I

Long after, watching the little girl sitting across from me wiping away tears with the back of her hand, I recalled that distant afternoon when the shop owner pushed open the door, accompanied by the tinkling of the wind chime.

Shenzhen’s autumn equinox was still scorching, and he surged in, bringing the humid heat of the outside world with him. As expected, there were no customers in the shop, just me wiping glasses behind the bar. I was a bit puzzled to see him, as he usually didn't come in on weekdays. I set down the glass, washed my hands, and asked him what was wrong.

He walked into the shop, looked around, then stepped behind the bar to stare at the jars of coffee beans on the shelves, his brow furrowed. Then, as if struck by a thought, his expression softened. He called me over to a table and said, "I want to turn our shop into a bar."

"Huh?"

"I’ve been thinking. Young people these days don't have time to savor coffee. What we sell most is iced Americano, and those who buy it only care if there’s enough caffeine. They don't care where the beans are from, or whether you use a machine or a hand grinder."

I nodded in agreement; the mornings were indeed the busiest time.

Seeing me nod, he launched into a long-winded explanation that boiled down to this: after consuming so much caffeine during the day, people surely want a good night's sleep. So, we should sell alcohol in the evening. It would satisfy both the young people's desire to work hard and their need to escape from life.

I could tell he had thought this through. As he got excited, he clapped his hands together: "This counts as making our shop better, right?"

I happily offered a suggestion: "Sure. We can hire a bartender, and I'll hand over my shift at four or five o'clock."

His expression froze. After a moment of silence, he asked, "Didn't you even learn latte art? Isn't bartending a piece of cake?"

"Is that the same thing?"

"I'll count it as a night shift after five and pay you 1.5 times the wage. We'll close at 10."

Seeing his sincere promise, I didn't argue further—the truth was, I hadn't even mastered latte art; my hearts always looked like buttocks. I also didn't tell him that if the bar closed at 10, there probably wouldn't be any customers.

In any case, over the next month, bottle after bottle of alcohol appeared on the shelves behind me, pushing my carefully selected jars of coffee beans to the side.

At first, I noted down the estate, variety, and characteristics of every bottle of alcohol that arrived, along with what kind of drinks I could make with them. But as the bottles piled up, I gave up, deciding to just use the trick the owner taught me when he first hired me.

II

As expected, there weren't many customers at night. Occasionally, young couples would be drawn in by the decor or the shop's name, only to stare blankly at the menu.

At those times, I would smile and bring out some cards, saying: "Pick three cards based on your first instinct, and I will mix a drink that tastes exactly like your current mood."

Then I would hand them a drink with a complex flavor, telling her that the first sip was the mask she wore to compromise with the world, mixed with the deep alienation between the world and herself. The deeper this compromise, the more obvious the conflict in the drink's finish. If it was a girl, I would use a little less alcohol.

The girls were usually very satisfied. At such times, I would bring out another menu and let them name the drink. That’s how I ended up with a menu full of bizarre names and my own wild, random recipes.

I named this menu Stories.

Stories was quite popular; after all, whether tasting someone else's story or writing one's own, it’s easy to pique people's curiosity.

But there was one exception. She must have been a friend of the owner; she had come with him on opening day. After that, she would come in to drink a few days a week. She never asked for my menu, just sat in the corner of the bar and ordered a whiskey. Occasionally she’d ask for a large ice cube, but most of the time she didn't. She would drink slowly by herself and leave when she was finished.

One time, when the shop wasn't busy, she suddenly asked me, "How many kinds of drinks can you make now?"

I instinctively replied, "That depends on how many moods you have."

She smiled: "Give it a rest. That trick is something I taught your boss." She added, "I'll teach you how to make a drink. It's very simple."

This drink was indeed simple. The base was the rye she often drank, with a dash of dry vermouth and orange bitters. After stirring, I squeezed a bit of oil from an orange peel into a chilled glass. After I made it, I pushed it across the bar to her. She swirled the glass and took a sip: "Not bad. No wonder your manager praises your talent."

I asked her while washing my hands, "What name would you like to give this drink?"

She smiled briefly and said, "A name? I'll have to think about that." Then she looked down at the glass, pondered for a while, looked up, and said, "You can call it Marguerite."

From then on, she only ordered a Marguerite, and because of that, I secretly called her Lady Marguerite in my heart.

III

Because of this drink, Lady Marguerite and I began to have conversations from time to time, though most were just ordinary social pleasantries: the weather, the temperature, and the shop's quiet business.

Deep down, I wanted more interaction with her because her voice was beautiful—low, unhurried—and she would look into my eyes with a gentle gaze. But the way she looked at her glass, her slender fingers gently circling the rim, seemed to carve a piece of air out of the environment around her. This air made me stop. Perhaps disturbing someone enjoying their solitude was a great offense, I thought.

So, I rarely initiated conversation with her.

What broke this rule was a complaint.

On an ordinary weekend night, a young couple came into the shop. I asked them in my usual way if they wanted to see the shop's specialty menu. The boy waved his hand casually: "Give me a whiskey, with a large ice cube."

I nodded and handed the menu to the girl, who was examining the decor. She took the menu and flipped through it page by page, unable to make a decision. The boy took the menu and frowned.

I explained, "These are all drinks left behind by customers who have visited the shop, and each one is named by a customer. If you like, I can also mix a drink unique to you."

He ignored my suggestion and pointed to the Marguerite: "Give me one of these."

"This drink might be a bit strong; it’s not easy to accept at first."

"That's not right, isn't this a drink suitable for girls?" After answering me, the boy began to lecture the girl on the world's major liquor categories and how to drink properly.

I learned a thing or two while secretly listening, pushed the whiskey to the boy, and washed my hands to start making the Marguerite, thinking, So this drink is suitable for girls? Then I handed the amber-colored Marguerite to the girl.

