The weather was getting colder, and Old Zhao got up late, ultimately missing breakfast at Song Tan's home.
When his car stopped, he went straight to the kitchen, only to find the pot with nothing but water warmed by residual heat.
"Ah!" He slapped his thigh, visibly regretful, and familiarly made his way to the room with the fire. Spotting a group of people sitting inside, he froze in surprise:
"You've got guests again?"
At the same time, his small eyes scanned the crowd warily before pulling Song Tan aside to whisper:
"This close to New Year, you haven't brought in more wholesalers, have you? If you've got something to sell, why don't you think of me first?"
Song Tan brushed him off casually: "Next year, next year! With the harvest, there'll be more of everything, and I'll definitely save some for you!"
She then turned to Old Zhao's nephew and asked, "Young man, have you eaten? If not, have some water first..."