Wei Qiming's new teahouse is a bit interesting.
Meng Xintang held on to a cigarette, raised his hand, and pointed at the plaque hanging above his head.
"What's your name?"
There are two words written on the plaque: Liaotang. The font is strong, and if you look closely, you can find some traces of Mi Fu in it. It is estimated that it came from some contemporary people.
"You don't know this, right?" Wei Qiming smiled triumphantly, his eyes narrowed, "Nowadays, people like to be arty, and what my teahouse sells is feelings. If you understand, the more people think you have culture and depth."
Meng Xintang shook his head and chuckled, and the smoke at his fingertips drew a small arc: "Co-authoring with you, this is a messed up name, and it's deceiving."
The two joked a few more words and entered the teahouse. As soon as I entered the door, I heard a crisp "Boss Wei".
After turning around, Meng Xintang had to admit that Wei Qiming really made it look good this time, at least it was quite bluffing. There is a row of square tables with long benches, and the teapots pay attention to different teas with different pots, purple sand, white porcelain, covered bowls, and the characteristic large copper pots of old Beijing. The most unique thing is that there is even the sound of Peking Opera.
Meng Xintang felt strange and looked around, but couldn't find the source of the play.
Boss Wei accompanies him around, babbling about.
"The lobby on the first floor, the private room on the second floor. On this floor, whether it's the tables and chairs or the shouting, it's completely retro. I can't say anything else, but the atmosphere in this lobby is so lively, it's definitely the same as earlier. Some of the teahouses have a match.”
Meng Xintang had already pinched his cigarette at the door, and now he was walking with Wei Qiming, his hands were empty, and he felt uncomfortable.
Wei Qiming was in high spirits. He pointed to a side door and said, "Did you see it? There is an old alley behind. A bunch of uncles gather there every day to sing operas. When they spread it to my lobby, it's natural background music, so perfect."
After he said this, Meng Xintang understood. He glanced at the lighted back door, but because it was covered by a bamboo curtain, he couldn't see the scene outside the door.
"Do you want to sit upstairs or downstairs?" Wei Qiming asked.
"Let's go downstairs," Meng Xintang looked back and smiled, "I can still listen to Qu'er."
The two took a seat by the window and sat down. Meng Xintang neither knew nor paid attention to tea, so he just ordered a pot of Gao Mo'er as he was accustomed to.
"Why are you free today?" Wei Qiming asked with Erlang's legs crossed, leaning on his arms, "I don't see you usually."
The steaming hot tea poured out from the dragon's mouth, making a group of tea fragrance.
"Something went wrong with the project and was temporarily suspended. I'm on vacation at home for a while."
Wei Qiming's face immediately showed surprise: "Is something wrong with the project?"
Meng Xintang looked as usual, and nodded indifferently. Wei Qiming looked at him strangely, and frowned, "What's wrong, you're a workaholic who can't go to work?"
Not in a hurry to answer this question, Meng Xintang put the teacup to his lips and took a sip. Putting down the teacup, he first praised: "This tea is really good."
"It's worth it, it's up to you to say it."
If Meng Xintang knew about tea, his teahouse would be on fire.
Meng Xintang laughed to himself again, and then said leisurely, "It's not entirely because of the project that I don't go to work. I just quarreled with the leader."
Have a fight with the boss
This time Wei Qiming couldn't keep his mouth shut. You know, from the time he met Meng Xintang, this man has lived like a 40-year-old uncle, always quiet, not angry, and not blushing for anything.
A little brother came downstairs, with a cotton and linen cardigan and a towel draped over his shoulders. He stood on the stairs, leaning on the railing and shouting, "Boss Wei, the guest is looking for him."
This shout interrupted the question that Wei Qiming was going to investigate.
Wei Qiming raised his head and said, "Hey," and said to Meng Xintang, "Then you sit down for a while, and I'll come back after a few words."
Meng Xintang waved at him, indicating that he was busy with his work.
