In the afternoon, when the sun was gone and the sky turned somewhat gloomy, a wind picked up, and rain seemed imminent yet not quite starting.
In the long, blistering summer season, this moment stood out as a pleasantly rare break.
Li Sanjiang leaned back in a rattan chair, holding a cigarette in his left hand and cradling a teacup in his right, while an old-fashioned radio, encased in a wooden box on the wall, was broadcasting the news.
Li Zhiyuan sat next to him, head down, eating watermelon.
The news was covering the situation in the Middle East.
Li Sanjiang sat up, extinguished his cigarette butt in a Jianlibao can filled with water, and then picked up the can and shook it.
"Grandmaster, have some melon."
"You eat, Grandmaster isn't craving anything."
"The melon's not sweet."
"Oh, okay."
Li Sanjiang, with a smile, picked up a piece of melon, thinking his great-grandson was trying to trick him into eating it.
He took a bite and immediately cursed:
