Fulang’s Little Inn

After his uncle passed away, his aunt arranged a marriage for Shu Rui;
he was to be married off as a continuation wife to Wu the Grand Landlord of the town, a man already past forty.

Shu Rui refused.

That very night, he packed up his trunk and, carrying a shop deed left behind by his parents, prepared to head to the prefectural city to seek a way out for himself.

While fleeing the forced marriage, Shu Rui ran straight into trouble on the road—
his cart knocked into a handsome young man.

The handsome youth opened his eyes, said his head hurt terribly, and that he couldn’t remember anything at all.
He had lost his memory!

Shu Rui didn’t believe it for a second.

With his dark, pockmarked face, he rushed up and cried so pitifully it made one’s skin crawl:
“Husband, have you forgotten even me? We’re loving husband and wife!”

The handsome youth stared at him in silence for a long while.
He truly couldn’t remember having such a fulang.

But, holding to the belief that having one is better than having none, he calmly accepted it:
“Then I’m hungry. I want to eat.”

“………”

On Ten-Li Street, that old shop which had been closed for many years—
its dust thicker than the roof tiles—
was slowly repaired and restored.

A new signboard was hung at the entrance.
It was an inn now.

The inn was small: four guest rooms and one communal bunk room.
The space wasn’t large, but it could both lodge travelers and serve hot meals.

The two young people running the business—
one was a ge’er, both the shopkeeper and the cook.
The other, a handsome waiter, looked a little slow, but his skills were formidable.

Today’s offerings included sour bamboo shoots stewed with black carp, shepherd’s purse egg cakes, and bitter tea soup…
The rooms were already full, and no more guests were being accepted.

Days drifted by gently—
and so the little inn passed year after year, through fair winds, rain, snow, and sun.