At noon in the dog days of summer, the sun was so poisonous that it was as if it was about to melt the asphalt road. The air was filled with the smell of burnt asphalt, mixed with the steaming steam from the sycamore leaves on the roadside, which made it feel burning in the lungs when inhaled. Duan Chen squatted at the back door of his soon-to-open teahouse, holding a frozen towel that he had just taken out of the refrigerator and applying it to his forehead. The sweat beads on his forehead rolled down his jawline and hit the dusty concrete floor, instantly evaporating into a small piece of white mist.
"Damn it, if the weather gets hotter, I'll roast myself into jerky before my teahouse opens." He cursed in a low voice, with a clear voice unique to art soldiers. Even if he was complaining, there was an indescribable sense of rhythm. When he was just discharged from the army, he didn't think about either staying in the team or joining the system like his comrades, so he just thought about opening a small teahouse, raising a few pots of green plants, brewing a pot of good tea, and living a peaceful life. For this reason, he saved up money for half a year and bought this small storefront in an old alley. The decoration had just been completed and he was waiting to choose an auspicious day to list it.
