On the first day that Su Xiao moved into the old neighborhood, she was attracted by the aroma of green onion pancakes from the breakfast stall downstairs - the stall owner Lu Zhe was wearing a washed white apron and flipping pancakes with flexible wrists. The sun fell on his fingertips stained with flour, which was actually warmer than the soy milk in the morning.
From then on, Su Xiao had a fixed morning ritual: standing in front of the stall at 7:10, saying "Add egg and scallion pancakes, and a cup of hot soy milk." Lu Zhe would always give her an extra spoonful of sweet noodle sauce. Occasionally, he would leave a piece of freshly baked sugar cake and say, "Just made it, eat it while it's hot."
There is no dramatic plot, only the oil-paper umbrella he handed over on rainy days, the hot porridge he kept when he came home late from working overtime, and the occasional chat between the two of them while queuing up early in the morning. Two people working hard in the city, through the smoke and smoke of the breakfast stall, turned the unfamiliar distance into a habit, and turned the ordinary morning into a small blessing hidden in tenderness - it turns out that the most touching encounters are often hidden in the morning light downstairs that smells of cakes.
