On Happiness Street in early spring, the hot pots, hot stoves, and blazing fires all seemed subdued by the lingering chill. Steam billowed along both sides of the street, and vendors' cries rose one after another.
Only a scattering of pedestrians came and went.
Beside the steaming great pot outside Zhang's Mutton Soup, the Zhang father and son forced smiles onto their faces and hawked their wares in hoarse voices.
"Mutton soup from a time-honored shop..."
"Fine white-flour buns, mixed-grain buns..."
The tables, chairs, and stools outside were gone, as was the small mountain of salted duck eggs. Beside the basket of white-flour buns sat a new basket, filled with mixed-grain buns that gave off faint wisps of steam.
Apart from the price list, the walls were coated in thick layers of old grime.
Plain broth, one copper; offal soup, four coppers; mutton soup, twelve coppers.
Mixed-grain buns, one copper; white-flour buns, three coppers.
Of the eight tables inside, only three were occupied.
At the innermost table, Li Qingxian, Zheng Hui, Han Anbo, and Yu Ping ate the freshly served offal soup.
After a few mouthfuls, Yu Ping frowned and began eating more slowly.
As usual, Han Anbo's offal soup had no seasonings, only chopped scallions floating green and white on the surface.
Zheng Hui looked outside, glanced at Old Zhang's back, and said quietly, "Zhang's Mutton Soup is about to ruin its own name. It's only been two years since I last ate here, and they've already started using offal kept overnight. Still, we can't blame him..."
Yu Ping swallowed his soup and said helplessly, "The osmanthus cakes from the shop I usually buy from aren't as good as they used to be, either. The shumai I used to eat smelled wrong, so I didn't even try them."
Li