It was the ninth day of the first lunar month, half past eight in the morning, and winter sunlight flooded the River Dam.
Zhang Ruyun was polishing his motorcycle in the doorway yet again. Using a damp rag soaked in warm water, he rubbed at the metal inch by inch with painstaking concentration. Yet, whenever he thought of his girlfriend drifting further and further away, the sorrow on his face proved impossible to mask.
Tóngtóng, his little cotton-padded jacket of a little sister, crept up to Jiang Ning and whispered craftily, "He looks like he's about to cry."
Chapter 897