Shen Yi heard the commotion and came out of the main house just in time. It was winter now, and the grapevines were just bare sticks. The courtyard was empty and bleak, but Qin Jiao, dressed in a light blue padded jacket, instantly became the sole splash of color in the small yard.
Shen Yi watched her carrying so many things. Just then, music started blasting from a stereo at a neighbor's house, and a song played: "A chicken in my left hand, a duck in my right, oh oh oh, going back to my mother's home."
He couldn't help but laugh out loud.
The scene was just too perfect.
The corner of Qin Jiao's mouth twitched. She glared at Shen Yi. "What's so funny? Aren't you going to come give me a hand?"
Her mom was a sincere soul; the sweater she had knitted for Shen Yi was huge and heavy. The other bag held frozen tofu—still solid, with bits of ice clinging to it, and it was seriously heavy.
There were also salted duck eggs and freshly made buns.
