Deng Hu Zang | Live in Dali, Die in Dali

sting left

Unexpected but not sad

Unexpected because two days ago I went to his brother's restaurant, Yuexiang Yuan, and talked with his brother about his recent situation.

The next day, an old friend returned from Lanzhou to Dali, and I made an appointment with him to visit Sting the next day and buy some coffee beans. But that very evening, Sting passed away peacefully.

Not sad doesn't mean not grieving. I heard from Jiahao that he didn't suffer when he left; it was very peaceful. At the last moment of his life, he was with the things he loved most. Compared to being in a hospital ICU with all kinds of pain and torture, this might be the best way to part with life and death in present-day China.

I first met Sting 13 years ago in Dali. I thought he was so cool, enveloped by his warm big-shot aura, and then conquered by the various delicacies he personally cooked. At that time, Renmin Road was not as bustling as it is now. At the intersection of Renmin Road and Yeyu Road, there was a shop called COFFEE Shop. Yes, you read that correctly, it was plainly named COFFEE Shop.

Anyone who has been to this shop should remember that Sting was at his peak back then, always wearing a floral shirt and flip-flops. He worked unhurriedly, selecting coffee beans, and single-handedly preparing salmon feasts for 30 people.

At that time, I had just arrived in Dali, carrying the bad habits of city people. Perhaps in his eyes, I was a bit problematic—always asking questions, a bit flighty, not down-to-earth enough.

Until one day, he said, Master Deng, could you help me buy some metal cans on Taobao? I want to start a coffee shipping business. I even volunteered to help design the packaging. Sting just smiled and said, no need for design, no need for printing, I have my own ways.

Those who have bought Wuliang Mountain coffee should remember, whether it was resealable bag packaging or tin can packaging, Sting would personally pack them, carefully stamp them with hand-carved seals, and tie them with braided colored strings.

Later, at the Bird Bar Café, Green Peach, Peace Hotel, Embroidery Tower Salmon, he always calmly did what he loved. He spoke slowly, appearing casual but always showing concern like an elder. For a time, when I was alone in Dali, I also called him Papa along with Jiahao. Sting didn't particularly mind; he just smiled and made a cup of coffee as usual.

His first word when greeting people was an "ong" sound with a long nasal tone. For a long time, friends greeted each other like that. He didn't like too much excitement, but at every gathering, he was the one busy in the kitchen. Whether it was a small group or a New Year party with dozens of people, he would slowly prepare, cutting and categorizing a whole salmon like magic. Thick-cut sashimi, various hand rolls, tempura, fried fish bones, and a bowl of steaming hot natto soup.

When not busy, Sting liked to ride his motorcycle around the outskirts of Dali: Nanjian, Wuliang Mountain, Shuanglang, sometimes also to deliver coffee beans. I went out with him a few times. I remember he always rode a 50cc Jialing motorcycle at the front, with a very interesting posture, basically flying close to the ground at his speed.

These past few days, I selected a lacquer-repaired jar, contacted Jiahao, and said I wanted to see Papa for the last time and offer this repaired jar as a container for his ashes, as a keepsake.

People often ask me why I choose to live in Dali. I basically reply, not just live in Dali, but also die in Dali.

Writing this text, exactly on the high-speed train from Kunming back to Dali. I haven't written such a long piece in a long time. Thirteen years of life in Dali keep emerging like the scenery outside the window, and keep disappearing.

The day after returning to Dali, it happened to be the Dongyue Temple Beggars' Festival. I wrote a few forms and sent Papa's soul back to his hometown.

Papa, the mountains are high and the rivers are long. We will meet again someday.

Let us live in Dali, die in Dali🤟

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