The Capital in the early morning has the richest flavors. Along many ancient streets are rows of Chinese Scholar Trees.
In winter, the bare branches of the Scholar Trees stretch chaotically toward the sky, exuding a unique sense of desolation and rusticity. Together with the aged blue bricks and green tiles of the courtyards lining the streets, they form a distinct, historically rich atmosphere.
Many people's impressions of the old streets of the Capital are just like this.
In Yan Fei's childhood memories, these Scholar Trees were ever-present. Back then, when some other child would scream and shout until their voice became hoarse, the elderly at home would use branches of the Scholar Tree. They'd strip off the outer bark, pour in a dash of vinegar and sesame oil, stir it all with the branch, and then have the child drink it down.
The effect was phenomenal—usually, one drink was enough to cure them.
