Wonton Shoulder Pole

Zhang Laifu wanted to ask a few more questions, but the rickshaw puller had already gone.

They were complete strangers. For five copper coins, the puller had offered a warning. He had done all he could. He pulled his rickshaw back to the theater entrance and waited for another fare.

The first performance had not ended yet. After waiting a good while without a passenger, the puller was dozing off when he heard someone speaking at the ticket window.

"Did an Outer Province man come here to buy a ticket today?"

The ticket seller sounded impatient. "Are you here for the show or not? If you are, buy a ticket. If not, go wander somewhere else."

The man did not get angry. He smiled. "You're new here, aren't you? Don't you recognize me?"

In that one short sentence, the puller thought he heard a snatch of opera singing.

And not just singing. He seemed to hear a pipa too.

The ticket seller's voice softened. "Well, uh, there was a man covered in mud who bought a ticket about an hour ago. I don't know if he was from the Outer Province."

As he walked down the road, Zhang Laifu pondered a question.

Did he have a legitimate reason for being here?

I was kidnapped by bandits. I'm completely innocent. That counts as legitimate, doesn't it?

The thought lasted less than ten seconds before it faded.

Song Yongchang and his men were bandits. Under normal circumstances, bandits were illegal in any country.

If those bandits had no legitimate business here themselves, how could Zhang Laifu?

The police only cared about cracking down on illegal outsiders. Whether an outsider was innocent did not enter into it.

At that thought, Zhang Laifu quickened his pace.

He had come by train and would have to leave by train. To catch the train, he would have to return to the theater.

If I can figure that out, Old Song certainly can too. He'll come looking for me at the theater soon.

I need to get off this street fast. Better yet, get out of Heishakou.

After walking a while, Zhang Laifu suddenly felt a flutter of panic. He was hungry.

He felt in his pockets. He still had eight Copper Dollars and twenty-odd smaller coins.

Is that enough for the fare?

I'd better fill my stomach first. Otherwise, I won't have the strength to run.

Plenty of shops lined the street, selling shoes, cloth, sauces, and vinegar. But after walking for ages, Zhang Laifu still had not found a restaurant.

He crossed streets and threaded through alleys until he reached a road. The street sign told him it was Pearl Street.

The street was bustling, with quite a few food stalls. Zhang Laifu was wondering what to buy when a man in his early thirties came up to him carrying an entire kitchen on a shoulder pole.

Calling it a kitchen was no exaggeration. A stove hung from one end of the pole, and a rack from the other.

The rack held three rows of drawers: wrappers and filling at the top, a pastry board in the middle, and Bowls and chopsticks below.

Several buckets of water and a basket of firewood hung beside the stove.

The man set his pole down and called out, "Wontons! Pot's boiling!"

He sells wontons?

One look at his equipment told Zhang Laifu the man knew his trade.

The vendor lifted the lid, and a fragrant cloud of steam rushed into Zhang Laifu's nose.

The smell made his mouth water. He stepped closer and asked, "How much for a Bowl?"

As he arranged his stall, the vendor called out in rhyme, "Feed the fire and bring the broth to boil, a family's livelihood rides my shoulder pole! Five big coppers is a bargain, I say—thin skins, generous filling, flavor all the way!"

Five big coppers for a Bowl?

Zhang Laifu thought that was expensive, but the tantalizing smell rooted him to the spot.

"One Bowl!"

Zhang Laifu handed over five big coppers, and the vendor served him a Bowl of wontons.

He chewed one, and his cheeks trembled.

The wrapper had a springy bite. When his teeth met it, it did not tear—it burst.

The wrapper held broth, the broth surrounded the filling, and the filling had a springy bite of its own. Hidden within it was more broth, with a flavor different from the broth in the wrapper.

The broth from the wrapper swept along his cheeks, while the broth from the filling washed over his tongue. Filling and wrapper danced between his teeth. The two broths mingled and carried everything down to his stomach, leaving even the root of Zhang Laifu's tongue tingling.

"This is incredible!"

Zhang Laifu praised the wontons, but the vendor did not hear him.

He was busy. Customers crowded around the stall in an unbroken stream, and he cooked and sold without pause.

Zhang Laifu stood beside the stall and ate his Bowl in just a few minutes. In that time, the vendor sold more than ten Bowls.

Wrapping filling, tending the fire, adding broth, feeding in firewood... The vendor's hands never stopped. Zhang Laifu could barely tell how many he had; they moved so fast they almost left afterimages.

Zhang Laifu drained every drop of soup and wiped his lips. He was still hungry. Apart from this Bowl of wontons, he had eaten nothing since last night.

He wanted another Bowl, but only three Copper Dollars remained in his pocket. With the smaller coins, he could scrape together five big coppers, but if he spent them all, he would have nothing for his next meal.

Maybe I can talk to the vendor?

"If I buy another Bowl, could you make it a little cheaper?"

The wonton vendor paused, then asked quietly, "Are the wrappers thin or thick?"

Zhang Laifu thought back. "I thought they were just right."

The vendor frowned. That was not the right answer.

Thinking Zhang Laifu might simply not have caught on, he waited a moment and asked again, "Do they tumble in the water or sink in the pot?"

Zhang Laifu considered how the wontons had been cooked. "Probably both?"

"My price is fixed. If you think it's too high, there's another wonton seller over there. His are cheaper." The vendor pointed across the street, then went back to serving his other customers and paid Zhang Laifu no further attention.

Beneath a Big Tree across the street stood another wonton stall. Its shoulder pole was much smaller than the first vendor's, and the seller was a man in his early sixties.

Business was slow there, so Zhang Laifu did not have to queue.

"How much for a Bowl of wontons?"

The old man answered at once. "Two big coppers."

That really was cheap. Zhang Laifu paid two big coppers, and the old man served him a Bowl filled to the brim.

"Have a seat and enjoy, sir."

Not only did he give generous portions, he even had seating. There was a table and benches beneath the Big Tree, with sauces, vinegar, and seasonings on the tabletop.

Zhang Laifu sat on a bench, picked up a wonton, and put it in his mouth. He almost could not swallow it.

It had dough, filling, and broth, but for some reason, Zhang Laifu simply could not eat it.

He was still hungry, so there was no sense in spitting it out.

Besides, the vendor was right there. Spitting it out would be terribly rude.

Zhang Laifu struggled to swallow the wonton. Just then, a man of about forty sat down beside him.

"Hard to swallow, isn't it? You can't blame his wontons. You're the one who ate the wrong thing."

The man had a clean, pale face and hair slicked back until it shone. A small round cap sat on his head, and a plaster stuck to his left brow covered half his eye.

He wore a pale blue gown under a short jacket, with a smoking pipe hanging at his waist and a folding fan tucked into the back of his collar. A purple-bamboo birdcage dangled from his left hand. Looking at the Bowl of wontons on Zhang Laifu's table, he asked, "Know what you did wrong?"

Zhang Laifu did not understand. How could someone eat a bowl of wontons wrong?

P.S. My thanks to Fengci Tushen, a longtime reader and supporter since the days of Puluo. I haven't forgotten that kindness.