And so, I received my first complaint in three years of working at this shop. He even asked for the owner's phone number and questioned him over the phone: "Why would such a professionally decorated shop hire such an unprofessional bartender!"

My first reaction was that the owner must be secretly delighted.

In the end, after paying the price of a free drink and a "mood cocktail," I learned the real recipe for a Margarita. A Margarita should be a colorful party cocktail, not the high-proof drink made almost entirely of whiskey that Lady Marguerite had taught me.

I concluded that I had definitely been pranked by that woman, so I resolved to ask her about it properly the next time she came to the shop!

IV

The next day, Lady Marguerite arrived as usual. After entering, she hung her coat on the nearby rack, tied her ponytail loosely, sat in her familiar spot, and looked at me: "Hello, it's so cold outside today. A Marguerite."

I was about to reply, "It is, isn't it?" But hearing "Marguerite" reminded me of yesterday's incident, so I switched to a professional smile: "Guest, would you like the classic tequila-based Margarita, or our shop's unique Marguerite?"

She paused, then laughed: "Hahaha, then let me try the classic Margarita."

She rarely laughed like that, but she looked beautiful when she did. Watching her laugh, I felt I should be even angrier: it felt like I’d been tricked by a prank. But to my surprise, she actually chose the classic Margarita. I recalled yesterday's recipe, mixed one, and pushed it to her.

"You also need to add a salt rim to the glass."

"You clearly know this drink, so why did you tell me that drink was called Marguerite? It got me a complaint yesterday, and a phone call to the boss."

She smiled faintly again, seeming to be in a good mood: "You should have refuted him. Our drink is the French Marguerite; he wanted a Margarita. The transliteration just happens to overlap."

"I... I didn't know that. You didn't tell me." As I said this, I handed her the menu and a pen: "Then you write the French word."

She took the pen, and the word she wrote was beautiful. I looked it up later; it was indeed French, meaning "daisy."

This didn't fit the drink at all. What kind of daisy is a 40-percent-proof drink? So I asked her, "Why is this drink called Marguerite?"

She stared at the glass, pondering for a long time, and then answered: "Marguerite is the name of a prostitute."

This answer was so bizarre, it seemed to arrive with the air around her, pushing her to a very distant place. My anger and the embarrassment of being pranked were swallowed by that air. For a moment, I didn't know what to say, just instinctively washing my hands.

She didn't speak again either, slowly drinking that Marguerite, which was beautifully colorful.

V

On an afternoon a few days after the complaint, it was still the quietest time in the shop. The winter sun slanted through the glass door into the small shop, blocking out the cold wind outside and bringing a sense of warmth.

I was slacking off on Zhihu when the owner suddenly pushed the door open, looked around, walked to the front of the bar, and said with an upbeat tone: "Did you feel wronged about the complaint the other day? I brought you a consolation red envelope."

Plop. He placed the red envelope on the bar. I really wanted to complain: what kind of boss gives a red envelope when an employee gets a complaint? But then I thought, if he weren't this kind of boss, I wouldn't have worked in his shop for so long.

Thinking this, I put down my crossed legs, stood up, put away my phone, and smiled: "Boss, what would you like to drink?" At the same time, I tucked the red envelope into my pocket.

"Just a cup of Nescafé instant coffee will do."

"Coming right up."

I handed him the coffee and made one for myself. Just like that, the two of us sat by the coffee shop window where the sun could reach us, drinking instant coffee.

Three years ago, when I first came to this shop, it was the same scene. At that time, I was determined to refuse him because I knew absolutely nothing about coffee. He insisted that even if I wasn't interested, I should at least come to the shop and take a look. So I followed him to this coffee shop with the blue-and-white sign and crooked decor. After entering, he made me a cup of Nescafé instant coffee, and my first reaction was: This shop really needs a barista.

He showed me the gramophone in the shop, his collection of postcards and fridge magnets, and then told me he really wanted to make this shop work. He didn't need to make a lot of money or have many customers, but he hoped such a shop existed in this world.

Finally, he said that if I was willing to stay, I could choose whatever music I wanted to play in the shop.

So, the timing of when people appear is really important. In a live house, the band New Pants was just singing, "I don't want to die in failure and loneliness," and the people around were shaking their heads and shouting loudly. I stood there, watching the lead singer swaying with the microphone stand, holding back my tears. The boss was standing right next to me, not singing along, not taking photos, and not playing on his phone. Just at the moment the song ended and the crowd suddenly went quiet, he handed me a tissue and said straightforwardly: he wanted to open a coffee shop and asked if I wanted to work there.

If it weren't for that song, if it weren't for that live house, if it weren't for the strange city, if...

I probably would have just thought to myself that the guy's flirting skills were really terrible.

Unfortunately, there are no "ifs." In the end, I still don't understand what part of the conditions moved me. At that time, I just wanted to find a place to relax after quitting my job, but I ended up staying in this city for three years.

We sat for a while, and as the wind chime rang, a customer came in. I got up to serve the customer, and he finished his coffee and ran to the long sofa where he usually stayed to lie down and play on his phone.

After the customer left the shop, he suddenly thought of something, walked back to the bar, and handed me a small box. He said this was an apology gift from Lady Marguerite; she was too embarrassed to give it to me in person. Suddenly, I felt a little happy and excited, like I wanted to jump. Of course, I kept my expression normal and said to the boss: "Oh, so that's her name."

Inside the box was an exquisite hair tie. I pulled my hair up and tied it into a ponytail.

Facing my profile in the glass, I tilted my head slightly, and the ponytail bounced along with it. My mood improved even more.

VI

When Lady Marguerite arrived at the shop, the boss hadn't left yet. He had been lying on the sofa playing a two-dimensional gacha game all afternoon.

