Work Text:
The silk tassels of the lanterns bob on a gentle evening breeze. You pass by the glowing storefronts, gazing longingly into the shop windows - secondhand clothing, baked goods, games and toys from all sort of international destinations. You see a window full of mooncakes, and feel your stomach rumble.
The place seems to have a nice ambience. You push the door open, a little bell tinkling above the door.
The restaurant is empty and silent. Your footsteps scuff against the floor, each one strangely loud in the quiet. A waitress pokes her head out of the kitchen at the back of the restaurant. "Oh, good evening," she says apologetically. "I'm sorry, we just closed down for the night."
You sigh. "It's okay. Sorry for bothering you."
"Wait," the waitress offers. "We have a bunch of leftover mooncakes. Would you want one?"
"Oh!" you blink at her, pleasantly surprised by her generosity. "If you really have extras - yes, please."
She smiles, tucking a strand of brown hair back behind her ear. "Of course! Please take a seat."
A few moments later, she comes back with a mooncake on a plate. It's almost shining in the gentle evening light, round as its namesake, patterns and what looks like Chinese characters etched onto it like the ridges of a textured world globe.
"What do these characters mean?" you ask quietly, fascinated.
"Just joy and well wishes, as far as I know," the waitress replies with a smile. "Try it. It'll be good."
The outer crust is soft, giving way easily beneath your teeth. It's filled with a light greenish paste that smells sweet and cloying, with a salty egg yolk in the centre of it, dark gold like a midday sun.
"What's inside it?" you turn to the waitress.
"Lotus root paste," the waitress says, wiping down the window display cases. "And a pickled duck egg." The rag swipes directly through a thin, filmy layer of grime.
"It's good," you say automatically, but you surprise yourself by meaning it.
She returns with a blinding smile.
The lotus root clings thickly to your tongue, the egg yolk leaving a tangy aftertaste in your mouth. It's a great contrast of flavours, the sweet paste and the salty yolk. It tastes how you think a family gathering would, after many years apart.
"They remind me of my family in China."
You turn to check if anyone else has come into the restaurant, but it's just the waitress, swiping the rag against the glass. There's longing in her eyes. "My grandparents own a farm in a village, with a lot of chickens and tea hills. And where I lived with my parents, there was a river filled with these beautiful red and white fish..."
You smile inadvertently, taking the last bite of the mooncake, imagining tea hills against placid grey skies and fish dancing through water, their tails flickering elusively against the surface.
"And there was a festival, where we'd bump our lanterns together and throw them up into the sky, making sure they take the year's misfortunes away with them. It was amazing. You'd look up and there would be countless bright red lanterns floating up into the night sky."
The waitress turns back and smiles bashfully. "Want me to take your plate?"
"Yes, please," you say eventually, banishing the mental image of scarlet lanterns, drifting off to a home between the stars. "Thank you very much."