It was morning in Qingshan Village. Sunlight shone through the window, falling warmly on the main room floor.
Jiang Guoqiang sat in a chair, holding a cup of tea. It had already gone cold, but he hadn't taken a sip.
He looked at the osmanthus tree in the courtyard. Most of the leaves had fallen, and its bare branches reached toward the sky.
"Honey, why do you think Xiaolu hasn't come by lately?" he asked, turning his head to look at Pan Lanfang, who was wiping a table.
Pan Lanfang's hands paused for a moment. Without looking up, she said, "He must be busy. He can't be running out to the village every day."
"But he used to come every few days, didn't he? It's been over a week," Jiang Guoqiang said, setting down his teacup. There was a hint of disappointment in his voice.
Pan Lanfang tossed the rag into a basin of water and turned to face him, her tone sharp. "He's a businessman, and it's the end of the year. He's busy. You think everyone has as much free time as you do?"
