Chenshi: A Living Museum in Kuanzhai Alley

Dew still condensed on the stone slabs of Jingxiang in the early morning, and my cultural guide Xiaolin had already pushed open a carved door: "This silversmith shop in the Republic of China has been passed down for three generations. Today, we specially opened the shop two hours earlier for you." The sound of the old master hitting the silver sheet with a ginkgo wood hammer suddenly mixed with the hum of the grinding machine - it turned out that he was customizing a hot pot chopstick holder for me, engraved with the seal script "Eat in Tianfu". The Sichuan Opera face-changing artist at the corner was applying yellow flowers in front of the mirror. When he saw us sticking our heads out, he smiled and said: "Come and learn how to 'wipe your eyes'? It's a unique skill that only VIP bespoke steel doors guests can touch." When the oil paint melted in my palm, the shouts of the noodle porters came from the alley, as if they were setting the rhythm for this private class.

Noon: The Jianghu in the Kitchen

In the aroma of pepper in the Yulin Vegetable Market, Sichuan cuisine master Chen handed over a bamboo food box: "I have improved the Kung Pao Chicken according to your grandmother's Yangzhou taste, using fermented glutinous rice instead of vinegar." He took me through the seafood stalls and went straight to the spice area Bespoke China journeys, "The real secret is the Erjingtiao produced in Qingcheng Mountain, you have to choose the semi-translucent red ones facing the light." In the open kitchen, he suddenly lifted the floor tile: "Look, the old stove from 1958! Tourists learn to arrange the dishes, and we use firewood to simmer bean paste here." The panda bus outside the window whizzed by, and the spicy aroma in the iron pot blended wonderfully with the fragrance of bamboo leaves in the zoo.

Afternoon: The hidden plot of the panda base

When the sightseeing bus lined up in the moon delivery room, I had already put on the keeper's uniform and split bamboo poles in the bamboo forest on the back mountain. Keeper Lao Tang took out a thermometer: "Measure Miaomiao's rectal temperature first. He only recognizes strangers wearing blue gloves." The touch of the panda cub twisting in his arms felt like a warm glutinous rice ball. He suddenly lowered his voice: "In fact, he loves to listen to the piano version of "Chengdu" the most - don't tell ordinary tourists." The setting sun turned the incubator amber. When we were packing the panda's lunch box with eucalyptus leaves, the evening bell of Dujiangyan was heard in the distance, startling the egrets from the trees.

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