Deep in the alley, a breakfast shop was flanked by a Rolls-Royce and an unassuming Red Flag car parked not far away.
Xiaozhang and Zhuang Ming stood guard quietly by the cars, non-smokers both, bored enough to watch the snow drift through the sky.
Light snow was falling. A weathered wooden table stood at the entrance of the breakfast shop, and withered tree branches lined the street.
Zhou Xiangqun and Zhou Luchen sat opposite each other at the table.
On the table were two steaming bowls of mutton noodle soup, two cups of mild and sweet floral tea, and a plate of freshly fried dough sticks—simple, standard fare.
Zhou Xiangqun, in a black jacket, methodically separated a pair of wooden chopsticks, aligned them carefully, and then passed them to Zhou Luchen.
As the eldest son in the family lineage, he had always wished for his younger brother's well-being.
"Who angered our Second Young Master and got him to drink so much last night? Such impulsiveness doesn't suit you."