After Wei Qiming left, Meng Xintang poured his own drink leisurely. He is busy with work on weekdays, and his life is focused and boring. He has no hobbies and interests, and no elegant pursuits. Most of the time he is buried in the research room, working on projects day after day in a relatively closed environment. Sitting in such a teahouse now, sipping tea, listening to gossip and gossip, gives birth to a sense of reality returning to peace. The chatter of the surrounding people, the sound of footsteps coming and going, and the sound of opera coming in from the side door were all a wonderful experience for him.
He couldn't understand the song sung by the uncle outside the door, but he thought it was very good. Meng Xintang banged on the table and thought: Anyway, I have to rest for a while, why don't I go to listen to the opera and understand the quintessence of the country.
Just thinking about it, the sound of drama outside stopped. Jomo was talking about something interesting, and a hearty laughter floated in. Very strange, a youthful voice was mixed in the thick laughter of the dragon bell.
Strange in my heart, I can't stop guessing.
The teacup has lit up three times.
Meng Xintang was pouring the fourth cup, and a gentle melody sounded at this moment. The sound of the strings burst into the hearts of the people by surprise.
In vain, Meng Xintang flicked his wrist, and the tea rushed to the square table, covering a large area wetly. In a panic, he stretched out the last three fingers and pressed them against the squat copper pot. The copper pot was not insulated, and Meng Xintang's hand was burned unexpectedly.
There are several people in their 30s who burn their hands while pouring tea, but they are really promising.
The tone of turning the corner was still in the air, causing his heart to tremble, and he couldn't tell the difference between those fingers that were a little bit painful.
He frowned and pondered for a moment, put the teapot down, and got up, not paying attention to cleaning up the pool of water stains.
Looking for sound and asking people is probably a bridge that often appeared in ancient dramas.
On the way to the side door, the tune changed its tune. Originally it was a single note with a lingering tail, but now it became a close and close plucking sound, even and long, I don’t know what fingering was used.
Between the beginning and the end, Meng Xintang stopped in front of the side door. Light leaked in through the gap, carrying a few shadowy figures. Quzi returned to the hooking tone of the beginning, Meng Xintang finally raised his hand and lifted the last obstacle in front of him.
The bamboo curtain was turned up, startling away a few birds pecking at the stones on the steps.
Around the stone bench at the round table, there are several gray-haired old people, either sitting or standing. In addition, there is a young man holding a pipa. He was wearing gray sports shorts and a long white T, without any color, but with two beautiful shades. A mahogany pipa stood in his arms, and from Meng Xintang's point of view, he could only be seen in profile.
When the tune reached the exciting place, the young man's hand flicked so fast that the strings of the piano trembled into a phantom.
It wasn't until the last note fell and the melody that had a thousand twists and turns disappeared, and Meng Xintang returned to his senses as if he had just woken up from a big dream. His chest was suddenly empty, and he didn't feel the beating of his heart again until he heard a few cheers.
"Qin is a good one, don't worry, I didn't lose anything."
The young man said, got up and handed the pipa in his arms to the girl standing beside him. When he turned to the side, Meng Xintang couldn't even see the silhouette, only the tall and straight back and the straight shoulder line could be seen.
The girl said a few words to him, and then sat on the side with the piano in her arms, looking like she was watching. The young man picked up another pipa from the stone table, which looked more beautiful than the previous one. He sat down again and plucked the strings twice. All kinds of folk music were also played one after another, and a voice next to them sang two opera lines in harmony with their tune.
Naturally, Meng Xintang had never heard of this play, and he didn't even pay attention to it. His eyes were filled with the man playing the pipa accompaniment.
In a paragraph, Meng Xintang heard the man holding the pipa laughing twice, and shouted at the old man standing in the center singing: "Lao Gu, you might as well sing with another word."
When other people talk, you talk to me, and you come and go for many rounds. In the end, I don't know who said, "Come on, come on, you have a few words."
I saw the young man tilted his head and smiled, and his left hand pressed the strings on the piano.
This time, the unique sound of the pipa sounded, and the person not far away shook his head and sang a couple of sentences in a beautiful opera.
This time Meng Xintang heard it clearly.
"Let him go with three thousand fur horses, not to be a commoner, but to greed for my three-pillow yellow beam dream."
His smile did not fade away, and his brows were free and easy.
All the enthusiasm came suddenly, it was clearly early summer, but Meng Xintang seemed to be hit by a blazing light.