Jason | “ZayaaCafe and Nature-Studio”

Two weeks ago, one afternoon, I was driving my van, with Zhaomao and Lucky by my side, heading back to my home in Wanqiao from Dali Old Town. The town where I live is 15 kilometers north of Dali Old Town, passing through Yin Bridge Town on the way. Aruna’s Zayaa Café is located not far from the Old Town along Dali Road, just a short detour into Xiaocen Village. I was thinking of stopping by if she was there to drop off the "Partners Program" cards that I had made.

At the beginning, I had planned to start from the team leaders' own studios, setting small goals first.

The café is at the entrance of the village, but the door was closed, and Aruna wasn’t home. The taro plants in the fields outside had grown taller, lush and green. Last April, she was still uncertain about whether to take the house and turn it into something. After we met, we agreed that she would try baking flower cakes, and after that, she decided to transform it into a studio.

Before becoming "Aruna who does everything," she had graduated with a sociology degree. After that, she mostly stayed at home in Shanghai, taking care of cats and dogs. When it came time to earn a living, she relied on her knowledge of pets to work at a pet store. She eventually made her way to Dali, where she rented land, built a house, and raised chickens. However, raising chickens proved difficult, and the policies were restrictive. She had once worked at Pirate Wine Castle, and it was there, about 8 years ago, that I first met her. Later, she tried organizing long-distance travel routes, opened a converted vehicle for long-distance camping trips, and sold roadside coffee. She then learned baking and opened a bakery. During the pandemic, she also spent some time working in Thailand. The timeline is hard to sort out, but once in a conversation, she said, “I like things with adventure.” She dared to make decisions, sometimes out of necessity, and other times for life experiences.

It had been raining all day the day before, and Lao Li and I were sitting in the kitchen chatting when Aruna came by in the evening, bringing some rice dumplings. After eating them, she went to the living room and used my automatic chair. After setting it up, she said, "Once I pay off my debts, I’ll buy one myself." She still hadn’t paid off the money she borrowed to renovate the studio and guesthouse.

Seeing the door of Zayaa closed, I didn’t stop the van and just continued slowly driving forward, through the village streets, and back onto Dali Road. The next stop was Li Zhenhao's newly opened "Mountain Nature Studio."

Last September, after our busy summer season, Aruna, He Chen, and Li Zhenhao started running Zayaa Café together. Aruna baked bread, Li Zhenhao made coffee, and later also offered specimen-making courses, while He Chen took care of the community lunch. In the off-season, everyone had plenty of free time, so we often went to drink coffee, chat, and have lunch together. Sometimes we’d even stay for dinner. It was often lively. One time, Chunyu cooked there, and many of us had dinner together, spending many wonderful moments. After finishing leading a group, we’d often end up back at Zayaa to relax, even if we were tired. (A record from the end of last year: Zayaa)

Half a year passed, and one day, He Chen decided to stop doing community lunches. Li Zhenhao also began looking for a house, planning to make it into an independent studio and living space. The trio's time at Zayaa ended, and the lively café disappeared. Many people might feel regretful, but I don’t think it’s entirely negative. I don’t even want to know the exact reasons for the disbandment because it isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Once, during a conversation, Li Zhenhao said, “After coming to Dali and doing what I do now, I feel for the first time that I don’t have to rely on a system (probably referring to working in a company), and that feels great.”

People can only walk together for a certain period, whether long or short, and ultimately, they will part ways. Maybe we’ll walk together again in the future, but that’s another story. I’ve always believed that freedom is the ultimate goal of pursuit. Since people are different, they have different ideas and new experiences at different times, and it’s hard to stay together forever unless there’s a reason you can’t compromise. Now, everyone is freer, and we have a period we can look back on with fond memories.

In March, Cheng Chang sent me an old video, and I captured this photo from it. He was probably sorting out old materials and sent them to me, maybe out of nostalgia for the passage of time. “You were so thin back then, and so was Dahuai. As for me, I’ve always been fat.”

When I saw the video, I suddenly thought of something and asked him which year it was from. “April 2016,” he said. It was Pudding’s 100-day party, so that’s how he remembered.

