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“Catfish fillet, lotus root, soybean sprouts…” Thinking aloud to himself, Xiao adjusts his grip on his pencil and meticulously writes each item down on a slip of paper. The simplified script that modern day Liyue favours is a far cry from the traditional script that Xiao is used to, and he has to check his work against the dictionary that he’d borrowed from Baizhu every now and then to ensure that he hasn’t made a mistake. “Ah, and the coconut milk pudding that I promised to get for Qiqi.”
“Are you going to the market tomorrow?” Upon hearing him, Baizhu looks up from the medical journal that he’d been poring over for the past handful of hours. “If so, could I trouble you to pick up some qingxin flower cakes and tea pastries for us on your way home? Of course, if it’s too much trouble—”
“Why would it be?” Xiao asks, puzzled. “It is but a mere detour. Is there anything else?”
“There is, but—” Baizhu pauses, glancing down at Xiao’s shopping list. “Only if it isn’t too much of a hassle for you? I’d like to ask for a few pears to make jade fruit soup with, but I can see that your hands will be completely full tomorrow. If you don’t mind visiting the market in the late afternoon, I should be able to make time to accompany you—”
“No,” Xiao says, with a firm shake of his head. “The fresh produce would have been all sold out by then, and I am more than capable of handling the shopping by myself. Now—how many pears would you need?”
Despite the early hour, the traditional market that serves the residential district where Xiao now lives is already bustling with people and activity. Along its narrow streets and maze-like alleys, countless shoebox-sized stores selling all sorts of fresh produce and sundry goods are crowded up against each other for as far as the eye can see, with the loud cries of merchants touting their wares cutting through the noise of the crowd every now and then. From where he is standing at a safe distance away from the ruckus, Xiao tries for the umpteenth time to summon the courage that is needed to wade into the thick of it and sighs in resignation when he fails.
While this is far from his first trip down to the market, the experience never ceases to be overwhelming. In hindsight, Xiao thinks that perhaps he’d been a little too hasty in turning down Baizhu’s offer to accompany him.
Before he had left the house this morning, Baizhu had woken up briefly to ensure that he had everything that he might need for the trip. The phone that Baizhu had given him now sits in the right pocket of his jacket like a stone, a constant reminder that he’d been given an out even though Xiao had been certain that he would not need it. His previous confidence wavering in the face of all this commotion, Xiao reaches into his pocket for it but stops just before he pulls it out.
It’s likely that Baizhu has gone back to sleep by now, but Xiao knows that he’ll answer if he calls. Still, with how late he’d gone to bed the night before, Xiao finds himself reluctant to wake him for something as trivial as this. The man does not get enough rest as it is, and Xiao will not allow himself to contribute any further to it.
Withdrawing his hand, he glances once more towards the thick knot of people gathered around the storefront of the vegetable store that Baizhu tends to frequent. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he turns to make for where the stalls selling cooked food are located instead.
“Xiao-ge!” The man running the breakfast stall on the corner recognises him immediately when he steps up to the front of the queue. Wiping the sweat from his brow with the towel draped over his shoulder, he grins broadly at him. “Good morning! What can I get for you today?”
“Good morning, Mr. Sun,” Xiao says, looking over the glass display of assorted buns and fritters even though he knows what he is here for already. “I’ll have the usual, please.”
“Of course! That will be two scallion pancakes, two baskets of soup dumplings, and a bowl of miancha with extra sesame, yes?” Scribbling Xiao’s order down on an oil-stained notepad with a leaky ballpoint pen in quick shorthand, Mr. Sun then hands him a plastic token with a number stamped on it. “Would you like anything else? A sesame sugar pancake, perhaps? This is our last batch and they’re selling out fast.”
“Thank you, but I’ll pass,” Xiao says, before he remembers Baizhu’s comment after dinner last night about how little he eats all the time. While the doctor’s tone had been deceptively casual, Xiao did not miss the worried look in his eyes. “On second thought, I’d like to add a cup of sweet doujiang and youtiao to my order, please.”
“Of course!” Mr. Sun beams. “Say, are Bai-xiansheng and Qiqi doing well? It’s just… it’s a little unusual to see you visiting the market by yourself.”
Considering how well-liked Baizhu is by the community for his service, Xiao does not find it surprising in the least for his absence to be remarked upon. This, Xiao thinks, will likely be the first comment of many that he will have to field for today. He might as well start practising.
