"Whimper, whimper..."
Huang sensed his old dad's low spirits and tried to nudge his wet snout into the palm of his hand.
Yang Ge smiled faintly, stroked his chubby head, and said softly, "I'm fine, go play."
But Huang didn't leave; he leaned against him, his quiet head resting in his embrace.
His little head couldn't understand why his old dad was distressed.
But he knew his old dad needed his company.
Yang Ge hugged his dog, patting it gently.
In his other hand, he held a small teapot, sipping the scalding tea bit by bit while he gazed at the evening's waning moon, with the calls of Chaimen Street's neighbors summoning their children to dinner ringing in his ears...
This moment of tranquility, like the gossamer moonlight, was gentle and peaceful.
It was also akin to a lover's warm and soft palm, softly caressing a cold, stiff face.
Tugging at the heart of a man who wished for adventure, who wanted to lie down and forever immerse in this comfortable moment.
