On the sultry summer night, the cicadas on the tree branches were already weary, listlessly silent.
The once clear night sky suddenly flashed with a streak of lightning, followed by a rumbling thunder.
Over there, Aunt Zhou ran out from the house and shouted from afar to Wen Changrong, "Better get the old man back inside quickly. It might start raining any minute, and he doesn't walk fast."
Hearing this, Wen Changrong pulled at his old father's ear and shouted loudly beside him, "Dad, go inside, it's going to rain."
The old man didn't catch what his son was saying close to his ear, yet he pretended to have heard it, angrily yelling at Wen Changrong, "I'm not deaf, speak quieter. It's late at night, who's hosting the banquet?"
"I said rain, it's going to rain."
Wen Changrong's hair was turning white with worry, unable to clarify things with his father.
Still, Aunt Zhou came over, pointed towards the house, and gestured simply with her hands.
