Ye Qing and Zhao Chengshuang were sitting there while Black Bear went to order some dishes. How did he get into an argument with those seven or eight people?
"What's going on?" Zhao Chengshuang wheeled himself over and, joining Black Bear, gave those seven or eight people a stern look and said, "What's all this shouting about? Can't you have a meal without causing a scene? Have you no public manners? Do you even know what disturbing the peace is?"
Ye Qing did not get up; his gaze was fixed intently on a little girl in tattered clothes, not far behind Black Bear. The girl was only about six or seven years old, her face smeared with dirt, clutching a bag in her left hand filled with leftover food. Her right arm hung limp, clearly dislocated and completely immobile. Tears streaked her cheeks, and her body trembled continuously as she fearfully watched the group of seven or eight with a look of panic and helplessness. Yet, she still clutched the bag tightly, refusing to let go.
