The small alley exuded the cultural heritage of Hang City for a hundred years. It was narrow, with only dim streetlights in the alley. Moss and weeds could barely be seen growing at the corners of the walls.
Twisting and turning, Qinglan finally found the shop. It was her good luck that the old lady hadn't closed for the day.
"Grandma, do you still have osmanthus cake?" Qinglan asked the elderly lady softly in front of her.
Truly white-haired, the old lady had not a single black hair on her head.
The old lady looked up and saw a beautiful young woman speaking with a non-local accent. She smiled and said, "Young lady, what I made today is all sold out. Come back tomorrow."
Qinglan felt a bit disappointed. "I have to leave tomorrow and probably won't be able to come back. I've heard from an old gentleman that your osmanthus cake is the most authentic, so I thought of buying some for my friends to try. It seems they won't have the chance."
