My emotions collapsed to the very core, it really hurts so much

The tainted oil scandal never ends, and there is no telling where it can be stopped.
Slippery as oil, my thoughts drift back to that pot of lard from fifteen years ago.

That was 1999, and it happened to be the moment autumn arrived. As usual, my mother went to the market and bought pork fatback, then slowly spent the afternoon rendering it into a pot of golden, clear lard. This pot of lard would be the basic ingredient for the whole family's annual hands-on making of egg yolk pastries over the following year.

I remember that back then, vendors would use lard to make the flaky pastry of mooncakes; but the lazy, shortcut-taking vendors used shortening instead. Shortening can also produce a flaky crust, but the aroma and the thin flaky part are somewhat inferior. I also knew shortening was not good, so at home we specially rendered lard to make it. Although it took a bit more time, at least it was made by ourselves, which felt much more reassuring.

At one time we would make four or five big trays, and could make extra to give to relatives and friends. With many children, they could eat their fill and be happy too.

That pot of lard was kept in the cupboard. In the middle of the night the earth shook violently; it was the 921 earthquake, and the lard spilled all over the floor. After taking the family and fleeing, then settling down and returning home, we discovered the slippery lard all over the floor that was so hard to clean up. We washed again and again before that troublesome lard was finally cleaned off the floor and the kitchen cabinets.
Lard, oh lard, after that time, our family no longer made Mid-Autumn Festival egg yolk pastries, and conveniently bought them from shops instead. Year after year we bought fewer and fewer, until only the number of mooncakes for offerings remained.

From then on, at Mid-Autumn Festival, barbecuing flourished mightily, and mooncakes were left as mere decoration to match the occasion. Whenever the festival came, nutritionists began to speak up with warnings, linking those ailments to mooncakes, crying out to eat less, eat less, do not eat, do not eat. Poor mooncakes, after being passed down through such a long history, were thus silently abandoned.
In the very end, with one splash of swill oil, the mooncakes took their final slip. Collapsed, that last thread of Mid-Autumn tradition will be destroyed by this last bucket of oil.

Kuo Yuan Ye, a 147-year-old shop.
Li Ji, the place of origin of Han pastries.
Lukang, the traditional culture of cakes and pastries, those delicate tea snacks as elegant as a crescent moon's brow.
Collapsed.

One pot of lard destroyed consumers' trust, but what was deepest inside was that tradition collapsed.

Before the lard incident, traditional Han pastry shops had long been changing their old ingredients and methods. For convenience they switched to shortening, saving the trouble of going to the market to choose pork fatback and sparing themselves the sweaty, hot-wok work of rendering lard. For convenience they bought ready-made bean paste, saving the effort of cooking beans and simmering bean paste. To satisfy these more convenience-seeking vendors, suppliers were born; finally, years of rising prices forced low prices to squeeze out this swill oil, and together with officials who completely refused to take responsibility and kicked the ball back and forth, swill oil was poured over the appetites of all living beings.

You ask what it is that collapsed, it is the soul of a people, culture.
The moment of self-collapse is also the moment when foreign culture enters deep within, as Japanese wagashi and French desserts replace the oily, smelly, belly-bloating mooncakes. Pinching their noses, the mooncakes flee into dark alleys and weep softly.

Mooncakes, oh mooncakes! Chang'e, oh Chang'e, the moon rabbit, oh moon rabbit, the mood for moon appreciation had long been filled with the smoke and fumes of barbecue. Tell me, what elegant mood of reunion remains for drinking tea and reciting poetry.