Zhou Moxing heard this and looked at Zhou Yinghuai with a meaningful gaze, slowly and deeply saying, "Do you not even have the patience to talk to me a bit more now?"
The two sat under the damp eaves in the afternoon, with a curtain of rain and a man-made pond between them, watching the opposite side where an actress sang the plaintive tunes of the Huangmei opera.
It was indeed a display of elegance, but the two involved were hardly absorbed in the performance.
The melodious and moving lyrics were simply fueling a war without smoke.
"With such a big accusation thrown at me, how do you expect me to respond?" Zhou Yinghuai laughed, his tone betraying no difficulty, "If I say I'm impatient, I'll unavoidably be accused of being heartless, but if I claim to be patient, not even I would believe it."
