. The cork stopper seemed newly replaced, its color much lighter than the others and very clean, without any crumbling bits.
He limped over to the wooden table beside them, cluttered with various items, and picked up two glass jars with both hands, as if asking which one they wanted.
“What are those?”
“Tea leaves, I guess.” Zhu Ying blinked.
Though he couldn’t hear, the old man seemed to understand lip-reading. When Zhu Ying said the words “tea leaves,” he suddenly smiled. “Uh… ah… ah.”
“The one on the left looks like regular tea leaves. What’s the one on the right?”
“…Ah! That’s… oh, it’s barley tea, right?”
“Is barley tea good?”
“It’s probably better if you brew it with boiling water…”
“Then let’s go with the regular tea leaves.” Zhu Ying pointed at the jar on the left and nodded firmly.
The old man put down the barley tea jar, unscrewed the lid, and used a long-handled spoon to scoop out some tea leaves, evenly distributing them into two frosted glass cups.
The tea leaves in the frosted cups looked so green they were almost black. After boiling water was poured in, they began to bob up and down.
The two cups of tea were placed before them. Then, the old man brought two small plates, placing a small handful of fennel beans with slender bamboo shoot strips and a few pieces of soft-looking white pastry in each.
One cup of tea and one small plate of snacks—that was everything one yuan could buy in this teahouse.
“Oh, right, this teahouse is called the One Yuan Teahouse.” Zhu Ying lowered her voice and snickered. “You didn’t see the sign when you came in, did you, Xiao Jing?”
“Huh? Where is it?”
“A vertical signboard, hanging right by the door. White background with black characters.”
“Oh… I don’t really remember seeing it.” An Jing picked up her glass cup and took a small sip, immediately sticking her tongue out from the heat. “So hot! Are we just drinking tea this morning? Should we do something?”
“Nothing at all. Just enjoy the feeling of time passing.”
“Will anyone else come? It feels a bit out of the way.”
“They will.” Zhu Ying wasn’t in a hurry to drink her tea. Instead, she picked up a small fennel bean and tossed it into her mouth, slowly grinding it with her teeth, letting the faint fragrance spread…
(2)
The tea gradually cooled. An Jing picked it up, cautiously took a tiny sip, then a bigger gulp.
“Mmm…!?”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s so bitter…” An Jing smacked her lips. “Bitter and astringent, and… there’s no sweet aftertaste at all.”
“That’s just how this kind of tea is, isn’t it?”
“Cheap tea leaves?”
“Having tea leaves at all is pretty good.”
As she spoke, Zhu Ying also picked up her cup. Mimicking her father, she took a sip, held it in her mouth for a moment, then swallowed.
Soon, her small face scrunched up into a ball—the bitterness seemed to go straight to her heart.
They say the bitterness of tea is for the sake of a sweet aftertaste, but this cup was completely different.
It was nothing but bitterness—boundless, endless bitterness. After the bitterness came an unpleasant astringency on the tongue, followed by a feeling in the throat as if its surface had been scraped, carrying a vague, faint stinging sensation.
Only when it reached her stomach did she feel a bit of warmth, but not much. She had to keep drinking for that warmth not to disappear too quickly.
“Tastes bad!”
“Pfft, I thought you’d find it delicious.”
“Should’ve chosen the barley tea.”
“Want to pay extra and switch?”
“Forget it, it’s already been brewed. Maybe the flavor will get weaker after a few more infusions.” Zhu Ying pursed her lips and put a piece of white pastry, about the size of her thumb, into her mouth, taking a gentle bite. “Mmm—! This is sweet. Really sweet. Almost too sweet.”
“That’s cheap pastries for you.” “But… taking a bite of this super-sweet pastry and then a sip of tea is surprisingly good.”
“What, the bitterness disappears?”
“Try it, Xiao Jing.”
“Mm… I’ll try…”
“How is it?”
“……” An Jing’s brows furrowed into a knot. “The bitter is even more bitter…”
“And the sweet?”
“The sweet isn’t sweet anymore.”
“See? That makes the pastry taste better.”
“…But the tea is even more bitter now.”
“Nothing we can do about that.”
An Jing sighed helplessly. Just as she was about to say something, she saw another old man in a blue shirt walk through the door.
He seemed to be a regular here, carrying a piece of golden cake bought from a breakfast stall. His brownish glass cup was tucked into his shirt pocket, the top half peeking out.
The old man boiling water glanced back. The blue-shirted old man very naturally tossed a coin into the cookie tin money box on the table, poured himself a cup of tea, then turned to select from the colorful hot water bottles on the floor.
The deaf-mute old man pointed to a green one. He picked it up, looked it over left and right, and then boldly sat right across from An Jing and Zhu Ying.
“Rare to see such young faces here.” The old man spoke Mandarin, but with a thick local accent. “Hehe, and two young ladies at that. Are you in high school?”
“Not yet.” Zhu Ying shook her head. “After summer vacation.”
“Oh! My granddaughter is starting university after summer vacation.” The old man in the blue shirt said cheerfully. “Once she’s at university, she’ll only come home a few times a year.”
