Weiran walked into the cafe, and everyone turned their eyes toward Mi Cai and me. The glances, however, carried different emotions. I had no mood to interpret each one, and I assumed Mi Cai felt the same. We exchanged a glance and, ahead of the others, opened the cafe door and walked inside.
Inside the cafe, the owner, Xia Fanye, still sat at the bar reading a magazine. He showed little enthusiasm. I knew that this man’s passion had long been worn away by the story of “West of the Old City.” Weiran, who had come in before us, sat alone in a corner without ordering anything.
Xia Fanye stood up to greet us. I smiled and said, “Today I’ve brought all my friends for coffee. There are ten of us. Please prepare ten cups of ‘West of the Old City.'”
Xia Fanye nodded, took out some coffee beans, and began grinding them. I looked around and realized how small the cafe actually was. Yesterday, when it was just Mi Cai and me, I hadn’t noticed, but with more people today, the cramped space felt crowded. I pushed a few tables together and invited everyone to sit around them, except for Weiran, who remained alone near the window, expressionlessly watching the rain fall outside.
Xiang Chen, who was least familiar with Weiran, turned around and patted his arm, saying, “Come and sit with us.”
Weiran simply shook his head and shifted his gaze back to the window. Rainwater had already formed a mist on the glass, blurring the outside world. He seemed to become the loneliest person in the small cafe.
After a while, Xia Fanye finally brought the coffee, placing it before us one by one. He said, “This is our ‘West of the Old City’ coffee. Please enjoy.”
CC picked up her cup and took a sip first. I had expected her to frown from the bitterness, but she remained calm, nodded, and said, “The coffee is bitter, but there’s a subtle sweetness and freshness. There’s a loneliness in the flavor that’s hard to describe, yet it’s a loneliness you can enjoy because within it lies a sense of waiting for hope.”
Xia Fanye looked at CC and instinctively nodded, agreeing with her comment. He said, “The water used for brewing this coffee was boiled with mint leaves, though only half a leaf was used. The flavor is very faint; few people can actually taste it.”
I looked at CC, finding it strange. A woman who smoked and drank constantly, appearing rough on the outside, was actually so sensitive. At least I hadn’t detected the flavor she described.
“Thank you for this cup of ‘West of the Old City!'” CC said, taking another sip of her coffee, seemingly enjoying the bittersweet taste. The others also lifted their cups and took sips. As Xia Fanye had said, few could truly taste the subtle notes, so we all frowned, including Mi Cai and me, who had already tasted it before.
Luoben was the first to put down his cup. He looked at the painting behind me casually at first, but suddenly stood up and approached it, crouching down to examine it closely. I turned around and asked him, “This painting is great, isn’t it? It was painted by the owner himself, titled ‘The Forbidden City.'”
Luoben didn’t respond to me. His expression turned serious. He reached behind and said to Wei Manwen, “Give me some paper and a pen, quickly!”
Wei Manwen hurriedly took out paper, a pen, and a notebook from her handbag and handed them to Luoben. Luoben sat cross-legged on the floor, focused intently on the painting. After a while, he lowered his head and began writing lyrics and composing music in the notebook. The small cafe became even quieter. We all knew that the painting had inspired Luoben. In fact, inspiration often spreads from one person to another. Perhaps Luoben and Xia Fanye were of the same kind—born into loneliness, yet instinctively seeking solace within it to survive. That was why both of them carried a strong artistic aura.
After my coffee cooled a bit, just like last time, I drank it all in one go. Then I walked to the bar counter and said to Xia Fanye, “Let’s find a place to talk alone for a bit.”
He nodded.
…
We passed through a small partition and arrived at a modest balcony. There was a round canopy overhead to shelter us from the rain. We stood beneath it, and I took out a Red Plum cigarette, offered it to him, and lit it for him. After we both took a puff, I smiled and asked, “What did you think of that girl who tasted your coffee just now?”
“She’s quite a special woman.”
“Of course she is. She’s a wandering singer, you could say. She smokes, drinks, and a few years ago she came to Suzhou and opened a music-themed restaurant called ‘Empty City.’ The restaurant is unique—customers pay voluntarily. Although this business model doesn’t fit traditional market rules, it has survived until now. We all admire her, especially for her attitude toward life and love.”
Xia Fanye smiled but didn’t say much. I understood—he had already fallen into despair over his lost love, and such despair wouldn’t be easily revived.
We smoked in silence, while I struggled to figure out how to bring up the topic of offering him help. I truly didn’t want to see this “West of the Old City” cafe shut down.
I knew I wasn’t a subtle person, so after taking a deep puff, I decided to speak directly: “I want to help this cafe.”
He looked at me but didn’t refuse. He asked, “How do you want to help?”
“If this cafe doesn’t expand its business operations and continues operating under its current model, it will definitely run at a loss. Do you agree with that?”
“I do. It’s been losing money for years.”
“Then are you willing to expand your operations?”
He shook his head: “No. If I change the way this cafe looks, I’d rather close it down and keep it as a permanent memory.”
“That’s exactly how I feel too. So let’s just keep it running at a loss…”
He looked at me, puzzled.
I smiled and explained, “I run a company, and we’re working on a tourism project called ‘The Artistic Path.’ Once this project is completed, we’ll create countless unique cafes, hostels, bars, and restaurants across the country’s tourism map. If this path had a soul, then a cafe like ‘West of the Old City’ with its own story would be that soul. For you, running a cafe at a loss may be unsustainable long-term, but for this path, such a loss is exactly a reflection of culture. I need a cafe that’s losing money but remains authentic.”
Xia Fanye looked thoughtful for a long time before saying, “I understand what you mean. I can give this cafe to you…”
I interrupted him: “I don’t want you to give it to me. You will still be the owner of this cafe, still making coffee here. I just hope this cafe can join my ‘Artistic Path’ project, and my company will cover all the losses.”
“This… I don’t quite understand.”
Before I could explain further, a loud argument erupted downstairs. I leaned over and looked down. It was Jian Wei and Xiang Chen… They were standing under the eaves across from the cafe, their faces filled with suppressed anger…
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