Su Mingxuan squatted in the only corner of the pavilion that was not leaking from the rain, and began to squeeze the water from his clothes. Water droplets hit the ground, forming small puddles. He stared at the puddles and suddenly remembered that when he left Qinghe County three days ago, Aunt Zhang next door stuffed three eggs into his arms.
"Brother Xuan, please recuperate on the road."
He confiscated it. It's not that you are noble, it's that you can't accept it. Aunt Zhang's husband died of illness last year, leaving behind three and a half-year-old children. She helped others wash clothes during the day and embroidered handkerchiefs to sell at night, so her life was tight. Those three eggs were probably saved for several days.
The dignity of a scholar sometimes has to be maintained even when one is hungry.
Just as he was thinking about it, a shuffling sound suddenly came from outside the pavilion.
