China is one of the earliest countries in the world to know how to build bridges: beam bridges, pontoon bridges, suspension bridges, and arch bridges. For thousands of years, the materials used to build arch bridges have included wood, stone, brick, rattan, bamboo, iron, and even ice and salt.
Bridges always span mountains and rivers, their graceful forms like an everlasting rainbow. Through the ages.
In Beiping (Beijing), there was also a bridge between Zhengyangmen and Yongdingmen, with the Temple of Heaven to the east and the Temple of Agriculture to the west. In the past, emperors would cross this bridge every year when they went to the Temple of Heaven to offer sacrifices. The north side of the bridge was the mortal world, and the south side was considered the celestial realm. This bridge was a gateway between the human world and heaven, and because it was crossed by the "Son of Heaven," it was called the "Heavenly Bridge."
Like China itself, before its decline, Tianqiao was a very tall stone bridge that always blocked people's view. Looking from south to north, one could not see Zhengyangmen; looking from north to south, one could not see Yongdingmen. Although it was not exquisitely carved, it was made of white marble.
After several periods of rise and fall, the lantern market withered like a flower... Later, its tall bridge was demolished and replaced with a brick and stone bridge. The stone railings were preserved, but the area became a swamp and a sewage ditch. Whenever it rained, all the water from the south of the city would accumulate here, and together with the water from the canals outside the two jars and the flowing water from the East and West Dragon Beard Ditches, it would overflow and stink, becoming a paradise for mosquitoes, flies, bedbugs, and rats. People seemed to have forgotten how long ago Tianqiao was once a bustling place in the capital, where fireworks were set off during the lantern market. A poet wrote: "Ten thousand golden dragons, half-hidden in purple, seemed at first glance to have escaped from a great fire wheel."
The New Year has passed, and the shops, big and small, have just closed down, with few pedestrians on the streets.
Two feet in tattered cloth shoes were walking towards the overpass. The toes of the left foot were sticking out, frozen like tiny red radish heads. Zhigao carried a tin can, his head down picking up cigarette butts of all shapes and sizes from the ground, those abandoned, no longer kissed, half-dried corpses. He picked one up, tossed it into the can, silently. Only his stomach rumbled. After passing Zhushikou, ah, the sounds of the market gradually drowned out his hunger.
It was quite a different scene altogether.
As soon as the market opened, it was filled with the sounds of people, the market, and steam. Even cigarette butts littered the streets. Zhigao was overjoyed.
Although outside the overpass are old tile-roofed houses and dilapidated wooden buildings, with bare-chested, barefoot, and ragged people living day to day, the area becomes lively once you enter the wooden bridge. Stalls and shelves of all sizes, and a variety of old clothes and miscellaneous items...
Those pushing carts and carrying loads on shoulder poles were all in their positions. The fried food in the pot, the steamed food in the steamer, the grilled food in the stall... all the food emitted an enticing aroma.
Zhigao was tired from walking. Seeing that he had collected almost all the cigarette butts in the small jar, he sat down at a tea stall and drank a large bowl of tea. His pockets were empty, so he simply said to the tea seller:
"Third Aunt, I'll give you the money for your tea later."
When Third Aunt saw it was Zhigao, she said, "Even if you don't have money, drink as much as you want. Come on, let's drink some more."
"No, my stomach is full of tea."
Zhigao crouched down in a corner behind the vegetable stall, carefully peeling open the cigarette butts, separating the tobacco bit by bit, then took out a stack of cigarette paper, rolling each cigarette neatly. Before long, the group of ownerless, yellowed cigarettes were resurrected and renewed. Zhigao arranged them on a metal box, then leaped up and went to his business.
"Kuaishou Company! Kuaishou brand... Come on, guys! Buy ten Kuaishou brand cigarettes and get a free match!"
He didn't have any matches at all, and in fact, he never had customers buying ten at a time. He sold them one by one, earning a few coins in return. Before long, he started to run out of money.
Okay, first, a sesame paste flatbread and fried dough sticks, then some braised small intestines and stir-fried liver, followed by a bowl of tofu pudding—very satisfying. Finally, I arrived at a food stall selling donkey rolls. The family worked together for three days, shaping the kneaded soybean dough into thin pancakes, sprinkling them with brown sugar, rolling them up, coating them with dry millet flour, cutting them into pieces, dipping them in sugar syrup, and eating them with bamboo skewers.
Just as he was about to take out a coin to buy some donkey rolls, he saw a cart of sweet glutinous rice cakes next to him. He realized he was the "glutinous rice cake" Dan Dan had mentioned, so he immediately changed his mind, transferred the coin, and exchanged it for two pieces of soft, sweet glutinous rice cake. He even said to the vendor:
"Uncle Xiang, from now on I won't call you Zhigao anymore, I'll change my name to 'Qiegao' (a type of sweet rice cake). Hahaha!"
"Come on, look at you, so happy!" Uncle Xiang said with a laugh.