She saw me first when she came in, then said: "You changed your hairstyle today. The hair tie is really pretty."

I smiled and replied: "Sometimes you have to try other styles, right?"

She also smiled: "A Marguerite. Doesn't it worry you that letting someone lie in the shop playing on their phone will affect business?"

"I've chased him away several times, but he won't leave."

Hearing our conversation, the boss walked over and said: "I call this adding popularity to the shop to attract customers, get it? Give me a Marguerite too, I want the authentic one."

"Are you implying that mine isn't authentic?" Lady Marguerite retorted.

I wouldn't get involved in this argument; I just pushed the drink to Lady Marguerite and washed my hands to start mixing the second drink. Lady Marguerite watched me for a while, then asked: "I've been curious for a while, why do you wash your hands for so long before mixing every drink?"

the boss chimed in from the side: "It's not just bartending; she does the same when making coffee. This is the excellent quality of my staff."

I replied while recalling the recipe for the Marguerite: "It's a habit I picked up at a Japanese restaurant. I had to wash my hands before making every piece of sushi. The chef was very strict back then; there was a fixed procedure and steps for washing hands, and it had to take at least thirty seconds."

"Can't you wear disposable gloves? That's so hard on your hands."

The boss added: "There's a saying that sushi made with bare hands tastes better."

"Why didn't you stay at the Japanese restaurant later?" Lady Marguerite continued to press.

My hand paused for a moment, and I smiled and replied: "Because I felt I wasn't very suitable, and I didn't have much talent."

Lady Marguerite nodded, then raised her glass and suddenly changed the subject: "Did you like that chef back then?"

I was just spreading sea salt on the rim of the glass and froze when I heard this: "Huh? Why?"

Her eyes seemed to roll, and she said: "This kind of inexplicable habit is easily formed because of liking someone."

"Is that so?" I wanted to refute, but I couldn't think of any strong evidence in my mind. The boss interjected: "But that's so silly, holding onto things someone else brought into your life."

I was curious how Lady Marguerite would answer. She fell silent for a moment, gently playing with her glass. Her eyes seemed to be directed at me, but her focus was on the empty space behind me. After a long time, she refocused on the boss, and then I saw her smile gently at him and say: "You don't know a damn thing."

I pushed the mixed drink to the boss and sighed: "You two are getting more and more outrageous."

The boss took a sip and gave me a thumbs up: "As expected of a chef, you're the most talented bartender I've ever seen after just a little learning."

I rolled my eyes slightly: "...You haven't seen many bartenders."

VII

After Valentine's Day, the last shift before the Spring Festival ended. But this year's Valentine's Day was different from previous years; the boss hadn't prepared any Valentine's Day activities, and business in the shop wasn't good. It was hard to say if there were no customers because there were no activities, or no activities because there were no customers. Anyway, by eight o'clock, there were only one or two people scattered in the shop, and they were preparing to leave.

The boss sent me a message saying I could close up and go home when there was no one left, no need to stay too late. I replied "okay" and wished him an early Happy New Year.

As I was tidying up the bar and washing my hands to close up, Lady Marguerite came in. Unlike usual, she wasn't alone; a man was following her. Out of curiosity, I took a few extra looks at the man. He was wearing a trench coat and a scarf, the type who clearly paid attention to his attire. After sitting down, a faint scent even drifted over.

Lady Marguerite sat in her usual spot and said to me: "Two Marguerites." She turned back and asked the man: "Is that okay?" The man nodded and sat beside her.

Until I pushed the drinks over, neither of them said a word. I stood to the side, wiping a glass I had already wiped, suppressing my curiosity. Finally, the man raised his glass, and Lady Marguerite raised hers to clink with him. Then the man spoke: "Happy New Year." His voice was hoarse from not speaking for a long time.

Lady Marguerite also said: "Happy New Year."

They fell silent again, but not for long. The man spoke: "Are you going back to your hometown for the Spring Festival this year?"

Lady Marguerite said "hmm" and then said: "Maybe."

"How are you going back? Driving or taking the train?"

I seemed to hear Lady Marguerite sigh softly, then she turned to look at the man: "Why on earth did you come to find me? Didn't we agree?"

The man didn't speak, took a small sip of his drink, as if swallowing the small talk he had just made. Then he opened his mouth: "I just felt that if I didn't come to find you, I would regret it. It's like... I lost something very important."

"For example? What important thing?"

"I don't know, but the feeling of being hollowed out is real. I feel I can't be without you."

"No one can't live without someone else. We're not children."

"I thought so at first too. I thought I was an independent... a mature person. But being with you, the new things you brought me are different. They seem to fill in the parts I've always been missing. Somewhere in my heart, I don't know how to say it, but I can feel that you seem to have completed me."

"At most, I gave you some sense of validation; it wasn't anything very special." Lady Marguerite's voice was as magnetic as ever, as if the long speech the man had poured out was nothing but light to her. She swirled her glass and took a sip.

I was like a camera lens attached to a glass, peeking from the side. Lady Marguerite turned and saw me pretending to eavesdrop, but she didn't say anything.

After the man finished that paragraph, it was as if half his strength was spent; his shoulders slumped: "It's not just validation. I don't need validation. What I feel is a deeper, more essential feeling."

Lady Marguerite put down her glass: "You don't want to say it's love, do you?"

The man nodded: "I think it is."

Lady Marguerite's eyes finally focused on the man: "You've always used 'seems like,' 'feeling,' 'perhaps.' You expect me to give you the same answer to a question you haven't even found the answer to yourself. Don't you think that's a bit wrong? I've already told you, these feelings of yours are just because I've experienced more, so you feel resonance. But resonance doesn't mean two people are similar, nor does it mean two people are indispensable to each other."

The man retorted: "Can't we be together while looking for the answer to the question?"

