The pickup truck was moving slowly along the mountain road, Song Tan was driving steadily, and Qiaoqiao wore a cloth bag across his chest, containing 4 clean cucumbers and two big bottles of water.
Apart from the seatbelt across his chest, there was also an old-style leather strap, slanting from shoulder to waist, tied in a dead knot, and his what's-it-called Seiro Ultraman, with a one-meter length too awkward to carry on his back, had to be hugged in front instead.
He looked like a hero embracing his prized sword, exuding an air of imposing swagger.
Suddenly, the car hit a bump.
Qiaoqiao immediately looked back anxiously, "Sister, will our watermelons get damaged from the bumping?"
"It's okay," Song Tan reassured him, "didn't you lay thick straw underneath? They're secure."
The straw had been brought back from her eldest uncle's home at the beginning of the year; it had been used for the pigpen, the chicken coop, the doghouse, and was almost all used up by now.
