As traffic jams and other trappings of urban life return to the streets of Wuhan, something in the city's old town feels off. Where is Auntie Xiong?
Before the coronavirus outbreak forced the city into a monthslong lockdown that was lifted on Wednesday, Xiong could be seen every day at her breakfast stall at a bustling corner on Shenyang Road.
She was there every morning, standing behind a wok of sizzling oil, dripping in sweat and frying one of Wuhan's best-known breakfast snacks.
The snack, called mianwo, is a savory, doughnut-shaped bun that pairs with Wuhan-style rice wine or hot-and-dry noodles, a famous breakfast staple in Wuhan.
Xiong, in her fifties, had been at it for more than a decade. The business had allowed her family, originally from a northern suburb of Wuhan, to raise three children in the city center. In the process, she built a loyal base of hungry Wuhanese who craved the fried dough every morning before they went off to work.
"It was the best mianwo I've ever had," Mr Zeng, a 50-year-old Wuhan resident, told Inkstone. His family of three were all fans of Auntie Xiong's mianwo.
"The ratio of rice flour and soy was just right. The outer ring was soft and meaty, and the inner side was brown and crispy."
But people like Zeng will never have that mianwo again. Auntie Xiong is gone.
Xiong died during the coronavirus outbreak that devastated the city. She was suspected to have contracted the disease.
"I was so sad when I heard (she died)," Zeng said, who had come to know Auntie Xiong well from chatting with her during waits that could be as long as 40 minutes.
"When we go onto the streets again after these two months, the buildings will be the same. The trees will be the same. But some people will be gone."
The death of Auntie Xiong triggered a wave of nostalgia and grief among Wuhan people.
Her passing was another stark reminder of the permanent wounds the virus has left behind in the city of 11 million people and will leave in its path across the globe.
Officials said the virus killed 2,535 people in Wuhan since it reported mysterious cases of pneumonia in late December.
But the spread of coronavirus is now under control in the city, which has reported only one new coronavirus patient over the past week.
As the city reopened for business on Wednesday, more than 10 weeks after its January 23 lockdown, residents have celebrated the occasion by sharing photos on social media of their first meal after the end of the lockdown.
The fact that Auntie Xiong's stall will not be a part of the celebrations is all the more tragic.
Xiong's full name is Xiong Guifeng. (Guifeng, meaning "osmanthus and phoenix," is a common name for Chinese women born in the 1960s.) In an interview with ErgengTV published in January 2018, Xiong said she began selling mianwo more than 10 years ago to make money for her three children.
Every morning, she woke between 3am to 4am to prepare the ingredients " rice batter and soybean paste " and began frying the dough at 5am.
"Sometimes I feel it's not only for my family, but also for the old neighbors who have been eating (my mianwo) for more than a decade," she said.
"Some people moved away, but they still traveled across the city to buy mianwo from me. I feel really satisfied when I think of that."
Xiong now belongs to an unknown number of people who died before they could be tested for the virus, possibly due to a shortage of testing kits at the peak of the outbreak in Wuhan.
The buildings will be the same. The trees will be the same. But some people will be goneMr Zeng, Wuhan resident
Xiong's daughter told Pear Video that the mother had a history of diabetes and high blood pressure. Doctors suspected she caught the coronavirus when she developed a fever and shortness of breath. She was hospitalized and died a few days later.
Xiong's death did not garner national attention and she is not on the government's list of martyrs that included doctors, nurses and police officers killed by the virus.
But to her old customers, the passing of the beloved breakfast chef was a blow no less devastating.
"God, I grew up eating this auntie's mianwo," user Zhangzhou18 commented on a post about Xiong's death on China's Twitter-like Weibo. "I have tears in my eyes."
"It's like Thanos snapped his fingers," Chichaniangzi, another user, wrote, referring to the fictional villain's ability to wipe out half of the living universe with a snap of his fingers. "Suddenly people we know are disappearing."
Stories like Auntie Xiong's are now repeating in other parts of the world as the virus tears through the global community. Restaurateurs, priests and teachers are falling victim to the virus, and leaving a wake of grief behind them.
In New York City, one of the new epicenters of the pandemic, the Covid-19 death list includes Andreas Koutsoudakis, the owner of the popular neighborhood diner Tribeca's Kitchen, Dez-Ann Romain, a Brooklyn high school principal, and Nashom Wooden, a beloved drag queen.
In Wuhan, although most people have managed to survive the worst of the outbreak, their long healing process is only beginning.
"We are still a bit depressed," said Wuhan-based photographer Zhao Yingcong. The 33-year-old was a frequent customer of Auntie Xiong's, and remembers how she was always sweating a lot next to the frying wok.
"The end of the lockdown is not a victory. Malls are closed. Many companies have lost their businesses. People have to work harder to recover their lost incomes. Many problems are left unresolved."
Mr Zeng said that, about one year ago, Auntie Xiong joked that she could stop working so hard when she died.
"I said 'You must not die,'" Mr Zeng recalled telling Xiong. "'If you die, many of us would have no mianwo to eat.'"
For Mr Zeng, and many others like him, every morning is now a reminder that they live in a world where those words are a reality.
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