Chapter 1: A Journey to Find One’s Roots

Today in Shanghai, it is 24°C,1 breezy, with a light drizzle.

The light breeze caresses the signboard of the “Secret Garden,” and the raindrops it carries seep into the wood bit by bit, giving it the weathered appearance that an old shop located in the bustling urban area ought to have had.

A young girl with a vintage film camera slung around her neck stands in front of the shop. She is holding an umbrella in one hand and, in the other, she holds an old, yellowed photograph which she is comparing against the plaque hung above the door.

It is the right place, alright: a small, dual purpose (commercial and residential) Western-style building made of red brick. Although the name has changed, you can vaguely see what it would have been like more than 80 years ago. The door is so narrow that only one person can pass through it at a time.

The girl opens the door and walks in to find a completely different world behind the humble storefront. The wooden door is like a time portal returning you to the old Shanghai of the last century. A moss-covered stone path followed by an intricately patterned wool carpet leads to a red brick wall filled with old photographs and newspapers. Each brick and tile is the same as it looked back then, just how her grandmother2 had described to her.

She walks very slowly, and from time to time she picks up the camera to take a picture or two. The things here are aged and tasteful, with a certain charm. It is no wonder that in today’s extravagant Shanghai Bund3, this old Shanghai restaurant’s traditional Shanghai cuisine can remain standing, unwavering despite the oppressively overwhelming number of French and Italian cuisines that litter The Bund today.

An old waiter in a changshan4, standing by the entrance to the inner courtyard, greets her. “Can I help you, Miss?”

The girl looks back apologetically, as if she had been caught doing something wrong. “I’m sorry I took pictures without asking permission in advance. If the owner would mind, I can delete them now.”

When the old waiter sees her face clearly, he freezes for a few seconds. He cannot help but take off his reading glasses and rub his eyes as he continues to stare at her, fixedly. The corners of his eyes well up with tears.

The girl is flustered by his reaction, “Uncle5, what is the matter?”

Self-conscious of his loss of composure, he bends down and wipes the corners of his eyes with his long sleeve. “Nothing. xiǎo-gūniang6 just looks a bit like an old friend of mine. I was distracted for a moment. Have you made an appointment in advance?”

“No. I just came back from abroad, and I didn’t know the rules here.” The girl looks over the old waiter’s shoulder and sees that there are not many customers in the store and that many of the tables are still empty. “Can you do me a favor, this once?”

The old waiter’s face takes on the look of someone trapped in an awkward situation. “I’m very sorry, but our chef has a policy. Every guest has to make a reservation a week in advance for the time, the number of people, and the dishes. He doesn’t take orders on the spot.”

“He doesn’t take orders on the spot? What kind of rule is that? Could it be he’s not capable enough to make the food on the spot, so he made up this rule? Even chefs in Michelin restaurants aren’t this picky about their guests!”

“This…” The old waiter can neither offend a guest nor dare to impugn the boss. He is caught between a rock and a hard place.

“Childish.” A deep, languid male voice emerges from the outlet. She looks over at the sound of the voice to see a fair arm carrying a dish of mouth-watering braised eel. Upon a closer look it can be seen that the arm has a slender outline with robust muscles; it is an arm that could make one’s imagination roam. However, at the moment, no matter how nice the arm, her professional habits make her focus entirely on the dish held in that hand.

A choice selection of barbecued, fat-streaked pork belly is sizzling on the plate, topped with a layer of fresh and tender skinless eel which is drizzled with a rich sauce. Even though she is a few meters away, she can still smell the aroma, and a ravenous look crosses her face. Bravo!7

The hand taps the bell. At the “Ding!”, a waiter immediately comes up to take away the dish. Only then does her attention return to the person she had been talking to.

The restaurant serving window is small, and all she can see is part of the chef’s uniform moving around inside. The chef must be extremely tall, because the opening, which is nearly as high as her chest, only shows his lower abdomen. And the chef is very flashy8; even pieces of his uniform are customized. The logo on the buttons is from one of her favorite French brands. Her mind immediately conjures up the mental image of a big man with gay vibes9.

“This is our chef and the shop owner, Cheng-lǎobǎn10.” The old waiter, seeing that she was still sizing him up, was considerate enough to introduce her.

