White horse

Author: Zhu Hui / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-06-01
Features: Strangely enough, quite a few people knew that was about to complete his apprenticeship. Men and women gathered on the street to watch. At first,'s hands were slow, and his mind was in a mess, but once he got the hang of it, he became nimble. When he was opening the oven to stick the flatbreads, his hands moved swiftly to the left and right, his movements light and graceful. It was as if what he faced wasn't fire, but flowers. He moved like a flying butterfly approaching flowers, his body advancing and retreating in front of the oven. In the up-and-down, back-and-forth movements, he was like a butterfly weaving through flowers. In just the time it took the master to finish a pipe of tobacco, a whole batch of flatbreads was stuck. Although one had to see the flatbreads to judge the skill,'s technique and posture were even better than those of a seasoned master.
Since the Japanese arrived, the town had lost its opera troupes, but today was like a performance. In the freezing cold, everyone was bundled up tightly, except for, who was bare-chested, his head shaved, his upper body bare. His physique was truly impressive! Kneading the dough, wrapping the filling, rolling the flatbreads, sprinkling sesame seeds, sticking the flatbreads—it was all done smoothly and beautifully. The master sat at the table, a teapot in front of him, holding a water pipe, as if dozing. Lan Ying was sewing in the small room, occasionally coming out to look for thread or cloth. Her eyes didn't linger on making the flatbreads, but her heart did.
A black patch sat on a stool in her doorway and said, "Binglong, fan the fire quickly. We're waiting for your flatbreads!" Binglong paused, smiled, and greeted the people outside. But unexpectedly, this batch of flatbreads turned out badly. Just as he picked up the mop to refresh the oven, there was a sudden "thump!" from the oven. Then came a burst of crackling sounds. A black plume of smoke shot out of the oven, as if a monster had escaped from an alchemist's furnace.
In a daze, a black plume of smoke exploded from the oven, and flames leaped out! The crowd backed up a few steps in fear. A child shouted, "Fireworks! Fireworks!" Some children were scared away, but others were drawn by the commotion from farther away. Lan Ying came out of the small room, stunned. The master, holding the teapot, remained seated and motionless. It was a disaster! How could this happen? He had been making flatbreads for more than half a year.
The first time the flatbreads fell off, this time it was the whole batch. Binglong was at a loss. After a long while, he remembered to use the mop to smother the oven opening. He looked down at the oven opening and saw that the entire batch of flatbreads had turned to charcoal. The master said nothing, didn't say a word, and simply picked up the teapot and went outside. This time, Binglong had lost even more face. He was an expert at making flatbreads, but they never fell off—until now. Not early, not late, but right when they were about to come out of the oven. Not early, not late, but exactly on the day he was to complete his apprenticeship. He couldn't figure out what was going on.
By then, Lan Ying had already rushed into the inner room, crying softly. Her sobs spilled the beans. Outside, the black patch was chattering excitedly to others, probably talking about Binglong and Lan Ying. Now, the whole town knew: the apprentice from the flatbread shop was in disgrace, and not just because his flatbreads burned—he had burned himself. The smell of the burnt flatbreads was strange at first—first the aroma of flour and sesame, filling the whole street, but then it was all burnt and foul. The fragrance was of forbidden love between a man and a woman, but the stench was of Binglong's ruined reputation.
Everyone in the town knew that the apprentice from the flatbread shop had brought disgrace upon himself by sleeping with the master's daughter. That whole day, Lan Ying didn't step outside, hiding in the small room. Her father didn't come home until noon, took two sets of clothes, and left again, saying he was going for a bath. That day, the flatbread shop never opened again.
Binglong was at home chopping firewood and fetching water. When he returned with a bucket of water, Lan Ying said to him in a low voice, "Did you do this on purpose?" Binglong stared at her, speechless. Lan Ying said angrily, "Why didn't you tell my father directly?"