Lady Marguerite smiled, but there was no happiness in it. She said: "For you, maybe. But for me, no. Why should I accompany you to find the answer? If I did that, what would I be? An NPC accompanying you to grow up?"

That man didn't speak again. After a while, he wanted to pay the bill. I told him Lady Marguerite had already paid with her balance. So he sat back down, and within two minutes, he left alone.

Lady Marguerite finished her drink and said to me: "Another Marguerite."

VIII

When I was washing my hands, I couldn't help but ask Lady Marguerite: "Why can't you look for the answer together?"

She smiled at me: "Because it's not looking for the answer together. I've already found my answer; he needs to find his."

"Does that mean you can't be together?"

She shook her head: "Accompanying someone to find an answer is very tiring, and it takes a lot of time."

Today, Lady Marguerite was different from usual. She said more, and she seemed to want to talk more. After saying that, she immediately added: "I'm not a little girl anymore; I don't have that much time to spend."

Influenced by this atmosphere, I felt I could ask more questions. So I asked her: "Then the person just now, do you like him?"

She looked around, blinked, leaned into the bar, and whispered: "I do." There were only Lady Marguerite and me left in the shop. The music was playing "Unfortunately I'm an Aquarius," and Miriam Yeung's voice was as stubborn as ever.

It seemed this answer was too direct; if spoken too loudly, this shop would remember it, so it could only be answered quietly. Lady Marguerite then asked me: "Then what about the chef we talked about two days ago? Do you like him?"

I pushed the new drink to her and whispered: "I do." After saying that, my face felt like it was flushing. I looked down at her, and she was looking at me too.

We both felt a strange sense of being accomplices. She asked me with a mischievous smile: "Do you want to try the taste of a Marguerite? My treat."

I shook my head: "The boss doesn't let me drink while I'm on duty."

She got up and closed the shop door: "Then just do it after you get off work." I thought about it; the boss did say I could leave early today if there was no one left in the shop, and it was about time. So I mixed a Marguerite for myself. When I was washing my hands after mixing it, Lady Marguerite suddenly asked me: "What do you usually think about when you wash your hands?"

I thought about it seriously for a while, shook my head, and said: "I don't seem to be thinking about anything in particular. It's easiest to remember the sink at that old shop; it was very crowded. Water splashed out very easily. I told him many times if we could change the faucet. He would stand next to me, washing with me, saying I was demanding while saying I hadn't washed for thirty seconds. As a result, now, with no one nagging, I wash my hands for more than thirty seconds every time, and I wash them more than once a day."

Lady Marguerite didn't say anything, just raised her glass and clinked it against the drink I had placed on the table.

This was the first time I had ever drunk a Marguerite. The first feeling upon entering was bitterness; it removed all the sweet seasonings. I looked at Lady Marguerite with a frown. She smiled faintly: "You have to drink it in small sips. If you drink spirits in a big gulp, you won't have time to feel the taste."

Then, as if pondering something, she walked to the side, used a small knife to neatly cut a small plate of ham, placed it on the table, and handed me a piece with a toothpick: "Try a piece of this, then try again. Drink in smaller sips."

I chewed the ham, washing away the taste of the whiskey, and then took a small sip. It was still bitter, but there seemed to be a citrus flavor, followed by the smoky taste of the whiskey. I shook my head and said: "It tastes better than just now." Suddenly thinking of something, I asked Lady Marguerite: "I asked you before why this drink is called Marguerite, and you said it was the name of a prostitute. Why is that?"

Lady Marguerite tapped the rim of the glass with a toothpick and said: "Have you read The Lady of the Camellias?" I shook my head. She continued: "The protagonist in The Lady of the Camellias is named Marguerite, and she is a prostitute. In French, the name Marguerite is a bit like 'Lilac' in Chinese, or..." She pondered for a moment, as if flowers were appearing in her mind, and finally said: "Magnolia. Don't you think this name is incompatible with a prostitute? But she was a famous courtesan. Just like this drink, it's called Marguerite, but it's a strong spirit. Don't you think that's very fitting?"

"And then? That Marguerite."

"Later..."

I drank slowly, chewing the ham, with my playlist playing in the shop. Lady Marguerite spoke very softly, telling me about The Lady of the Camellias. The drink in the glass was very strong, blurring everything in my field of vision, like a defocused lens. Lady Marguerite, at the center of my vision, remained clear. In a trance, I felt as if I had really seen the Lady of the Camellias, quickly living out her life in a glass of wine.

"Later, she died holding a camellia."

IX

After Valentine's Day, the coffee shop didn't open. The boss said to let me rest for a few more days during the holiday. I knew his subtext was that he hoped I would go home, but I still wasn't planning to go back this year.

It's just that every New Year's Eve is like this; many restaurants are closed, and the pedestrians on the street are sparse and desolate, as if the wind can blow through the entire city without obstruction.

I wandered around, looking for where to eat New Year's Eve dinner this year, and finally found that I could only go to the mall to find some life. From the first floor to the fourth floor, the outrageous thing was that the minimum number of people for all set meals was two.

This reminded me of Maupassant's essay—A Walk: Old man Lera suddenly had a whim one day to go out for a walk and eat something delicious. The weather was good, the food was delicious, and the pedestrians on the road were all in love, so he chose to hang himself that early morning.

Perhaps not setting up single set meals is to prevent such tragedies; it makes some sense. I nodded slightly, following the wild thoughts in my mind, when I suddenly felt someone staring at me. I looked up, and it was actually Lady Marguerite, leaning on the railing and smiling at me.

I went upstairs, greeted her, and asked why she was here. She said she came out to watch a movie, then shook the movie ticket in her hand—it was La La Land. She asked if I had seen it. I nodded, then shook my head. Although I had seen it, it was a long time ago, maybe in high school, and I had forgotten the plot.