“Good dishes are worth waiting for; I don’t cook for people who don’t understand the value of food,” Cheng Musheng adds coolly.

“Heh. Then, you’re in luck.” She fishes out a business card holder from her bag and pulls out a business card, sending it flying quickly and accurately through the center of the opening, just for it to be neatly caught by Cheng Musheng who started to read it.*

The simple white business card is embossed with a silver plum blossom branding that can be felt in the corner. In the middle of the card are the words “Lin Jingyun” written in large Lanting font, and below that is her title: France’s《Fresh》magazine food column, senior writer/foodie.

“Heh.” Lin Jingyun hears a faint laugh, more of a snort, really; it’s not a good-natured kind of laugh.

“Do you know that other restaurants pay me to eat there, just for me to write them a good word in my column? With a single article in my column, you can immediately add a zero after the unit price of each dish in your restaurant. Isn’t that lucky for you?” Lin Jingyun is not normally such an insolent person, but she is courteous when met with courtesy and ferocious when she is met with ferocity. Obviously the person behind the opening is “crazy,” so she will treat him accordingly.

“Do I look like I’m short of money?” Cheng-lǎobǎn throws the business card on the windowsill, his fingers still unconsciously resting on the card a bit. The grease left on his fingers immediately soaks into the fine business card.

Lin Jingyun chokes back her words; apparently this man has no respect for money and he despises her career. So, this young girl, still in her twenties, drops her airs, revealing a more charming, innocent side. “I was born and raised in France. I came back to this land just to taste a basket of pan-fried pork buns11. Do you really have the heart to let me go back without doing so?”

“Pan-fried pork buns?” The old waiter beside her looks at her a bit more intently. The predecessor of the Secret Garden was a fifty-year old shop that sold pan-fried pork buns. When he got old, the original owner sold the shop and his trade to Cheng Musheng, which is how the Secret Garden of today came into being. Even now, the pan-fried pork buns are still part of the menu.

“Why the pan-fried pork buns?” Cheng Musheng also pursued the question.

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Took the bait! Lin Jingyun turns to hide her sly smile. She walks towards the middle of the restaurant, where there is a photo of three people: a young girl with a pretty face and two boys with different but equally distinguished temperaments standing to her left and right. The photo is distorted and blurred by its age, but it is clear that the owner cherished the photo and took good care of it, framing it in a thick glass frame. The frame reflects Lin Jingyun’s slender figure overlapping with the girl in the photo.

On the table below the photo are a worn motorcycle cap and a broken wine flask. It appears that every antique hides a story that cannot be told. Lin Jingyun’s hand touches them gently and cautiously, as if she is touching a piece of history.

“Do you want to hear my story?” Lin Jingyun asks. Cheng Musheng did not immediately respond. “My story in exchange for a free lunch without a reservation, okay?”

Cheng Musheng is silent for a moment, as if considering her proposal. The old waiter looks a little anxious, as though eager to answer for him. He took one look at the old man in the chángshān and made up his mind. “I hope your story is worth the price.”

The corner of Lin Jingyun’s mouth pulled up in a proud smile, completely erasing the poor and pitiful look. Only then did Cheng Musheng realize that he had fallen for this girl’s trick. But she did not give him a chance to change his mind, pointing her index finger at the old photo.

The old clock in the restaurant began to rotate counterclockwise; one moment everything around it seemed to be the same, and then everything seemed to change in an instant, the aged regaining vitality, the antiquated becoming modern, the dust vanishing, the silence becoming a great hubbub, everything seems to have returned to its former self in an instant…

Stepping into the scene, Lin Jingyun can see the water on the ground reflecting the glamorous buildings and neon lights of the Bund; as a car skids across the road, Lin Jingyun follows the direction of the car to see the bustling scene of the Shanghai Bund of the past with its modern beauties, cigarette vendors, speeding rickshaws, and the feasting and pleasure-seeking12 of Mei Gao Mei Dance Hall, which Lin Jingyun stepped excitedly into.

