The train slowed, the brakes screeching, and finally pulled into the station. The air was alive with noise, announcements echoing overhead, the murmur of hundreds of voices blending together, the rolling of countless suitcases across tiled floors.
Mianmian stepped off the train, clutching her bag tightly.
The air smelled faintly of exhaust and roasted chestnuts from a nearby vendor. She paused for a heartbeat, standing still in the swirl of the crowd.
Tomorrow begins today, she thought.
With that, she tightened her grip on the bag and walked forward, straight into the heart of Beijing.
The Beijing air was different. Thicker, busier, louder.
It was alot different from the towns.
Mianmian stood on the sidewalk outside the station, clutching the small piece of paper where she had scribbled the address of the Chinese Culinary Association Headquarters.
The place her and her master's recipes were meant to shine.