She didn't ask why I was wandering around alone. Hearing my answer, she just asked: "Do you want to watch it together?" I didn't think and answered directly: "Okay." Unlike the bustling mall, the cinema inside was empty, and I bought a ticket next to hers.

I watched La La Land hiding in my quilt in the dormitory, and halfway through, I fell asleep because the plot was too slow. Watching it again now, I found that except for the beginning where a group of people were singing on the bridge, I could hardly recall any familiar scenes.

When the male lead honked his horn wildly in front of the female lead's hometown, my tears suddenly fell. Actually, this scene isn't really moving; most people probably wouldn't cry here. Lady Marguerite might have heard me sobbing; she rummaged through her bag and handed me a pack of tissues, but didn't say anything.

After the movie ended, she got up, put her hands in her trench coat pockets, looked at me, and asked: "Do you want to listen to the ending song?" I shook my head, and then she said, "Let's go then."

We walked in the mall for a while, and after a moment of silence, she turned her head as if thinking of something and asked me: "Today is New Year's Eve. It's so late now, aren't you going home?" I said I was alone here, and it was the same whether I went back or not. She looked into my eyes and said, "Then what were you planning to eat tonight?" I said I hadn't decided.

"Do you want to eat together?" she asked me, and I nodded.

She led me out of the mall. The wind was a bit strong, and I tightened my collar. Lady Marguerite's trench coat wasn't buttoned. The withered leaves of the birch trees on both sides of the road were rustling, and the New Year music from the mall came from behind and then got further and further away.

After I couldn't hear any noisy sounds, Lady Marguerite finally said: "Who were you thinking of in the cinema just now, crying so sadly?"

I shook my head gently and said: "No one. It's just that I already guessed how the ending would develop, but seeing every effort turn into... broken glass shards, it's very sad. Why isn't loving each other enough?"

"Then that means you didn't love each other that much?" she answered without hesitation.

"What exactly is love? How much love is enough?" I was like an unreasonable child.

Lady Marguerite was silent for a long, long time, and we walked a long way, so far that I thought the topic had been skipped, when she answered: "With some people, a little bit of love is enough to last a lifetime; with others, it takes a lot of love to reach the end. So maybe... love is just glue stuck between two people, or... a nail nailed between two people. If you think about it this way, then too much love isn't necessarily a good thing. It might mean that these two people need a lot of love to stick together, so the wound left when it falls off is deeper."

I opened my mouth and closed it. She rarely said such long things, but every time she did, I felt like I had hit a huge mass of cold air. Finally, I just said: "Thinking this way, love isn't that great."

"Love wasn't great to begin with."

X

We didn't speak again. After walking for about twenty minutes, she took me to a beef hot pot restaurant and told me that the first meal she ate when she first came to Shenzhen was at this place.

The boss was watching the Spring Festival Gala in the shop. It hadn't officially started yet; it was just warming up and doing interviews. Seeing us come in, he asked what we wanted to eat. Lady Marguerite ordered very quickly. After checking off a few items, she handed the menu to me and let me choose some too. I looked and felt that almost everything I wanted to eat had already been ordered, so I didn't add anything.

Before long, the pot base was brought up, and we sat on both sides of the table waiting for the hot pot to bubble. I stared at the onions floating on the soup, and Lady Marguerite asked me: "What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking, there are so many types of food in Shenzhen, but in fact, none of them are local Shenzhen cuisine, right?"

"After all, it's a city of immigrants."

"Maybe because of this, this city never gives people a feeling of home."

"Homesick?"

"Craving the delicious food from home, hahaha."

Lady Marguerite ordered a bottle of Calpis and asked if I wanted a hot drink or a cold drink. I said I wanted a bottle of the same. I thought she would order alcohol. Thinking about it, I realized I had never seen Lady Marguerite under such bright lights, or seen her without a glass in her hand.

She asked for a glass, added a few ice cubes, bit the straw with her teeth, and poured the Calpis into the glass. She handed the first glass to me and poured a second one for herself. I laughed out loud: "It feels so wonderful, like a role reversal."

She laughed too: "Hello, this is the Calpis you ordered."

The hot pot bubbled, and she started putting beef into it. The beef was very tender; it was cooked as soon as it went in, so it needed to be fished out quickly. We held our chopsticks and prepared to eat. The sound of gongs and drums came from the TV, and the host said in a festive tone: "Dear audience friends, Happy New Year!"

We realized what we had forgotten. We looked at each other, put down our chopsticks, picked up our glasses, and clinked them gently, making a ding sound.

"Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year!"

XI

The mist from the hot pot covered the glass window, and the outside became hazy. On TV, sketches and songs appeared alternately. The boss and his wife were lying on the lounge chairs, bursting into laughter from time to time. There were no other customers in the shop besides us.

I reached out and drew a smiley face on the glass window. The red lanterns and neon lights outside became clear through the smiley face. I shifted my gaze from outside the window to Lady Marguerite: "I still hope love is great, so I won't look too silly."

"Why is the topic transition so stiff?"

"Haha, because when people are full, they tend to think about all sorts of things."

"But you can't use the word 'great' to make love great. Love is just love. The great things you do because of love aren't because love is great. Aren't you the one who is great?"

"Unfortunately, I haven't encountered any great love, nor have I done anything great."

Lady Marguerite bit the straw and asked vaguely: "Is that so?" She really liked biting the straw; it was almost bitten out of its original shape.

"I've only liked one person." I mumbled, finally speaking. Perhaps the Calpis had too high a proof: "It took me a long time to realize that I liked him, and then I ran away."

"That chef?"

"Yeah..."

"Why did you run away?"

"Because he was married." My voice was no louder than a mosquito's, as if I hoped the sentence I said would be drowned out, but Lady Marguerite still heard it. She stopped biting the straw.

