Sometimes, being a good son or daughter really wasn't about what you said, but what you did.
Wen Ning had heard that before.
But never before had he turned it over in his mind all through the midday hours the way he did that day.
After Grandma Li left, he sat alone in the shop and topped up that pot of jasmine tea twice.
There weren't many customers that afternoon, and Zhang Siyu and Lu Ming had both gone out. On his own, he could only read his book on Mysterious Gates and Hidden Jia.
A little after four, Wen Ning got up and went to the doorway for some air.
He had barely reached the doorframe when he spotted a middle-aged man walking over from across the street.
The man was in his early forties—Grandma Li's second son.
He carried several plastic bags and looked as though he had just come back from the market.
His face was flushed with heat and irritation, his forehead covered in sweat. As he walked, he raised an arm to wipe it away.
Wen Ning thought for a couple of seconds, then stepped out of the shop and waved to him.
"Hey, there you are."
The middle-aged man stopped and looked toward the voice. A flicker of confusion crossed his eyes when he saw Wen Ning; clearly, he couldn't remember who he was.
"Got a moment to talk?"
Wen Ning sounded casual, as though he had happened to run into someone he knew and was just saying hello.
But the man reacted far more warily than he had expected. He remembered who Wen Ning was now—the person who had chatted with his mother yesterday.
He looked Wen Ning up and down without moving, the confusion in his eyes quickly giving way to suspicion.