Not wanting to come across as too standoffish or dismissive lest it reflects poorly on Baizhu, Xiao takes a moment to think about his words before he speaks. “He has been incredibly busy with work of late. Other than that, he’s doing fine. Likewise, Qiqi is well. I thank you for your concern on their behalf.”
“Ah, that’s a relief to hear! I was worried that they’d taken ill with how the weather has been of late. There’s a horrendous flu bug that has been going around, you know, and the few clinics that we have in the area have been packed full to the brim since the end of last week.” Tutting loudly, Mr. Sun picks up a pair of tongs and briskly packs Xiao’s order away into little wax paper bags. “You’ll let Bai-xiansheng know to take a break every now and then, won’t you? He may be young, but it never hurts to be careful when it comes to matters pertaining to his health—”
Nodding meekly along to the man’s impromptu lecture about the importance of rest, Xiao makes the appropriate noises to indicate that he is still listening and retrieves Baizhu’s spare phone. Despite the practice he’s had with using its payment function before, he can’t help but feel anxious without Baizhu by his side to assist him in case something goes wrong. Unlocking the interface by pressing his thumb against the screen, Xiao then taps the phone gingerly against the store’s payment terminal, breathing a quiet sigh of relief when the transaction goes through successfully with a ping.
“Aha! I see that you’ve finally made the switch. Digital payments are a lot more convenient than having to count change, isn’t it?” Handing him a large, greasy bag and a receipt, Mr. Sun winks at him. “Don’t worry. It took me a while to get used to it when I made the switch, but I’m sure that it wouldn’t pose a problem for a youngster like you!”
As someone who happens to be several lifetimes older than Mr. Sun himself, Xiao has no clue as to how to react to that. At last, he nods, taking the bag from him and deciding against remarking on it at all. Noticing that the bag feels a little heavier than usual, Xiao pulls the flap back to peer at the contents inside. “Mr. Sun, these are—?”
“Ah, those? Take them! They’re freebies for you to share with Qiqi. Take care of yourself and come back again soon, alright? Send Bai-xiansheng my regards when you see him!” Giving him a cheery wave, Mr. Sun gestures for the next customer to step forward. “Next, please! What can I get for you today?”
Along with the items he’d purchased, Xiao finds an extra youtiao, a steamed bun, and two butterfly buns that have been heavily dusted with toasted sesame seeds included with his order. Wanting to save the youtiao and the butterfly buns for Baizhu and Qiqi, Xiao takes the steamed bun for himself and very nearly scalds his tongue on the hot, meaty fillings inside when he takes a large bite out of it.
By the time he’s done eating, the tremendous crowd in front of the fresh produce stalls has thinned out by a fair bit. While the amount of people currently milling about in the market would have been enough to trigger an episode in him that would take him days to soothe in the not-so-distant past, all he feels right now is a mild discomfort at best. As a precaution, Baizhu had given him a bracelet that has been imbued with wards for use in case of an emergency. Reaching for it now, he brushes his fingertips over the smooth wooden beads to reassure himself of its presence around his wrist.
Then, having done so, he steels himself and slips into the crowd.
When he had left the house this morning, Xiao had planned for this to be a relatively quick trip. Although he does not yet know if Baizhu values efficiency in the same way Dijun did when he was still around, he’s certain that he will appreciate it nonetheless. To his dismay, however, he finds himself interrupted frequently. As he goes from stall to stall, he is forced to stop every now and then to exchange pleasantries with the friendly locals and shopkeepers who recognise him:
“Out by yourself today, lad?” A kindly looking old woman had approached him while he was sifting through a pile of potatoes. “You’re the one who is always following Bai-xiansheng about, aren’t you? Such a lovely young man to help out whenever you can. Are you attached to anyone yet?”
“My, my. You don’t sound very local, do you?” Another had said when he’d been trying to buy fresh lotus roots from her. “You speak with a curious accent that I can’t quite place. Where are you from? Are you here on a visit or have you just returned from studying abroad?”
Then, when he’d been shopping at a different stall, the shopkeeper had tried to make conversation with him instead of getting on with business. “If you don’t mind, there’s something that I have been meaning to ask for quite a while now. Say, are you working for Bai-xiansheng? I only got curious because you’re always following him around. People are saying that you’re his boy, but you two look nothing alike. Don’t worry, you can tell me—I won’t tell anyone.”
