Zhao Yan rattled on like a salesman, delivering a long spiel until his throat felt parched; he was in dire need of a glass of cool water.
He glanced around the kitchen and spotted some cool boiled water. He pulled out three bowls, set them on the edge of the stove, and poured each one more than half full.
"Dad, Uncle, have a drink. It’s too hot today. I’m dying of thirst, so I’m going first—please, help yourselves."
Chapter 115