Wenqiu's parents had long since stepped out of the spotlight, but every so often they would still drift back i…
Wenqiu's parents had long since stepped out of the spotlight, but every so often they would still drift back into the pastry shop, lending a hand and a voice to help her pull in customers.
The Five-colored cakes sold best in autumn. The rest of the year wasn't bad either, though it never hurt to shout a few extra lines.
In winter, they swore the cakes "stored warmth and nourished the body," the perfect thing to eat against the cold.
Come spring, the story changed: now the cakes were said to restore vital energy, strengthen the body, and keep illness at bay for the year ahead.
By summer, they had a new claim ready: Five-colored Cakes, apparently, could cool the blood and drive off excess heat.
Wenqiu finally couldn't take it anymore. She pulled them aside and told them to stop reading those half-baked medical pamphlets.
That only made things worse. Her parents turned on her instead, declaring that her own temper ran too hot and that she ought to eat more Five-colored Cakes herself.
In the end, she gave up and let them carry on.
When she was young, she had often wondered about it. The Double Ninth Festival came only once a year, but why did her parents seem busy all year long, never taking a break?
"Because someone always wants to eat them," they told her.
But that made no sense to her. Outside the Double Ninth Festival, who would want Five-colored Cakes?
After the Lantern Festival, she lost all interest in lanterns. After the fifth day of the fifth month, the Five Color Threads were tossed aside and forgotten.
Who, she wondered, would want to celebrate the Double Ninth every single day?
Only after she inherited the shop did she begin to understand. The people who once came in groups on the Double Ninth now came alone, on ordinary days.
It wasn't always the festival—but every day, someone remembered the friends they used to celebrate with.
Even apart, they are still together in thought.