Old Jin City on the Wall

Chapter 13 Master Liu's Ears

The peach shortbread sold out before noon the next day.

Qin Xiaowan quickly made another batch, which was also finished by evening.

Cold noodles are even faster and are a must-order at every table.

After closing, she finished writing down the accounts in her notebook, put away her apron, and didn't even have the energy to complain to Wu Ling, so she went straight home to rest.

Wu Ling wiped the last table by himself.

The teahouse quieted down, and the line under the words "Traditional Peach Crisp" on the blackboard looked very white in the light.

The voice of that customer from yesterday suddenly came out.

When will you tell stories again?

He glanced at the back door.

A copper shovel hung above the fat tea drinker's ear.

It was Master Liu standing behind a chubby tea drinker in the corner, cleaning his ears.

The chubby tea drinker squinted, his toes lightly touching the ground.

There were about twenty people in the teahouse, but no one paid any attention to him.

Old Zhou sat in his usual spot, a covered teacup on the table, its lid tilted.

"They're here."

"Um."

Wu Ling sat down against the wall and ordered a bowl of Sanhua (a type of fried dough).

No rush today.

The tea has been served.

He blew away the foam on the gaiwan, took a sip, and his gaze fell on Master Liu from above the rim of the bowl.

Master Liu replaced it with a thinner shovel.

He pulled his wrist in slightly, the movement so subtle it was almost invisible.

The chubby tea drinker slowed down his toes.

Master Liu's hands are different from Aunt Zhou's hands when kneading dough.

Aunt Zhou's hands were rough, with prominent knuckles, and her strength was concentrated in her palms.

Master Liu's hands are thin and dry, with long fingers that are slightly curved at the tips. His nails are cut very short, shorter than normal. The nails of someone who cleans ears cannot have a single splinter.

His tools were spread out on the bamboo mat next to him.

A dozen or so items—copper shovels, goose feather sticks, ear scrapers, and small tweezers—were neatly arranged, each polished to a shine.

The chubby tea drinker finished cleaning his ears, rubbed them, yawned contentedly, tossed down two coins, and left.

Before looking at the money, Master Liu first wiped the copper coin on the front and back of a cotton cloth, examined it against the light, and then put it away and tucked it behind his ear.

Then I sat back down on the small stool in the corner and waited for the next person.

The copper tucks dangled slightly from his ear, shining brighter than anything else on his body.

Old Zhou leaned his head against the back of the bamboo chair.

"Master Liu has been waiting all morning."

"Only one?"

"The fat guy's tea shop has fewer customers today."

Wu Ling walked over with the covered bowl and squatted down next to him.

"Master Liu, after all these years of cleaning, what's the most unforgettable time?"

Master Liu didn't stop what he was doing, wiping the goose feather stick with a cotton cloth.

"There was an old woman. She spent the whole afternoon searching."

Gone.

Xiao Cui came in through the door carrying a basket filled with jasmine flowers.

She walked around the chessboard and went to Wu Ling.

"Shopkeeper, it's been a long time since I've heard you talk. Are you going to tell me today or not?"

"explain."

"What are you saying?"

Wu Ling gestured towards the corner with his lip.

Xiao Cui turned her head and looked at Master Liu.

"Talk about him? What's there to talk about? He's always holed up in that corner picking his ears."

"People who talk little have stories to tell."

"So, are you also a man of few words?"

"Me? I talk too much. That's why I became a storyteller."

Xiao Cui laughed out loud, casually placed a jasmine flower next to his covered bowl, and ran away.

Wu Ling finished the last sip of tea in his bowl, stood up, and walked onto the stage.

He picked up the gavel, clenched it in his palm for two seconds, and found the wood was warm.

Take the picture.

This sound was deeper than the previous two.

The audience fell silent.

"We won't talk about the Three Kingdoms today. We won't talk about those strange and unusual things that happened afterward."

Several people looked up.

"Today I'll tell you about someone. He lives right here in this teahouse. He always sits in that bamboo chair in the corner; you all recognize him."

They looked at each other in the audience.

"Master Liu, the ear cleaner."

In the corner, Master Liu was cleaning the ear of a thin tea drinker when his hand paused.

The thin tea drinker exclaimed "Ouch!"

The audience laughed.

A square-faced man at the table near the door put down his teacup and spoke loudly.

"Shopkeeper, what's so special about cleaning ears? It's just a skill. You've been talking about the Three Kingdoms for a while now, haven't you even finished telling the story of Guan Yu passing five passes and slaying six generals?"

Someone nearby chimed in.

"That's right, let's talk about the Three Kingdoms."

Wu Ling glanced at the square-faced man.

"What is your surname, sir?"

"His surname is Ma."

"Brother Ma, did you have Master Liu clean it for you?"

The square-faced man waved his hand.

"No. My hearing is perfectly fine, I don't need it."

"That's right." Wu Ling put the gavel on the table. "Only those who haven't had him examine them will find there's not much to say."

The square-faced man snorted and picked up his teacup.

He didn't leave, didn't mention the Three Kingdoms again, and didn't say another word.

Wu Ling extended his little finger.

