Tianjin was incredibly strange; the Western practice of opening the harbour to hunt the seas was, in actuality, it turned out, combined with the high-speed crosstalk, and the scent of phoenix tree wood and fried dough twists mingled together, also accompanied by the scent of golden fried sweets, and Tianjin natives crouched on the sides of the street passing the morning, laughing and calling out “jiejie” regardless of whether or not they recognised you. It was hard to come just once; A Yin begged Li Shiyi and Tu Laoyao to stay with her a few days in Tianjin and rent a small boathouse; each morning the scent of black coffee permeated the air on the one hand, and on the other, Tu Laoyao stood in line half a shichen to buy baozi that a dog wouldn’t pay attention to, and then she leaned out of the balcony to watch the opera, exclaiming earnestly down to rival immortals. Tu Laoyao was entirely unaccustomed to coffee, to say nothing of imports; even if he were to catch its scent, he wouldn’t