Lin Wan grew up surrounded by the fireworks in the market. When the steamer at the breakfast shop in the alley was opened, she would always hand Aunt Zhang the oiled paper bag in the white air, her fingertips smelling of the aroma of freshly baked meat buns. In the evening, before closing the stall at the vegetable market, she would squat in front of her stooped grandmother's stall and wrap the remaining half handfuls of vegetables into balls. Her trouser legs rubbed against the fish scales stained with soil, but she said with a smile, "The pickled cabbage is perfect for porridge."