"I tried, too, to restrain myself. But... it seems like there were buds in my body, and when I was in the shop, the buds kept growing towards him. I also tried to stand next to him washing my hands as if nothing was wrong, my heart pounding. It seemed like I could be satisfied that way." My tone was unexpectedly calm, as if discussing today's weather: "But it was useless, all useless. Liking someone is like a clawing demon, wanting to tear me apart. I longed to go to work more and more, but I couldn't stand the air in the shop more and more. Finally, I went to the manager and resigned."

"Does he know you like him?"

I shook my head: "When I resigned, he even tried to persuade me to stay, saying I was a talented chef. I could keenly adjust the taste of dishes according to the customer's taste. Many things are like this, right? One's own end of the world is actually just like a soap bubble bursting in the ears of others, not even making a 'pop' sound."

Lady Marguerite didn't say anything, her hands swirling the glass. But actually, I didn't need her to say anything; it was enough that she was willing to listen. Instead, I was a bit afraid of the comments she might make.

After a moment of silence, she asked me: "So you came to Shenzhen?"

"Yeah, at first I just wanted to go somewhere further away to relax. I don't know why I was tricked into working in the shop."

"Your boss is very good at tricking little girls like you who haven't seen the world."

"I felt he was very sincere at that time, and for some reason, I wanted to help him open this coffee shop."

"Sincerity is his trick."

"Why do I feel like you're praising him?"

XII

The boss said he was planning to open on the fourth day of the Lunar New Year. According to past experience, the city would start to wake up gradually on the third night, and small shops and restaurants would open one after another. I finished my last dinner of the holiday and prepared to walk back. Passing by the shop, I found the lights were actually on, so I pushed the door and walked in. It was the boss inside.

"It's New Year's, why aren't you playing at home instead of coming to the shop?"

The boss probably didn't expect anyone to push the door open at this time. Hearing the wind chime, he turned his head sharply. Seeing it was me, he breathed a sigh of relief. This person was like a thief in his own shop.

"Aren't we opening tomorrow? I was passing by and just wanted to see if the shop was normal."

I walked closer and saw him straightening the jars of coffee beans one by one. The bar had just been wiped and wasn't completely dry. On the table by the window, there was a cup of instant coffee that had been finished but not cleared away. Just think of it as digesting after a meal, I thought, then cleared the coffee cup, washed it clean, and started tidying up with him.

"I won't pay you double wages, you know." Seeing my actions, he said this.

"Fine, fine, fine."

While we were busy at the bar, the wind chime rang again. A girl pushed the door and came in. Seeing us still tidying the bar, she asked softly: "Hello, are you open today?"

I put down the glass and answered her: "Hello, what would you like to drink?"

She was very hesitant, as if making a decision. Finally, she walked to the bar, sat down, and said: "I'm not here to drink anything. Hello, can I... delete the drink I left on the menu?"

I had never received such a request and was stunned for a moment. My hand-washing motion also paused briefly. Seeing I didn't answer, the boss took out the menu and handed it to the girl: "Sure, you can find it. But once it's deleted, it can't be restored."

The girl nodded and said thank you softly. She flipped through the menu page by page. Finally, she stopped on a certain page, handed the menu back to the boss, pointed to a name, and said: "This one."

I leaned over to look. It was called "The Moment."

"Are you sure?" the boss asked again.

The girl didn't answer immediately. She stared at the name on the menu for a long time, then looked at me: "Mix me a cup."

I picked up the menu and looked at the notes from that time: white rum and elderflower liqueur as the base, added passion fruit juice and a little bit of fresh ginger juice, and finally added three drops of orange blossom water and a fine salt rim on the glass.

It wasn't a very complex drink. It was indeed my bartending style. I pushed the drink to her and told her there was no chilled glass today. She shook her head and said it was fine, then took a small sip. A bean-sized tear fell from her eye socket without warning.

"It's not the taste of that drink." She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and said.

I was suddenly at a loss, thinking, No way, can she even tell that I used ginger syrup instead of fresh ginger juice today? It shouldn't be that big of a difference.

"At that time, I felt this drink was so sweet. Today, I realized it's so sour."

The boss gave me a look, so I had to bite the bullet and say: "With changes in mood and time, even the exact same drink will give people different feelings. That's the meaning of alcohol, right?"

She nodded after hearing this, didn't speak, and took another small sip.

"Can you play a song called 'Everything is Romantic'? I happened to cut to this song the first time I drank it."

The boss replied "no problem," and soon the song played in the shop. From the first line of lyrics, her tears started to flow down. The boss and I looked at each other quietly, not daring to say a word. We stood stiffly behind the bar, watching the girl in front of the bar shed tears.

I heard a few lines of the lyrics like this:

'Doing strange things with you often, so brave. Playing and making trouble with you in the world, so simple. Closing the lights and drinking with you, there are no regrets in life'

When the song ended, her tears stopped. She looked up at the boss and said: "Delete it, thank you." After saying that, she paid and left the shop, leaving half a glass of unfinished drink.

After the door closed and she was far away, the boss breathed a deep sigh of relief: "Did you mix it wrong? You made the little girl so sad."

I shook my head: "Although it was mixed randomly at the time, I just mixed it according to the menu, so it can't be wrong."

The menu on the bar was still on that page. Before I knew it, half of this menu had been written. I looked at the drink called "The Moment," and it seemed as if the day the girl first drank this drink appeared. Because the salt on the rim magnified the sweetness in the drink, and as she took the first sip, the shop happened to cut to that song. The song had no intro, and the first line was: "Taking a drive and having a picnic by the road in spring with you, everything is romantic." I asked her: "What name would you like to give this drink?"

She smiled and said: "I want to call it 'The Moment.'"