Mei Gao Mei’s dance floor is full of dancers in all kinds of glamorous costumes, and in the center of the stage stands a charming female singer with a pear blossom perm. She is singing “Yè Lái Xiāng”13 with the band. Lin Jingyun glides onto the dance floor in excitement to mingle with the bright young men in tuxedos. As the last syllable ends, she walks across the dance floor towards the back of the stage and goes out through the small door.

Lin Jingyun comes to a small, silent Shanghai street, in front of a pan-fried bun shop, the door of which is closed. Lin Jingyun is still in a daze. Suddenly, retainers from one of the families crashed through the door of the shop. It is a gang war! Lin Jingyun is so scared that she wants to run, but just as she starts to turn, she sees a black-clad man raise the muzzle of a pitch-dark gun to Lin Jingyun’s terrified face. The black-clad man pulled the trigger and shot…

Translator’s Notes:

(all notes are mine, unless noted as Ninbay Phua’s (NP) or mejomonster’s (MJ))

1 24°C = ~75°F for any other non-metric users out there… [return]

2 奶奶 (nǎi nai) — paternal grandmother [return]

3 上海滩 is a very specific area in ShangHai. The only English name I’ve heard of for it is The Bund or ShangHai Bund. 滩 in particular is like ‘shore’ or ‘port’ so yeah. ShangHai was historically a port which eventually became where the British first settled (I think) and the culture there is a mix of western and Chinese culture similar to Penang (I’m not from ShangHai or even China but I grew up with enough of their stories to know a little bit of their history. Old shanghai is a beautifully tragic time that will always hold a special place in my heart cuz it’s so old yet not old enough that it feels out of reach but that’s probably Penang hasn’t changed much over the generations so it retains a bit of that old-timey vibes so old shanghai feels kinda familiar in terms of vibes XD) –NP [return]

4 长衫 changshan (the male equivalent of a cheongsam) – there’s another type called samfu but the original text specifically stated 长衫. –NP [return]

5 She is not literally calling him her Uncle. The word she uses is 老伯 — lǎo bó (old uncle), which is also a polite form of address for an old man (a generation above you, i.e., your parents’ age) –NP [return]

6 小姑娘 (xiǎo-gūniang): small, young woman, young miss.  Generally reserved for people under 20. [return]

7 In the original, it literally says “Bravo!” ;D [return]

8 骚包 (sāo bāo): I went on a JOURNEY with this word, LET ME TELL YOU. Alternate possible translations were: alluring, showy, sassy, flamboyant, Google didn’t even want to TRY and just gave me “Sāo bāo,” but baiduinenglish absolutely took the cake, because when I isolated 骚包 from the rest of the sentence, it gave me “Hey, Bitch” which I thought was AMAZING. XD

Ninbay Phua had this to say about 骚包: “ok 骚包 is used to describe someone who is overly narcissistic, cocky and enjoys showing off – derogatory (I haven’t thought of a better term for it in English but ‘hey bitch’ gets the derogatory vibe across pretty well XD)” [return]

9 gay-looking: “GAY 里 GAY 气” means gay vibes –NP [return]

10 老板 (lǎobǎn) = boss // I confess, I just like keeping titles in the original language. ^_^ [return]

* OMG, they’re both so EXTRA, I can’t STAND IT XD THEY DESERVE EACH OTHER. XD [return]

11 生煎包 (shēng jiān bāo) — pan fried dumplings; because these are a major plot point in the show, I thought I’d give you a little more information about them. ^_^

“Sheng Jian Bao/生煎包 (aka Sheng Jian Mantou/生煎馒头) is a type of Chinese pan fried bao buns. The wrapper is made from yeast dough and the filling contains minced pork, spring onion and various seasonings. It’s quite small in size, similar to a golf ball or even smaller.” –from redhousespice.com. Recipe and pictures can be found here: https://redhousespice.com/pan-fried-pork-buns/. But if you’ve seen the drama, then you know what these are. They come up… a LOT. ;D [return]

12 灯红酒绿 (dēng hóng jiǔ lǜ): literally “lanterns red, wine green,” an idiom which means feasting and pleasure-seeking; debauched and corrupt environment [return]

13 夜来香 (yè lái xiāng): Tuberose, Evening Primrose, Fragrance of the Night.

I chose not to translate this song title, because it has quite a history. If you’ve seen an American movie set in China, it’s highly possibly that you’ve heard it.

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