The late spring rain wraps up the moisture from the south of the Yangtze River, weaving a haze on the bluestone slabs. The bamboo curtain of "Tingxue Teahouse" was lifted by the wind, and Lin Zhaozhao's hand holding the copper pot paused slightly - three newly brewed Biluochuns were steaming, but a few shadows suddenly hit the tea smoke.
"Lin Dafu! You're such an old gambler, you'd better hide!"
The rough male voice was like a poisoned needle, making all the teahouse guests shrink their necks.
Lin Zhaozhao raised his eyes and saw his father being dragged in by two burly men on his arms. The left side of his face was swollen and there were blood beads hanging from the corners of his mouth.
Lin Dafu's gray shirt was soaked with rain and his trousers were stained with mud. When he saw his daughter, he started crying: "Zhao Zhao, Zhao Zhao, save me!"