I tore off a sticky note, used tape to cover the drink, and wrote the name of the drink and today's date on the note. The boss watched me finish and asked: "Does this count as emotional fraud?"

I nodded, then shook my head: "Mood bartending is fake, but the feeling this drink brought to that person at that time should be real, right?"

After saying this, I wasn't even sure of my own answer. Looking at the menu on the bar, I actually felt a bit afraid to touch it.

XIII

After I handed the drink to the two girls in front of me, I turned to look at Lady Marguerite, because I noticed she had been staring at me just now.

"What's wrong? You seem to have been looking at me."

"Where are your little cards? I haven't seen you doing mood divination for others today."

"I found those cards were a bit too rough, so I asked the boss to buy new ones, but they haven't arrived yet."

Lady Marguerite was a bit surprised to hear this: "Will the new ones be more accurate?"

"They should be more vague. I saw a saying: if you define the name of an emotion, that emotion will be fixed to that name. So I removed all those cards with obvious emotional tendencies."

"You've grown up."

"Are you praising me like you praise a child?"

"What, can't I?"

"Hahaha, praise me a few more times."

I don't know if the boss's strategic vision really worked, or if my bartending skills were too superb, but business in the shop at night had been getting better and better recently, even vaguely exceeding the daytime turnover. I hadn't seen him recently, and he replied very slowly to messages, but I thought if he knew about this, he would be very gratified.

After serving another customer, I said to Lady Marguerite: "If business continues to improve, will the boss consider turning this shop completely into a bar?"

"No," Lady Marguerite answered quickly: "He wants to open a coffee shop, not a bar."

"He doesn't even understand coffee, why is he so persistent about opening a coffee shop?"

"Because of a dream, I guess."

I didn't think the boss was a person with a dream, let alone using a coffee shop as a dream.

But there's no need to struggle with it. I'll just ask him when he comes to the shop.

XIV

April in Shenzhen is a city in bloom. The bright red bougainvillea blooms like flames everywhere the eyes can see.

In the morning, the temperature hadn't risen yet. The humid air brought coolness rather than stickiness. This is also the season I like to get up early the most in the year. I slung my bag and walked briskly toward the shop door, opened the parasol at the entrance, and prepared to open for business. The moment I took out the key, I was stunned: the door was open.

I quickly recalled the scene of locking the door myself last night, then thought about whether I should call the police first or call the boss, and whether I should go in now. Finally, I mustered the courage to push the door and walk in, because I thought even if a thief came in, they wouldn't stay until dawn.

As a result, I was startled when I entered the door. Someone was sleeping on the sofa. I took out my phone, flipped through the boss's number, and prepared to call. Looking closely, the person sleeping on the sofa was the boss, whom I hadn't seen much since the Spring Festival holiday.

I tidied up the bar while complaining to him: "You scared me to death, do you know that? It's easy to catch a cold sleeping in the shop."

His hair was messy, and he hadn't shaved, with stubble growing out everywhere on his face: "I'm sorry, I suddenly wanted to come to the shop last night, and I fell asleep by accident because it was too late."

"You should also remember to lock the door. It's dangerous if a thief comes in."

He was like a child, just nodding in response to my complaints. I sighed and made him an iced Americano. By the time I put out the small blackboard and rearranged the chairs, he had already washed his face. Although he was still unshaven, at least his hair wasn't exploding.

Seeing I was done, he called me over: "This shop is going to close soon."

He seemed to use a lot of effort to say it. After saying it, he sat on the sofa with his head deeply lowered, ignoring my sluggishness and my questions. I sent a WeChat message to Lady Marguerite, telling her about this. She replied quickly, telling me not to let the boss leave the shop, and she would be there immediately.

After Lady Marguerite entered the shop, she closed the shop door. The sign on the door was also changed to "Temporarily Closed." Then she pulled the curtains and sat next to the boss, asking him: "What do you mean by closing the shop?"

Hearing Lady Marguerite's voice, the boss looked up: "Why are you here? Aren't you at work?"

"What do you mean by closing the shop?"

"Just what it literally means. Poor management, it's going to go bankrupt."

"When has this shop of yours ever been managed well?"

As the curtains were pulled down, the shop became dim, and the air was a bit suffocating. I didn't know what to do or what to say, so I could only get up to make a cup of iced Americano for Lady Marguerite.

After handing the iced Americano to Lady Marguerite, I went out to put away the parasol and brought the small blackboard from outside back in. The temperature outside should be very high. After doing all this, I felt very tired, so I leaned against the door and rested.

They were quiet for a long time before the boss spoke: "I'm getting married in a while, and this shop is going to close."

"When? Why didn't you tell me?"

"My mom introduced her. The daughter of my mom's colleague and friend. You don't know her, and it hasn't been long. She was introduced during the Spring Festival."

"Getting married so soon?"

"Is there a difference?"

"Is the time set?"

"Not yet, but it should be within these two months."

Their conversation was only less than five meters away from me, but it sounded like it came from very far away. I was clearly just an unemployed employee, but I felt the sadness in my heart was more painful than the bankruptcy of my own shop. After Lady Marguerite heard the boss say he was getting married, she seemed to accept the fact that the shop was closing.

They were still talking about something, but I couldn't listen carefully anymore. After a while, Lady Marguerite walked over and tugged my hand. I realized I didn't know when I had squatted on the ground. She pulled me up and told me she was going back to work first.

I nodded at her, cleared the coffee cups they had finished on the table, and asked the boss if he wanted anything else to drink. He shook his head and said he was going back too. Before going out, he told me I could take a day off today, and I could go back to rest, and my salary wouldn't be deducted.

I stood in the dim shop, not knowing what to do for a while. In the CD player on the bar, there was a CD. In the past, I always connected to Bluetooth; only the boss would use it to play CDs. I took out the CD, looked for the drawer where he put the CDs, and put it back.