Of all the things that Xiao had been prepared for, getting grilled by nosy, middle-aged aunties for the local rumour mill had not been one of them. Taken aback by the ruthless onslaught of intrusive questions and the general lack of decorum all around, Xiao stares wordlessly back at the grocer as he tries to think of something polite to say.
“It’s not what you think,” Xiao says at last, when it is clear that she isn’t going to let him go without some sort of an answer. “I don’t work for him—not formally, at least. I just… He has been kind to me, so I help out whenever I can. May I pay for my purchase now, please? I’m in a bit of a hurry today.”
Sensing Xiao’s attempt at cutting their conversation short, the woman grumbles under her breath but allows him to pay, brusquely holding out the terminal for him. Tapping his phone against the device, Xiao takes the bag of produce from her and all but flees, breathing a quiet sigh of relief when the surrounding crowd moves in quickly to fill the space that he had just vacated.
Despite being mentally prepared, Xiao finds the constant barrage of questions and interruptions to be staggeringly overwhelming. If Baizhu were here, Xiao is sure that he would have known the right thing to say to redirect the people’s attention away from him. Although he had been well-trained by his masters across many disciplines over the years for his role as a servant and later on as a member of the Guardian Yaksha, the art of conversing with others had not been one of the things that were taught to him. After all, what was the point in doing so? A weapon does not need to be heard; it only needs to obey. In the rare occasions where he’d come across humans in the course of his duty, they had been by far too afraid of him to look him in the eyes, much less strike up a conversation with him. And if there ever was a need for a message to be sent to the people—well, he wasn’t the only adeptus serving under Yanwang Dijun.
Much to his chagrin, the people of Liyue today are nothing like their ancestors. By that, Xiao means that they aren’t afraid of him. Worse, they simply do not know to leave him alone. In an era where no one knows of his fearsome reputation or of the horrific deeds that he’d done, it is easy for the locals to make the mistake of thinking that he is Baizhu’s distant family member or his protégé. Logically, then, because of Baizhu’s status within the community, they would also want to extend the same hospitality towards him. By now, experience has taught Xiao that there is nothing that he can say or do to correct their assumptions of him, so he simply lets them be.
Out of concern for him, Baizhu had once offered to speak to them on his behalf. Xiao had declined. Although some of them may be persistent and rude, it is nothing that he hasn’t experienced before. The problem, he thinks, does not lie in his opinion of it. He may be averse to socialising, but he does not dislike it. Rather, it stems entirely from his inability to navigate it.
Striking the items already purchased off his shopping list with a pencil stub that he’d brought with him, Xiao glances at the last item and sighs quietly.
With luck, there will be no further interruptions as he goes about his day.
Careful to keep his head low so that he wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone by accident, Xiao picks his way through the crowd and heads for the emptiest fruit stall that he can see. Save for a couple of customers browsing over the discount section, the shop is mostly empty when Xiao steps in. From where she is sitting on a wooden footstool by the entrance, the elderly shopkeeper grunts in acknowledgement when he nods at her by way of greeting before she goes right back to peeling the orange in her hands. Relieved that he won’t be roped into yet another conversation with a stranger, Xiao looks over the hand-scrawled signs plastered all over the peeling walls and wanders through the piles of locally produced fruit until he finds what he’s looking for: several large trays of plump-looking pears that are nearly obscured by the crates of persimmon that have been placed in front of them.
Picking up an empty basket, Xiao then pauses, his hand hovering in mid-air over the different types of pears before him. Before him are trays upon trays of pears in various shapes and colours, ranging from the familiar teardrop shape to ones that look like giant apples. Baizhu had asked for pears to make soup with, but he had not specified the type. At a loss as to which to choose, Xiao is about to put the basket back down when he happens to look up to find the shopkeeper frowning at him.
Without breaking eye contact, the old woman pops an orange wedge into her mouth, chewing noisily as she speaks. “You’ve been standing there like a piece of wood for a while now. What do you want, boy?”
“...I’m looking to buy some pears,” Xiao says. Perhaps it would be wise to ask her for advice instead of phoning Baizhu. “Would you happen to know—”
“What?” the woman barks, holding a hand up to her ear. “What is it? Speak up! I can’t hear you from over here, you know?”
Deeming it rude to raise his voice at someone else even if it were done out of necessity, Xiao selects two different pears at random and takes them over to her. “I’m looking to buy some pears to make soup with, but I don’t know which ones I should get. Do you have any advice for me?”