"Do you know how heavy a copper coin is? Three qian. It's lighter than this finger."

"A three-qian weight, you have to spin it inside a person's ear. It's such a narrow space, if you spin it too fast it hurts, if you spin it too slow you don't feel anything. If you spin it at the right speed—the customer squints and wiggles his toes little by little."

An elderly tea drinker at the table by the window held a covered teacup, a smile playing on his lips.

"I had Mr. Liu clean my head once last month. After he finished, I sat on the chair for half an hour and didn't want to leave."

The person next to him chimed in, "That's nothing. The first time I had him clean my ears, after he finished, I asked him, 'Master Liu, could you clean them again?' He said no, cleaning them too much would hurt my ears."

The audience laughed, and Wu Ling laughed along with them.

He waited for the laughter to subside before continuing.

"How long does it take to learn this skill?"

No one answered.

Three years.

The teahouse fell silent.

The square-faced man's teacup sat on the table, untouched.

"You're not allowed to touch a living person's ear for three years. Practice with a radish. Take a radish, and go from one end to the other. Go through the radish core completely, without breaking it. If it breaks, start over."

"Master Liu started picking radishes when he was twelve years old. In the winter, his hands would get so cold that his father would make him use a copper pick to pick up beans. He had to pick up a soybean from the bowl to the plate and then back. He was only allowed to pick radishes when his hands stopped shaking."

"By the third year of scooping radishes, he was dreaming about scooping radishes."

Someone in the audience whispered, "Three years."

"Later I asked him, 'Master Liu, you've been cleaning ears for so many years, what's the most unforgettable time?'"

stop.

Someone in the audience put down their gaiwan (lidded teacup), and the lid tapped against the rim of the bowl with a sound.

He said—

"There was an old woman who had been hard of hearing for half her life. She could hear everything through a barrier. Her family brought her here to try. They didn't have much hope. They had been to the clinic, tried all the medicine, and tried everything. Finally, someone said, 'Why don't you go to the teahouse and try Master Liu? It won't cost much.'"

"Master Liu spent the entire afternoon cleaning her, from late afternoon until the sun was setting. He changed four tongs, and his hand remained steady the whole time, without shaking. Someone next to him brought him a bowl of tea, but he didn't drink it, afraid that his hand would become unsteady."

The voice became softer.

"After she finished emptying the sieve, the old woman sat down in a chair."

It paused for two seconds.

"She cried."

The air below the stage froze.

She said she hadn't heard birdsong clearly in twenty years.

Quiet.

At the table near the door, a young tea drinker looked down at his gaiwan, his fingers gripping the rim.

The square-faced man straightened his back.

"A copper shovel, a lifetime, allowed someone who hadn't heard clearly for twenty years to hear birdsong again."

Wu Ling picked up the teacup on the table that had been refilled, took a sip, and put it down.

He glanced towards the corner.

Master Liu stopped, the copper shovel hovering above the thin tea drinker's ear.

The thin tea drinker opened his eyes and listened.

"You asked him why he didn't go outside. Going to the docks would earn him more than working in a teahouse."

He said: "As long as the teahouse is still here, I will be here too."

Wu Ling took a picture of the gavel.

The entire teahouse fell silent once again.

Even the firewood in the stove went silent.

The square-faced man stood up.

Everyone in the teahouse was watching him.

He picked up his teacup and walked over to Master Liu.

"Master Liu, get me one tomorrow."

Master Liu looked up at him.

"Okay."

The square-faced man stood there, as if he wanted to say something.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Finally, he patted Master Liu on the shoulder and went back to sit down.

The old tea drinker by the window said to the person next to him, "I knew it, Master Liu's skills are truly exceptional."

The person next to him picked up his covered bowl, took a sip, and said after finishing, "I'll come and collect some tomorrow too."

The applause was few, from six or seven people, but each clap was firm and meaningful.

Xiao Cui squatted at the foot of the table, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. She hadn't sold a single flower.

There was another person sitting near the entrance. He had come in halfway through the conversation and sat down when Wu Ling mentioned "three qian of weight." He hadn't said a word since.

He was holding a bowl of tea, but he hadn't drunk it even though it had gone cold.

The man stood up and raised his teacup toward Wu Ling.

"They're talking about people."

Three words.

The sound wasn't loud, but the whole teahouse could hear it.

Old Zhou turned his head.

"Mr. Li hasn't been here for a long time."

"Last time, we talked about Chengdu in the future." Mr. Li picked up his now-cold teacup and took a sip. "That was good. This time it's even better."

"Where is it good?"

"After that story, I remembered the subway and the neon lights. After this story, I remembered a person."

He put the lid on the teapot properly.

He didn't continue, he left, and Wu Ling didn't even have a chance to thank him.

Mr. Li doesn't praise people easily.

Old Zhou said that one sentence and didn't say anything more.

Most of the tea drinkers had left, and the chess table had been packed away.

The two chess players passed by Wuling on their way home.

"Manager Wu, will you be telling the story again next time?"

"speak."

"Then I'll come earlier next time. I didn't hear about coming to Chengdu last time."

The person next to him snorted.

"You listen to audiobooks? You only listen to the sound of chess pieces."