Yes, that was the peak of Midnight Canteen’s popularity. Watching the video, Xiao Chun, Huahua, the tailor, and Yang Liu were all there. The fame was spreading, business was good, and the tailor was in charge of dine-in, while Xiao Chun took care of the take-out. Everything was growing, and there were many talented people. However, a few months later, the tailor opened his own "Tailor’s House" ramen restaurant, Xiao Chun left to prepare for his own "Chunlu Tavern," and Xiao Feng and Yang Liu also left. He Chen, who had just joined a few months earlier, gradually took over managing Midnight Canteen.

Actually, leaving doesn’t necessarily lead to a better income, but each person has their own stage in life and psychological needs. It was like when Xiao Chun first left before (this time it was his second departure). He said, “I can’t just keep cooking in the kitchen.” If joining "Midnight Canteen" helped him find something to do and stay in Dali, then later he would face new life dilemmas. The tailor also had a drive pushing him toward entrepreneurship.

Xiao Li left and returned to "Midnight Canteen" more than four times. She went to work in Shanghai and traveled around, intermittently coming back to work. She’s now taking photos for tourists by Erhai Lake. Both He Chen and I asked her if she wanted to lead groups, but she declined.

From those past experiences, what I’ve realized is that the separation of two people or a group has more uncontrollable factors. You can only do your part, and sometimes you’re the one who wants to leave, and eventually, everyone will go their separate ways. "Cangshan Trekking House" will not be an exception.

At that time, driven by a simple concept of “freedom,” I didn’t mind someone leaving because it was a personal choice. Also, because everyone did nearly all of the work in the store—shopping, preparation, taking orders, cooking, cleaning, inventory—the operations didn’t face big issues. We didn’t rely too much on any one person.

However, in the current team structure of "Cangshan Trekking House," I’ve developed some new thoughts on "freedom." It’s not only about being free to leave, but also having the ability to leave when necessary. Li Zhenhao said, "You can survive even outside the system," and that must be a great feeling. Therefore, I should not build a new system that is unfree. Instead, I hope for a larger system made up of several "small free systems." People can join together or leave as needed. Working together will make us stronger, but leaving can also work out, even if it’s a little harder. This is the small price for freedom. The most important thing is that if you have the ability to leave, your staying will be sincere.

This idea came to me after last summer. I mentioned it in "Crossing Baishi Creek" in early September last year. It’s now being practiced and refined. From each group setting up their own public accounts, Xiaohongshu, registering their own organizations, opening new routes, writing route copy, and scheduling events, to a month ago, we stopped centralizing customer service. Each group now connects directly with customers, arranges orders, and operates almost independently. It just takes some time to accumulate and form a complete structure.

Li Zhenhao’s "Mountain Nature Studio" is at the foot of Wuwei Temple Mountain, in the last row of the village near the mountain. She spent more than two weeks renting the space, decorating it, and arranging the furnishings—one room for coffee, one for work, and a small bedroom. She hadn’t done any renovations before, so she must have learned a lot. Also, A Jie’s family helped, which saved some effort. I’m glad to see her becoming more independent.

When I arrived, the door was closed, and Xiao Qi was sitting outside. He said he had just brought an activity group down from the mountain and stopped by for a bit. Li Zhenhao was supposed to be back in 15 minutes. Recently, she hosted a Dragon Boat Festival activity making mugwort door hangings, taking customers up the mountain. I sat beside Xiao Qi, and he poured me a glass of iced red tea and some fruit, which was leftover from the afternoon tea prepared for the activity group. We chatted and waited outside, not in a hurry. Xiao Qi had worked at Midnight Canteen for quite a while, and he was He Chen’s buddy. He had just returned from Shanghai or Beijing, where he was working in game modeling, but found it uninteresting. Now he’s slowly starting to help He Chen lead activities. He knows a lot about plants, animals, and insects, so it won’t be long before he adapts to this new role.

After about 15 minutes, Li Zhenhao still hadn’t returned, and I guessed she must have been enjoying herself, gathering herbs and plants. This is a good characteristic of a leader—they enjoy what they do and have more fun than the guests.

By the time she returned, it was nearly dark. I handed her the partner cards, and she quickly made a cup of coffee for me. After finishing the coffee, I headed home.

If I had the motivation to do grassroots promotion for the "Partners Program," it was largely because of people like Aruna, Li Zhenhao, Xiao Qi, He Chen, and others. I hope that before the inevitable parting comes, we can move forward together in a healthier way, spending more time working on something together. In the future, those moments and memories will be the most precious part.