Uncle Chuxia's house.
Lin Baojiang, Zheng Sanqiao, Liu Meiqing, and Lin Chudong were sitting in a circle on the kang, where a tiny kerosene lamp flickered like a bean-sized flame, casting everyone's faces in intermittent light and shadow with a hint of gloom.
Perhaps unable to bear the oppressive atmosphere, Lin Chudong got off the kang to find scissors and trimmed the charred wick of the lamp. The flame leapt fiercely, finally brightening the room a bit.
"Ah…" Zheng Sanqiao let out a long sigh, glancing at Lin Baojiang who was silently sucking on his tobacco pipe, "Have you decided yet?"
Lin Baojiang's furrowed brow slightly relaxed, "Although the old Secretary has retired, his prestige remains in place. He's so supportive of Luo Gangshun. I think we should hold off a bit."
