Chapter 7: Smoked Porter and the Short-Haired Girl

At this moment, in Lin Shenlu’s eyes, the ancient city of Dali appeared like a castle hidden in the mountains from a fairytale. From afar, standing outside the city, the imposing gates bore the bold characters of “Dali,” their strokes full of vigor and strength. The heavy walls and their somber hues seemed to speak silently of countless stories, weathered and ancient, echoing through time. For a fleeting instant, it was as if she had dreamt herself back into another era.

Standing before those massive gates, Lin Shenlu felt as though she was peering into the past and present of her own soul. For someone accustomed to the bustling metropolis, was it possible to truly fathom the existence of such sturdy walls and gates, or to imagine such a dreamlike sense of déjà vu? There were no towering buildings here, no dazzling neon or riotous nightlife, none of the endless crowds and streams of traffic—only a profound sense of comfort and tranquility. Solid, honest, and serene.

A few tall cherry trees stood on either side of the gate, their blossoms especially beautiful. It was said that outsiders were no longer allowed into Dali University, as the closed campus helped prevent the spread of disease; otherwise, the blossoming cherry trees throughout the grounds would have been the most enchanting sight. Lin Shenlu drew a deep breath, strolling along the ancient streets of this city, which had stood for twelve hundred years. The weight of history compelled her to search for the traces time had left behind.

Dali was renowned far and wide for its stunning natural scenery, its wealth of cultural relics, and the graceful customs of its local peoples. For many years, it had drawn visitors from across the globe. Lin Shenlu walked with the flow of tourists through the long corridor beneath the city gate. The ancient stones beneath her hands were smooth, almost warm to the touch, each block carrying the gravity of ages past. She reached out, lightly tracing her fingers along their surface, feeling their chill and their warmth—a sensation that resonated with the city’s history and culture.

Passing through the corridor and into the city itself, Lin Shenlu found the place almost endearing in its charm. Along the cobbled street, the people she saw lived freely and contentedly. On one side of the road, a narrow stream ran alongside the old stone path, its waters clear and cold, the slabs beside it mottled with age. Instinctively, a line of poetry surfaced in her mind: “Before every door the waters flow, behind each house a willow grows.” In that moment, the city was a living painting.

Lin Shenlu felt a quiet reverence, as if the stones she had just touched were relics of centuries gone by. She reflected on the glory of the ancient Dali kingdom, her heart swelling with awe at its magnificence. Within the city, narrow alleys branched in every direction, and everywhere she saw people of the Bai ethnic group, laughing and chatting. The houses were painted in only two colors: blue and white. She supposed this was because the ancestors of the Bai people wished their descendants to live with purity and clarity.

It was said that the best marble came from Dali. Suddenly, Lin Shenlu realized something she had never considered before: was marble named for Dali because it came from this place, rather than being just another kind of stone like any other? She pondered this as she wandered.

Strolling along, she happened to pass a shop selling Bai-style clothing and shawls. Among all the items, it was a pair of deep blue cloth shoes, adorned with traditional Bai patterns, that immediately caught her eye. After trying them on, she couldn’t bear to take them off. She paired them with loose crimson trousers decorated with large plaid patterns. She wasn’t sure if these were truly local attire, but her good mood prompted her to buy and wear them. Did this make her look more like a local?

After a few more turns, Lin Shenlu heard singing. Not far away, a small bar with wooden windows was surrounded by vibrant flowers. At the window, a young woman leaned against the frame, strumming a guitar and pouring her heart into a song with her husky voice. Through the window, Lin Shenlu saw that the place was empty of patrons—a quiet afternoon, after all, was not the time for crowds; midnight belonged to bars.

Separated by the flowing stream and a small stone bridge, Lin Shenlu’s lingering gaze caught the singer’s attention. As their eyes met, Lin Shenlu offered a gentle smile. The singer’s hair was styled in dreadlocks, her dark eyeshadow and lips giving her a look both striking and alluring.

“I can wait at this crossroads...”
“No matter if you’ll ever pass by...”
“Whenever I look up for you...”
“Even tears feel free...”
“Some love is like torrential rain, yet I still believe in rainbows...”

The singer’s gaze held something—was it loneliness, or simply solitude? Lin Shenlu couldn’t tell. Still, she felt the singer might need her. With a smile, Lin Shenlu stepped onto the small stone bridge, crossed the babbling stream, and entered the bar through the door beside the window.

Pirate’s Song. That was the name of the bar.

Indeed, everything from the décor to the singer herself fit the theme. Inside, the singer continued her song, just as Lin Shenlu had seen from outside. There were a dozen or so tables and sofas, all empty, save for the smoky-eyed singer by the window and the bartender behind the counter.

This bar had no printed menu; the dozens of available beers were chalked on a blackboard behind the bar. The bartender, dressed in a deep green vest like a film director and wearing a red bandana, greeted her with a smile as he polished a heavy beer glass.

“Hey, friend, what’ll you have?” he asked.

Lin Shenlu nodded and scanned the blackboard behind him.

Jungle Hunter, 40 yuan, 8.4%.
Hazy, 42 yuan, 6.9%.
Ghost Samurai, 45 yuan, 12%.
Smoked Porter, 42 yuan, 6.4%.
...

All craft beers, and none of them weak. These strong brews were the kind where one bottle could match three of the ordinary kind. Years ago, Lin Shenlu had tried a Skull Knight IPA—bitter as could be, and after two bottles, she’d felt delightfully light-headed. This time, after considering the choices, she decided on the Smoked Porter, perhaps because of the smoky-eyed singer still performing nearby.

By the time Lin Shenlu returned to her seat, the singer had already changed to a new song.

“Found myself a girlfriend...”
“She must be a short-haired girl...”
“A girl who’s patient and kind...”
“Too bad her chest is flat, what a flaw...”
...

She’d never heard this song before. The melody and lyrics were both unfamiliar, yet it was catchy. The singer sat back on the small stage, hugging her guitar as she played and sang, her eyes continually glancing Lin Shenlu’s way. Lin Shenlu raised her beer and gave it a little salute in the singer’s honor.

“One day, on a date, we went for a stroll...”
“Saw a busty girl walk by...”
“She swayed right in front of me...”
“And out of nowhere, I got slapped!”

Lin Shenlu nearly spat out her beer—what kind of lyrics were these?