Lu Ting-Pin quickened his pace, perhaps also enticed by the aroma. Mulan, who was carrying the Rabbit, had to hop and scamper about to keep up with his lengthening strides. But it was worth it, for Lu Ting-Pin was entering the store she was hoping he would—the bakery spilling the delicious scent of pork buns.
Lu Ting-Pin waited impatiently for a customer to finish picking up his bags at the sales counter. As soon as he left, he smiled at the young woman behind the pastry displays.
“Hello, Li Jing!” Lu Ting-Pin boomed. “Do you know who I am?”
The woman cocked her head and studied him. “Is it…” She hesitated. “Is it Master Yan?”
“Of course!” Lu Ting-Pin said, beaming. “Is your father in the back?”
She nodded, then squeaked and clapped her hands in excitement. Mulan realized that Li Jing was really a girl, only a handful of years older than herself. “Ba is going to be so excited!” Li Jing said, her smile as wide as his. She moved to open the doors at her side, but Lu Ting-Pin held up his hand.
“First,” Lu Ting-Pin said, “let me introduce you to Mulan…my, uh, niece. And her pet rabbit. Perhaps you could give them something to eat?”
Mulan felt the Rabbit shift on her back at those words, and she grinned broadly at the older girl across the counter. Li Jing smiled back, and Mulan instantly felt a sense of friendship.
“Of course!” Li Jing said, and she hurried out from behind the counter. “Come! Come!”
“I’ll go see your father,” Lu Ting-Pin said. He pushed past them through the swinging doors, his robes rippling behind him.
Li Jing led Mulan to one of the small tables at the side of the store. As Mulan sat down, Li Jing scurried around the shop, turning the sign on the door to CLOSED and then visiting various shelves. She returned balancing two trays—one piled high with aromatic buns and pastries, and the other holding tea. To Mulan’s envy, Li Jing gracefully placed the trays on the table without even a rattle of the teapot. How Mulan wished she could be like that! Once, she had accidentally hit the table as she ran into the house, and the family’s prized teacup flew up into the air. Mulan had flung herself down, skidded across the floor, and narrowly caught the cup in her outstretched hand. Even though she had saved the cup, Ma had still been horrified.
Li Jing took an empty bowl from the tea tray and put it on the ground. “Which do you think your rabbit would like?” she asked. “Red bean buns? Pineapple cake?”
“I’m sure he’ll like anything,” Mulan said, quickly placing the Rabbit on the floor, her eyes slightly bulging at the assortment of snacks in front of her. She could barely keep herself from grabbing and devouring the entire pile. However, when Li Jing handed her a cloth to clean her hands, Mulan found herself blushing. She grimaced at the brown stains she left on the cloth and felt ashamed as she looked at Li Jing’s smoothly wound hair and spotless, softly clinging robes.
But Li Jing did not seem to notice and only pushed the plate toward her. With great will, Mulan took only one of the pork buns whose inviting aroma had been teasing her since she entered the village. Her eyes closed as she bit into it. Warm steam misted her face, and as the full flavors of the luscious, sweet pork melted into her mouth, she groaned involuntarily.
“Good?” Li Jing asked, pleased.
Mulan, mouth full, could only nod enthusiastically.
“You can thank your uncle for that,” Li Jing said, sitting down across from her. “He’s the one that changed everything for our family.”
“He did?” Mulan asked, in between bites. “How?”
“Well,” Li Jing said, “the story goes like this…”
When my grandfather was a young man, he sold rice cakes from door to door, carrying his wares in a straw basket. He worked hard but made a very meager living, only enough to support himself and his elderly mother. Every morning, he rose before his mother woke to grind the rice to make his cakes, cook them, and then carry them to this village to sell. When he returned home every evening, he gave his mother whatever cakes he had not sold.
Some days he would have good business and the village would line up before him to buy his cakes. On those days, he always made sure that he set aside one cake for his mother.
The New Year was my grandfather’s busiest time. That was when all the villagers wanted cakes, for, of course, having a cake on the New Year meant one would get a promotion. My grandfather always carried an extra basket of cakes when he went to town then.
One New Year was especially busy. My grandfather sold all his cakes before evening, except for the one he put aside for his mother. He had to turn away customers as he made his way out of the village. Before he left, however, he was stopped by the mayor—the richest man in the district.
“Hey! Baker!” the mayor called out. “I need a cake for the New Year.”
“I am so sorry,” my grandfather said, bowing. “I promise to bring more tomorrow, but I have no more to sell today.”
“Yes, you do,” the mayor said, his keen eyes spotting the last cake in my grandfather’s basket. “I’ll take that one.”
“I’m sorry,” my grandfather said again, “that one is not for sale.”
The mayor sputtered and tried to bargain, offering more and more money—as much money as my grandfather had made that entire day. But my grandfather still refused. Nothing would sway him to sell his last cake. Finally, very much annoyed, the mayor huffed away.
My grandfather continued on his journey home. But as he walked along the path, a ragged old man stepped in front of him.
“Please,” the old man begged, “something to eat?”
My grandfather looked at the man, who was obviously suffering and in need. I cannot turn him away, my grandfather thought, and he pulled out some coins and offered them.
“No,” the man said, “I cannot eat coins! Please, some food?”
My grandfather was at a loss. He could not give away his mother’s cake, nor could he leave this beggar to starve. Finally, he broke the cake in two and gave half to the beggar.
“Thank you!” the beggar said, grabbing the halved cake and disappearing into the shadows. “See you tomorrow.”
My grandfather shook his head, confused, but finally continued home. The next day he returned to the village with two extra baskets of cakes. Business was brisk, yet the whole time my grandfather was selling, he kept thinking about the beggar. See you tomorrow, he had said. Was he planning to meet him again? Just in case, my grandfather decided to save not one cake, but two.
And he was glad he had. Because much like the day before, my grandfather’s cakes sold out quickly and he left for home early. And, just like the day before, the beggar stopped him and asked for food. This time, my grandfather gave him a pastry without hesitation.
This continued for the fifteen days of the New Year. But then the New Year ended and none of the villagers were interested in purchasing my grandfather’s cakes anymore. He trudged home sadly, his baskets full of unsold cakes. As he walked in the darkness, the beggar man stepped in front of him again.
“Why so glum, Baker?” the beggar asked.
“Oh, it is not as bad as your plight,” my grandfather said, opening his basket. “Today, I have plenty for you to eat.”