Suddenly, a clattering sound was heard, and someone shouted, "Hey there, young lady, you're taking a bath..."
He was a timid, large man with a mouthful of gold teeth and a large, bulging face that resembled the Chinese character "凸". He seemed to have only been singing for a short while; his voice wasn't loud, lacking in diaphragmatic strength, and he merely struck a lecturing pose. You couldn't imagine him singing like that:
"Look inside, look inside! 'The Young Woman Taking a Bath'! Bet, she's holding a peach-colored floral towel in her left hand, fiddling with the edge of the basin in her right... thud, thud, thud..."
The big man stood next to a rectangular wooden box with ropes hanging from both ends. He started playing a small gong, drum, and cymbal while pulling the ropes, and the picture cards inside the box moved up and down in sync with his lyrics.
"Another one, another one, it's 'Pan Jinlian Yearning for Spring,' she hates Da Lang, she misses Wu Song; she misses him so much she's in tears...hehe, that's tough, haha, that's tough..."
The audience sat on a long bench, peering through the small round glass eyepiece of the box. They were completely absorbed, craning their necks, some even impatient. The burly man pulling the box, while pulling it up and down, would deliberately create an air of mystery, pausing before actually pulling it, driving the impoverished men of all ages to a frenzy of anticipation, who would mutter incoherently, "Pull it down! Pull it down!"
Each wore a shy, ambiguous, and furtive smile. The singer and the watcher were both poor men who could only afford two simple meals a day. They were exchanging glances as if keeping a secret.
The big man felt a pang of guilt, like a tiger fallen into a pit—who knew if he was even a tiger? Perhaps his only fault was his size; it made everything he did feel wrong, especially selling a woman's lust for a few coins. But he kept going, fueled by his enthusiasm, and tried his best to drink:
"Sigh! Another one, another one—..."
Zhigao gazed at the group of men, their mouths drooling, their eyes innocent yet burning with desire. He remembered—…Pah! He felt inexplicably angry. He felt these beasts were everywhere, like his shadow, constantly reminding him that even in broad daylight, people were still like this. Filled with disgust and hatred, Zhigao spat a cloud of saliva on the ground, letting out a strange cry:
"Take a bath! Take a bath! Damn it, watch your old lady take a bath!"
Then he turned and ran towards the west side of the bridge.
The liveliest part of the overpass was the variety show area. He pushed through the crowd, squeezing into one show after another in search of someone.
There are many professions to make a living in Tianqiao. The literary ones include storytelling and ballad singing. The martial ones are too numerous to count: wrestling, pole climbing, bicycle stunts, double stone throwing, stilt walking, diabolo, hard qigong, acrobatics, slingshot, somersaults... Tianqiao is a "competition arena". If you don't have the skills, don't even think about making a living here. In this area of only a few miles, hundreds of people gather to make a living. Although it is said that they are "digging for bread on flat ground", it is still not easy.
Therefore, every street performer has their own unique skill and is constantly coming up with new tricks.
Zhigao squeezed into a crowd, pushing and shoving his way out, only to find King Huai about to take a large sword.
Everyone was captivated by the handsome boy. He focused his mind and unleashed his skills, a red ribbon tied to the hilt of his sword, which danced with the movement of the blade. In Huaiyu's hands, the sword was sometimes hidden, sometimes revealed, slashing left and right, whether it was pointing, sweeping, pushing, or thrusting... all of which drew cheers and applause.
He turned around and swung his sword in a left-hand stance, then slashed left and right with a cross stance and sword, leaping and crouching, the sword wrapped around his head, and then he whirled through the air with a flying kick while holding the sword. Every move he made showed the heroic spirit he had shown early on.
After the knife demonstration, applause erupted, and spectators threw money into the arena. Huaiyu's father, Boss Tang, immediately rushed onto the stage.
Old Tang was a burly man, dressed in a t-shirt, a wide belt around his waist, and blue cloth trousers. His broad shoulders were spread out like a fan. In this early spring, when the air was still chilly, he wore a lot but revealed little. He carried a large bow, assumed a horse stance, and drew it fully in the arena, the veins bulging as they wound around his neck and arms. The spectators were satisfied and pleased by his energetic performance, throwing even more money into the arena—a few bills, but mostly coins, scattered all over the ground.
Street performers demand honesty and money, and the rule is not to take what isn't theirs. So, after waiting for a while, Huaiyu picked it up with a willow twig plate.
After the performance, the audience dispersed.
Zhigao sat down next to the bench, grinning, and handed Huaiyu a piece of cut cake.
"Uncle Tang," Zhigao greeted him warmly.
"Hmm." Old Tang responded casually, then proceeded to instruct Huaiyu, "Take some money for snacks and hurry to school. Don't wander around. Studying and practicing calligraphy are the most important things. Go, go, go!"
As Tang Laoda spoke, he took a bag of cloth from the shelf behind the stall, tossed it to Huaiyu, and instructed her:
"I need to check my homework when I get back."
Huaiyu and Zhigao left.