For a long while, Fan Dai was silent.
Xiajun could see him recalling the events of his father's death as his expression changed from that of calm to one of fear and discomfort.
"Hmm," he murmured, staring at the ground. "I think it was two weeks ago? Three weeks? Honestly, I've forgotten. I remember him walking out to the field that day, early in the morning. The time was about. . . 5 a.m.? 6 a.m? I dunno." He shrugged, his face blank. "He called me after an hour or two. He was alive then, you know, when I went to see what he wanted. But I think. . ." Fan Dai's voice trailed off, as if he was hesitating.
"Go on," said Xiajun.
"I think I remember him being a little twitchy. He had difficulty in running the tractor. He said his head was hurting. He was walking kind of slowly, swaying on his feet, like he was drunk or something. But he clearly wasn't, because if he was, I would have known, and anyways, he doesn't drink. Religiously."