"This one is different today."

The two old men walked away arguing.

Wu Ling had listened to them play chess several times, but this was the first time he had heard them speak to him.

He walked to the corner and sat down next to Master Liu.

Master Liu sat on a small stool, polishing his copper shovel again.

After wiping for a long time, I turned the cotton cloth over and continued wiping.

"Master Liu, please tell me if I didn't explain things well."

Master Liu tucked the copper shovel back behind his ear.

"The old woman you were talking about."

"Um."

"She is my aunt."

The covered bowl in Wu Ling's hand stopped in mid-air.

The phrases he made up on stage earlier, "I cried" and "I haven't heard birds chirping clearly for twenty years," were made up by himself.

Master Liu only told the first half.

"I had just finished my apprenticeship when she left, and many years have passed since then," Master Liu said softly. "I thought no one remembered."

He stood up and dusted off his knees.

"Sit there."

"what?"

"Sitting on a bamboo chair, head tilted to the side."

Wu Ling sat down on the bamboo chair.

"Don't move."

When the copper shovel was inserted, his whole body tensed up.

Cool, three-qian (approximately 6 grams) of copper.

Then it starts spinning.

It was so slow that he wasn't sure if it was moving at all.

There was a very thin thing moving inside my ear canal. It wasn't scraping or poking; it was just sliding along the wall.

His toes started to wobble.

It wasn't intentional; my body just relaxed on its own.

Relax your shoulders first, then your neck.

Wu Ling leaned back naturally into the bamboo chair.

He closed his eyes and his mouth was slightly open.

Then, Mr. Liu switched to using a goose feather stick.

It's softer than a copper shovel, and it gently sweeps through the ear canal.

It itches, but not really; it's more like a tingling sensation.

It's so flaky it makes your scalp tingle and your head throb.

The world inside my ears suddenly seemed bigger.

He could hear the crackling of firewood in the stove, the sound of the wind blowing through the curtain at the door, and the calls of someone selling steamed cakes in the distance of the alley, one long and one short.

These voices have always been there.

He had never heard so clearly before.

Master Liu gently pulled out the goose feather stick.

Wipe it clean with a cotton cloth, stack it back on the bamboo mat, and put it together with the other tools.

"alright."

Wu Ling opened his eyes, not knowing how much time had passed.

It might take three minutes, or it might take ten minutes.

His legs were a little numb when he stood up; he had been sitting on the bamboo chair for too long.

The sounds in the teahouse were clear yet somewhat unfamiliar.

The sound of the covered bowl hitting the table, the crackling of the charcoal fire, and the curtain being lifted and then lowered by the wind.

Each one is closer than before.

"Master Liu."

"Um."

"What I said on stage—the weight of three coins, the pace neither too fast nor too slow, the toes swaying little by little—I thought I understood it."

He touched his ear.

"Actually, I just realized it."

"You're making up a story. I'm telling the truth."

He paused.

"If you still want to talk about it, come find me tomorrow. I'll tell you about her."

The curtain was lifted, and the person went out.

The wooden wheels of the rickshaw creaked as they rolled over the stone-paved road in the alley.

He had heard the sound when he came in, but it was in the background then; now every sound was crystal clear.

Xiao Cui stood there for a while.

"Shopkeeper."

"Um?"

"You made Master Liu cry."

"He didn't cry."

"He turned his face away; Master Liu never turns his face away."

Xiao Cui picked up her basket; it was still full of flowers, and she hadn't sold a single one.

"Master Liu is a very kind person. Every time I can't sell all my flowers, he buys the last one."

She glanced towards the door.

"He never talks about himself, but you've spoken for him today."

She left carrying a basket full of flowers.

Her flower-selling cries echoed from the alley, long and short, from afar.

Only Old Zhou was left in the teahouse.

Wu Ling walked over and sat down opposite him.

"Old Zhou."

"Um."

"Master Liu said he'll tell me about his aunt tomorrow."

"Then go listen. After you've listened, you can speak in more detail. You're different on stage today than before."

"What's different?"

Old Zhou didn't answer.

When I returned to the modern era, the back alley was very quiet.

The early morning breeze was cool, and the air conditioner unit next door was humming.

Wu Ling was somewhat surprised as he passed the wall behind the back gate.

The mural is wrong; the area near the back door is too dark in color.

It's not just a little darker, the entire base color has been changed.

The lines of the streets became clearer, the eaves of the teahouses gained sharp angles, and the figures sitting on the bamboo chairs went from blurry to having their postures discernible.

There's another one next to it.

What was originally a hazy gray where nothing could be seen clearly is now faintly showing color.

Wu Ling's heart started racing.

During this period, every time he came back from the back door, he would pass by this wall.

Nothing has ever changed.

Today is different.

He reached out to touch it, but stopped in mid-air.

There's something extra on the brightest edge of the mural.

It wasn't there before.

It is the outline of a long-spouted teapot.

The spout is curved, the body is slender, and the lines are very subtle.

There was still a trace of water on the spout.

Wu Ling stood in front of the wall for a long time.

The feeling of Master Liu's copper chisel still lingers in my ears, so clear and distinct.