The baby in the swaddling clothes didn't cry or make noise, his gleaming black eyes curiously roamed, reflecting the steep cliffs of the Gobi.
Li Yan rested his head against the motorcycle, facing a poplar tree, gazing at the horizon.
Under a canopy made from withered branches behind the motorcycle, a trickling sound of water could be heard; the woman poured a scoop of water over her shoulder, occasionally glancing at the baby by her thigh with tender eyes.
"This stuff, it's got side effects, huh."
Li Yan held the syringe in his hand under the purplish-red sunlight; the brown liquid flowed in the needle, gleaming brilliantly.
A soft palm searched back and forth on a tree branch draped with clothes; the woman, with her wet hair, peeked at Li Yan before answering, "People with poor constitutions might die violently."
