Chapter 35: Entering Germany

Thick condensation clings to the glass door of the Bergb Old Keller Tavern, blurring the worlds inside and out. He pauses, and through the occasional falling droplets catches a glimpse of his own hazy eastern face— in this iron‑gray‑haired city, he always feels like a discordant note.

The moment he pushes the door open, the clamor engulfs him like a wave of heat.

The tavern is suffused with the lingering scent of years of smoke and fire. On the oak ceiling, the brass chandelier casts hazy shafts of light through the tobacco haze, illuminating dust dancing in the air. Yellowed hunting portraits and faded beer advertisements hang on the walls, and in the corner the old phonograph raspily plays "The Blue Danube," its notes appearing and disappearing amid the din.

Li Yuxuan finds a spot in the corner of the bar, and as he removes his coat, fine ice shards tumble down. "One black beer," he says in still‑awkward German.

The barkeeper is a bald, hulking man, his leather apron stained with dark liquor spots. He slides over a heavy ceramic mug, amber foam trembling lightly at the rim.

"From the East?" the barkeeper asks, wiping the mug as he eyes him.

Li Yuxuan nods and takes a sip of the beer. A rich malt aroma spreads in his mouth, with just the right amount of bitterness.

"In this weather, even the crows won't leave their nests," the barkeeper mutters toward the window, "You here looking for someone?"

Li Yuxuan gives no answer, merely directing his gaze toward the back of the tavern. There, a group of workers sit around a long table, their work trousers still damp with unfrozen snow water. Rolled‑up sleeves reveal sturdy arms, and the palms gripping their mugs are covered in old calluses.

"…the steel mill is cutting staff again…" a red‑nosed old man bangs the table, beer splashing from his mug, "They say post‑war reconstruction takes time, but my grandson can't wait!"

At that moment the phonograph switches to a new record, and the waltz melody abruptly stops. In the brief silence, Li Yu hears the sound of his own heartbeat.

At the other end of the bar, an elderly man wearing a round‑brimmed hat sips brandy alone. Though his suit is old, it remains crisp, and the silver‑handled cane beside him glints faintly in the light. When Li Yuxuan's eyes meet his, the elder raises his glass in salute.

"This snow reminds me of Danzig's winter," the elder says, moving to a nearby seat, speaking fluent English, "In 1902 I did fur trading there. The snow was just as heavy then, but at least people's faces still held smiles."

Li Yuxuan notices the elder is missing his right index finger.

"You've been here a long time?"

"Long enough to witness the rise and fall of an empire." The elder's eyes flash shrewdly from the lines on his face, "People say Mulihei is a tiny place, but I've met Russian merchants, British sailors, even missionaries from Africa here. As for Chinese people…" he pauses, "you're the first."

Outside, the snow falls even heavier. A horse‑drawn carriage passes, its bell ringing down the silent street, fading into the distance.

The debate at the long table continues.