Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 323

Soon we were in a narrow alleyway in the Old City of Shanghai. Strings of black wire hung between the dormers, and
drying clothes lined along the grey brick walls. The wind carried a damp smell of cigarette and food.
We entered a semi-circled Shikumen, jogged up a flight of stairs, and stopped in front of a pavilion.
Kai turned to look at me as he scooted his glasses up his nose. With an anxious tone, he said, “I’m sorry that this place is
a bit crammed. My granny likes to stay in the Old City, since it is where our ancestors lived.”
I shook my head, “It’s fine. I just want to see your granny.”
Kai let out a sigh of relief and opened the door. Before I could even blink, an overwhelming smell of sweet rice rushed
upon me.
“What is that?” I gasped.
“Oh, it’s my granny’s home-made fried rice cake! Do you want to try one?”
Unable to resist, I nodded my head excitedly.
We walked to a small kitchen, where an old lady was working. She was plump, her white hair in a bun. She turned
around and saw us. Her face lit up into a wide smile revealing a mouthful of mismatched teeth.
“Hello, my dear grandson! Oh, and here is your best friend from school?” She asked in a raspy yet jolly voice.
Kai nodded and replied, “Yes, he’s Charles. He wants to try a rice cake!”