Unlike the past, it was very messy inside. I arranged them one by one. I found an extra piece of paper inside, which looked like a high school yearbook:

How about we open a coffee shop in the future? I want the sign to be blue with white letters. There must be a CD player on the bar. Hang many postcards on the wall. Our travel postcards, customers' postcards, all can be put on it. I also want a long sofa, so when I'm tired of watching the shop, I can lie on it and play games. If we choose staff, we must choose someone whose music taste is consistent with ours. You are not allowed to deduct his salary, do you hear me! I've already thought of the shop name, let's call it Drinking Summer.

XV

Since that day, the boss found friends who opened bars and coffee shops and sold the coffee beans and alcohol in the shop to them at a discount. Because there was less and less alcohol, I didn't need to mix drinks anymore; after all, many drinks couldn't be mixed.

After the closing notice was issued, some old customers came to the shop. Some wanted to drink their drinks again, and some asked me if I could take away the recipes for their drinks. When I encountered the latter, I would tear off that page, put it in a letter paper, and give it to them. The menu, which was getting thicker day by day, was getting thinner day by day.

Many days later, there were only some drinks stored by customers left in the shop.

Actually, only Lady Marguerite stored drinks here.

And only Lady Marguerite pushed the door in as usual: "Hello, a Marguerite."

I didn't talk to her about that page of the yearbook. Although I knew before that Lady Marguerite and the boss were high school classmates, I also knew that the yearbook page wasn't written by Lady Marguerite. Because of this person who had never appeared, I was able to live in this city for so long.

I washed my hands. Now, washing my hands still makes me think of the shop where I worked before, but it doesn't feel very painful anymore. Before the boss sold the things in the shop, he told me I could choose whatever I wanted from the shop to take away, and he would sell them after I chose.

I chose Stories without hesitation.

XVI

The boss's wedding was very luxurious, with countless crystal lamps pouring down from the ceiling. The emcee was very good at mobilizing the atmosphere, and the audience's attention was drawn to the boss, who was holding a bouquet of flowers and wearing a straight suit on the stairs on the left side of the stage.

The spotlight hit his carefully designed hairstyle, and he walked step by step toward the stage holding the flowers. Lady Marguerite sat next to me and whispered to me that the boss was as stiff as a robot. I said I seemed to have just seen him walking with the same hand and foot, and then we both laughed together.

At this time, the lights dimmed, and the projector began to play the newlyweds' wedding photos and videos. They were taking photos with white veils on snow-capped mountains, grasslands, and beaches.

"The wedding photographer is really amazing. I actually saw affection in the boss's eyes."

Lady Marguerite smiled and said: "Don't talk nonsense, they have a deep relationship."

"Do you think they are really as in love as they appear at the wedding?" I only dared to ask this sentence in Lady Marguerite's ear.

Lady Marguerite shook her head and whispered in my ear: "Be careful your boss will kick you out if you say things like that."

"He's not my boss anymore, and I paid money."

As the music ended, the spotlight slowly gathered on the stairs on the other side of the stage, where a bride in a pure white wedding dress stood among the flowers. Amidst the applause of the audience, the bride slowly walked toward her groom.

Lady Marguerite said: "What is your boss swaying for?"

I said: "Feels like a high school student stealing his dad's suit."

Finally, the newlyweds stood together, and the flower girl ran up happily with the diamond ring. The emcee asked the boss if he was willing? The boss said yes. He asked the bride if she was willing? The bride said yes. So the boss put the ring on the bride, and because he was nervous, he put it on wrong twice. Lady Marguerite said again: "I really don't know how the bride can tolerate your boss."

I smiled and said: "I've heard a saying that true love is a little bit of liking plus huge pity."

The emcee said you can hug your bride now, so the groom stepped forward and hugged the bride. I wanted to complain again; it seemed the boss stepped on the bride's dress when he hugged her just now. I found that Lady Marguerite hadn't spoken for a long time. I turned my head and happened to see her wiping tears with the back of her hand.

XVII

The thunderstorm season is really annoying.

I heard that a village in the neighboring city had another landslide, and the rescue team is still rescuing. There won't be any customers in this kind of weather. I rubbed my eyes, which were sore from reading for too long, and prepared to tidy up and close the shop.

At this moment, with the ringing of the wind chime at the door, a girl walked into the shop with the sound of rain outside.

She often came to the shop to drink and left many, many messy names on my menu.

I handed her a towel and told her to wipe her hair first. After wiping it dry, I found that besides rainwater, tears were also dripping down her cheeks.

"What's wrong? It's very dangerous to be outside in a thunderstorm."

She was still a bit choked, but her voice was proud, and she said to me: "I confessed to him today!"

I recalled, oh, it was the boy she mentioned she had a crush on before.

"And the result?"

"The result was definitely rejected, otherwise why would I cry?" She wiped her tears with a bar tissue: "But it's normal, I knew he would reject me. After all, he has a girlfriend."

"You went even though you knew you would be rejected."

"Being rejected is his business, confessing is my business. If he agreed, I wouldn't want to be with him."

"Aren't you afraid of getting hurt?"

"I'm afraid of getting hurt, and being rejected is really sad. But I don't want to suppress my feelings of liking him because I'm afraid of getting hurt."

Her hair was dripping with water, her clothes were soaked, and her eyes were shining. I also smiled and said to her: "I'll treat you to a drink."

She took it and took a sip: "So spicy."

I cut a plate of ham and handed it to her: "This drink has a high proof, you have to drink it slowly. Try it with this."

She took another sip and asked me what the name of this drink was.

I opened Stories, pointed to the name on the second page, and told her: "This drink is called Marguerite, from the name of the Lady of the Camellias."

Besides

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