Lost in the Old Town: Twelve Yuan Bought Me a Slice of Old Times
Today is another beautiful day. I had just made instant noodles and was scrolling through my phone when I accidentally saw this activity, which instantly reminded me of that magical afternoon last Friday. Actually, I'm not usually one to join in on such hype, but that place really made me want to pour out my heart. If you ask me where I've been recently, the first thing that pops into my head isn't some trendy check-in spot, but an alley in our old town that's about to be demolished—hidden inside is a second-hand bookstore that's been there for over thirty years, so obscure that even navigation apps can't find it.
That afternoon, I was originally sent by my boss to deliver documents to the west side of the city, but I missed my subway stop and ended up wandering into the old town. The sky was gloomy, with a light drizzle falling, and my phone battery was down to eight percent. I was feeling irritated when I looked up and saw a faded wooden sign at the entrance of the alley, with the words "Zhi Bu Zu Zhai" (The Studio of Knowing One's Insufficiency) written in brush calligraphy, and a crooked arrow drawn beside it. I thought to myself, since I'm already lost, I might as well go in and take shelter from the rain.
Pushing open that creaky wooden door, a musty smell of old books mixed with the scent of mothballs rushed at me, and it actually made my nose tingle—my grandfather's house had that same smell when I was a child. The store was dimly lit, with books piled from floor to ceiling, leaving only a narrow aisle. The owner was a thin old man wearing reading glasses, dozing off at the counter. He didn't even look up when he heard the noise, just mumbled, "Feel free to look around, just don't mess things up."
I originally planned to just browse casually, but in a cardboard box in the corner, I found a 1987 edition of "Fortress Besieged." The cover was already dog-eared, and on the title page there was a line written in fountain pen: "To my friend Zhiqiang, may you find freedom even within the fortress." At that moment, I was completely stunned—this was my favorite book in college, and I lost it when I moved after graduation. I never thought that after so many years, I'd run into it again in such a shabby bookstore. Holding that book, I squatted by the cardboard box for over an hour, rereading the first few chapters, and didn't even notice when the rain stopped.
Later, I chatted with the owner, and he said the store was left to him by his father. He had wanted to close it long ago, but there were always regular customers asking, "Is that copy of 'Fortress Besieged' still here?" and he just couldn't bear to. When he said that, there was something complex in his eyes that I still remember to this day. In the end, I spent twelve yuan to buy that old book. When I walked out, the rain had stopped, and the setting sun bathed the alley in golden light. Standing at the entrance, I suddenly felt a deep sense of peace—that feeling was way better than scrolling through short videos all night.
Well, I've said so much, really just to jot this down. This activity asks us to share travel stories, but this isn't really a trip, is it? It's just me getting lost and stumbling upon an old bookstore. But I think true travel isn't necessarily about going far away; sometimes it's about meeting an old book, an old man, and a forgotten slice of time on an ordinary afternoon. If you ever pass by the old town, go check out that alley too—you might just find something yourself.
Alright, I've finished my venting. Time to go back to work. If this translation software makes it sound all jumbled, please bear with me.
Participant of Lost in the Old Town: Twelve Yuan Bought Me a Slice of Old Times