Tang Li turned her head and indeed saw the fruit vendor's cart.
"Then I'll go buy some."
Having said that, she ran off to buy mandarins.
Song Baiyan stood still, watching Tang Li squeeze into the crowd with her bag containing notebooks and pens hung on her wrist, her short hair refreshingly sassy, her figure slender and graceful in overalls, standing among the older tourists, looking even more delicate and beautiful.
The night market was filled with temporary stalls where one could encounter light bulbs overhead.
Song Baiyan's gaze lingered on Tang Li's retreating figure, seeing her selecting mandarins, his throat subtly itching, his smoking habit, developed early in the military, not so easily curbed now.
He had just lit a cigarette when, at the cart, Tang Li was already paying.
Seeing the smile that touched her lips as she took the bag, a poem he had just read sprang to his mind—
"Weight and size disproportionate
Like the violet, so petite
Like the petal, so fluttering