“Going to another city for university?”
“With her grades, she can only go elsewhere.”
The blue-shirted old man was very sociable. He didn’t ask much about why An Jing and Zhu Ying were here, instead enthusiastically introducing the teahouse as if listing his family treasures.
He said the deaf-mute man wasn’t the boss. The boss actually ran a small shop next door, but this deaf-mute old man had been working here for decades.
He said this teahouse didn’t really make money, sometimes even lost it, but because it was a memory for everyone, the boss kept it running.
He said when he was young, he didn’t like drinking alcohol. Every day after finishing work at the wharf, he’d buy some breakfast on his way back in the morning, come here for tea, listen to everyone chat about recent news, and shoot the breeze with acquaintances.
He said when he was young, he operated cranes, and back then, there were very few in the whole small city who knew how.
He also said that back then, he met a young, beautiful girl…
Click.
A crisp sound interrupted him.
All three of them looked toward the door in unison. They saw the deaf-mute old man open a cassette player about the size of a pillow, rummage noisily through a nearby drawer, pull out a cassette tape, and insert it into the player.
Music from the last century flowed out like aged wine.
“Walking on the country path… The old cow returning at dusk is my companion—”
It was a song from who-knows-what era. An Jing didn’t seem to have heard it before, but it felt familiar.
Perhaps because songs from that time all had melodies like this.
The blue-shirted old man took a sip of the scalding hot tea and continued, “That girl was truly beautiful. We met by chance, sat on the steps and chatted, really hit it off. But I never saw her again after the next day… Oh, look, Old Qian is here. He usually comes early too. Generally just has one cup of tea, sits in the corner, finishes it, and leaves without getting a refill.”
One by one, more and more old men and women slowly wandered into this decades-old, worn-out teahouse.
The somber, aged atmosphere of the teahouse became livelier because of the presence of An Jing and Zhu Ying, these two youths in their prime.
The blue-shirted old man introduced them one by one.
He knew every single person, regardless of gender, and could even state their ages precisely.
Although not many people came, there were over thirty.
An Jing listened until her head was spinning and didn’t remember a single one.
Not all the old folks were very enthusiastic. Most just glanced at them curiously before returning to their own seats.
“They seem to have their own spots.”
“Yeah, most choose to sit in the spot they’re most accustomed to. Some spots, once sat in, are occupied for over a decade, even decades.”
“Uh, Grandpa, is this your spot then?”
“Haha, you two young ladies are sitting in my spot.”
“Ahem!”
Sitting at this long table, joining in the fun with the young people, were two old ladies and two old gentlemen.
At first, their conversation revolved around the young people. Gradually, it shifted to their own grandchildren. Slowly, they began talking about themselves.
One of them suddenly asked, “Who’s the oldest among us here?”
The blue-shirted old man answered swiftly, “Old Qian.”
“Oh… Old Qian is already over eighty.”
“He’s ninety this year.”
“Ninety? So it’s been ten years since we met Old Qian.”
“Yeah, ten years.”
“How many more decades do we have left?”
“Hehe…” The blue-shirted old man didn’t answer, just laughed. Amidst his laughter, he picked up his now lukewarm tea, drank it all in one go, then poured in boiling hot water again.
“Time always moves forward. Everyone has to reach their end eventually.”
“That’s right. Live one more day, count one more day. Enough of that, I have to take my grandson to school later.”
Mentioning school, An Jing suddenly remembered something and hurriedly checked her phone: 6:25.
Fortunately, it was still early.
“Have to go to school today, right?” The blue-shirted old man asked with a smile.
“Yeah, still have classes.”
“No rush. In a little while, everyone will leave, around seven-something.”
“So early?” An Jing was a bit surprised.
“Besides drinking tea, there are many things to do. Not many are so old they have nothing left to busy themselves with, haha…”
Zhu Ying, resting her chin on her hand, suddenly tilted her head, watching the old man called “Old Qian” walk out of the teahouse unhurriedly, casually placing his empty glass cup in front of the deaf-mute old man.
The two nodded at each other. Beyond that, there was no other exchange.
“Old Qian… his great-grandson was just born.”
“Wow, four generations under one roof?” Zhu Ying blinked.
“Yeah.”
“Was he the earliest to come to this teahouse among you?” An Jing asked.
“No, he came ten years ago. He was a new face back then, hehe… Even now, he doesn’t interact much with everyone—he doesn’t live nearby.”
“He just comes for tea?”
“Yeah, just for tea.”
Gradually, everyone in the teahouse left. The blue-shirted old man was the last to go. He walked to the door with An Jing and Zhu Ying, took out a box of Lion Cigarettes from his pocket, put one in his mouth, but didn’t light it. “Young ladies, when will you come for tea next time?”
“Next time… next time… we’ll see?” An Jing tilted her head to look at Zhu Ying, but her gaze fell on the vertical shop sign behind her.
On the white-painted wooden signboard were black characters. The four large characters, “One Yuan Teahouse,” were written in simplified script.
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