Li City, West Gate.
Leave through the West Gate and you're heading toward Five Rams City. There are always trading caravans coming and going, from dawn to dusk, the traffic never stops.
Near halfway down the street by the West Gate, there's a corner stall, run by a married couple selling steamed buns, soy milk, congee, and meat pies. Behind their stall is a half-residential, half-commercial storefront, where the couple lives.
There's a little kid, about three years old, babbling away, tottering when walking, chubby little face with a bit of drool at the mouth. Oddly, the kid has a rope tied around his waist, about one and a half zhang long, with the other end tied to his mother's waist as she bustles outside the storefront.
It's almost noon now, and the couple is getting ready to close up shop.
"Two bowls of soy milk, five meat pies."
"Oh, having breakfast now?"
"I'm eating it as lunch. What's wrong? Closing already?"
