Making Smoke with Pine Twigs and Washing A New Urn

When the old man returned to the Old Brush Pen Shop in Lin 47th Street, Sangsang was still squatting beside the stove, frowning at the burning firewood. She was attentively thinking about those Divine Skills she had learnt.

"Let's eat." The old man said.

Previously Sangsang was absent-minded and didn't notice that the old man left for some time in the middle. So she stood up surprised at his words, and looking at the edge of his clothes wet from snow water, she faintly understood something. Then her lip slightly lit up to show a smile.

The old man responded with a smile too and sat beside the table.

Sangsang didn't ask what he had gone to do, but served him a bowl of rice. And then she warmed the yellow croaker, pinched with chopsticks the fattest one onto the pile of rice in his bowl, and added a spoon of delicious steaming soup on it.

"What did Aunt Wu make at noon?"

"Lettuce with mashed garlic."

Sangsang asked, "Did it taste good?"