“Soup?” The shopkeeper squints at him. “What kind?”
Xiao blinks.“I—what kind?”
“Everyone wants to make soup with pears to help nourish the lungs whenever they’re in season,” the old woman says gruffly. “Are you planning to make a soup with pear and pork ribs, or are you making a dessert soup with snow fungus and dried lotus seeds?”
“It should be a dessert soup, I believe,” Xiao says, frowning as he tries to remember if Baizhu had said anything else about it. “Is there a difference?”
“Well, I can tell that you’re certainly not the one cooking, but it’s good that you’re helping out with the groceries.” The old woman points to the pear that he’s holding in his left hand. “The one you have here is a Fontaine import, easily recognisable by its teardrop shape and the red blush on its skin. It’s best eaten fresh, as the flesh will disintegrate into a flavourless mush if you try to cook it.”
“I see,” Xiao says, nodding. “And the other one?”
“This other one here is an autumn moon pear, a local specialty that’s only available during the mid-autumn festival,” the old woman replies patiently. “While you can cook soup with it, I don’t recommend that you do so as it’s a very expensive fruit. Besides, you’ll ruin its delicate flavour with the application of heat. If you must cook them, I’d suggest a light poach in some sugar and wine. Go put these back where you got them—gently, mind you. The ones that you’ll want for your soup are right over there by the peaches.”
She points to a spot over his shoulder, and Xiao turns to look. “The yellow ones?”
“We call them snow pears. By the way, isn’t the weather a little too warm for you to be wearing a scarf right now?”
Not expecting the sudden change in topic, Xiao considers the woman’s question for a moment as he reaches up to touch the soft, cotton scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. If he tucks his nose into the fabric, he can still catch a whiff of Baizhu’s scent on it.
“I don’t mind,” he says at last. “And this isn’t mine. Someone else made me wear this before I left the house this morning and I couldn’t bring myself to say no.”
“Ah, that’s just how it is, isn’t it?” The woman grins toothlessly. “I remember when my own mother used to bundle me up in as many layers as she can whenever there’s a slight dip in the temperature. She wouldn’t allow me to take it off even if it had me sweating like a pig! That’s how you know that someone cares about you.”
Uncertain of the correct response to this, Xiao nods and otherwise remains silent. Thankfully, the woman does not seem to require any sort of reply from him and simply waves a hand at him in a clear dismissal.
“That’s enough reminiscing for an old woman today, I think. Go get your pears, boy. I’ll give you a discount if you buy five or more of them.”
“—seven, eight, nine, ten.” Counting as she pulls each fruit out of the bag, Qiqi puts them all in a neat row and turns to Baizhu, having accomplished her task. “There are ten pears in total.”
Baizhu lets out a quiet huff that may or may not have been a laugh. Regardless of which it is, Xiao folds his arms across his chest and looks away, feigning a sudden interest in the potted plant that Baizhu has left out on the windowsill.
“Thank you, Qiqi. Be a good girl and go put the pears into the basket on the tea table over there, please. Afterwards, you may go wash your hands and we will have breakfast.” Patting her gently on the head as she slips away to do as instructed, Baizhu then returns his full attention back to Xiao. “I see that your trip to the market has been fruitful, Xiao.”
“...there was a bulk discount,” Xiao says, painfully aware of how much it sounds like an excuse as he drops his arms back down to his side. “I am sorry if I’ve caused you any trouble by making that decision on your behalf.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” Baizhu assures him, smiling warmly. Xiao wishes that he would not. “I can always make some pear paste candy with the excess, so there really is no need for you to look quite so worried. Or is there something else on your mind? I can offer you a listening ear, if you’d like.”
“I—no, there’s no need. Not at the moment, at least.” Baizhu’s concern for him, although well-intentioned, never fails to leave Xiao feeling guilty for reasons he does not wish to dwell upon today. Aware of how persistent Baizhu can be, Xiao steps forward for the bags of groceries on the kitchen table, desperate for a change in topic and for something to do with his hands. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll put these away for you.”
“I’ll reheat our breakfast, then,” Baizhu says with a nod. “It’ll be more efficient this way. Would you like to give me a hand later when I’m making the candies? It won’t take long, and I’ll appreciate another pair of helping hands around.”
“Gladly,” Xiao says, and means it.
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