Huo Wen never thought in his life that he would die so useless.
The June sun hung scorchingly above our heads, and the stone roads in the east city of Chang'an were scorched by the sun. The vendors selling herbal tea on the roadside were shouting at the top of their lungs, and the air was mixed with the smell of horse manure and steamed cakes. Huo Wen squatted in front of a noodle stall, holding a bowl of mutton noodles in his hand and sucking hard.
"Boss, your side is not good. There are only three slices of mutton, and they are so thin that light can pass through." Huo Wen talked to the boss while eating.
The owner of the noodle stall is a fat man in his fifties. He is busy kneading dough in his hands without raising his head: "If you like it, eat it or not. If you don't want to eat it, go away. What do you want for three cents a bowl? How about you go to the one in Dongtou, where it costs five cents a bowl. It's a lot of meat, and you'll have to eat it for three days."
Huo Wen was delighted: "Yes, I'll eat your side. The three pennies are well spent, and you can also listen to a stand-up comedy."
