It was high noon by the time Zhao Yan arrived home. The sun was at its most unforgiving, and since the ox cart lacked a canopy, the scorching rays beat down directly upon them, turning their skin a fiery red.
Zhao Yan reached up to touch his hair, and it felt as if it had been singed by fire—it was searing to the touch. The straw hat he wore seemed to offer no protection at all; at times, he even worried the blistering sun might set the straw ablaze. Not only was he drenched in sweat, but his face had flushed a deep, irritated crimson, as if he were suffering from an allergic reaction.
"Should we find a place to rest for a while? Going on like this under this sun won't do," Zhao Gao suggested. Having grown accustomed to farm work, he was used to the heat, but Zhao Yan was different. He was a man who usually spent his days cooped up inside with his books, and Zhao Gao truly feared he might collapse from heatstroke.
Chapter 259