"Whine, whine, whine..."
Little Yellow sensed that his dad was feeling down and did his best to nudge his palm with his wet nose.
Yang Ge smiled, rubbed his plump head, and said softly, "I'm all right. Go play."
Little Yellow refused to leave. He leaned against him, resting his head quietly in his lap.
His little head couldn't understand why his dad was troubled.
But he knew his dad needed his company.
Yang Ge held his dog with one arm, gently patting him.
With his other hand, he held a palm-sized teapot, taking little sips of scalding tea as he gazed at the waning crescent newly risen on the horizon. In his ears rang the shouts of his neighbors on Firewood Gate Street, calling their children home for dinner...
This brief moment of peace was like the gauzy moonlight, gentle and serene.
Or like a lover's warm, soft palm, brushing lightly over a cold, stiff face.
It tugged at a good man's adventurous heart, tempting him to lie down and immerse himself forever in these comfortable days.
A truly brave heart never feared hardship, only a life without ripples.
Yang Ge quietly observed the tangled thoughts within him, saying nothing for a long time.
Only when the warm teapot began to cool did he suddenly laugh and murmur to himself in a teasing tone.
"You'd throw away your life, so long as you could be comfortable!"
"You're not afraid of dying, only of being uncomfortable!"
"Yang Ge, oh, Yang Ge. You're just an ordinary man, after all..."
Finally, his smile faded, and he told himself earnestly, "I know you never intended to become some great man. But someone has to do these things. If it can be Li Ge, Zhao Ge, or Zhu Ge, why can't it be you,