A yellow dog lay sunning itself on the street corner. It barked at him a few times, ran over, and wagged its tail.
Bajie picked up a piece of flatbread and tossed it over. The yellow dog leaped up to catch it, its tail wagging even harder.
Then Bajie finished his noodles in one go.
He set the bowl beside his feet, leaned back, and sat on the ground with the back of his head resting against the doorframe.
The townspeople all left their doors open during the day, making it easy for Bajie to watch them.
Directly opposite, an old woman sat in her courtyard sorting vegetables. Her eyes were half closed, but her hands never stopped. Withered yellow leaves fell one by one beside her feet, forming a little pile.
Diagonally across from him, a young man sat on a bamboo stool holding a book, taking ages to turn a single page. Now and then he raised his head, closed his eyes, and muttered something. It was hard to tell whether he was reciting from the book or basking in the sun.
A man returned from outside town carrying two huge bundles of dry firewood on a shoulder pole. A sweat towel hung over his shoulder, and beads of sweat trickled down his neck. As he passed the shop entrance, he nodded to Bajie, then lowered his head and kept walking.
Two or three middle-aged women carried wooden washbasins toward the little river outside town, laughing and chatting. With the basins braced against their hips, they chattered away about this household and that.
Suddenly, two children in their early teens burst out of an alley, chasing a barred hen.
The hen flapped its wings and plunged headfirst into the pile of grass beside the yellow dog. Feathers scattered