Zhou Li had spent five days at Zheng Zhilan's place.
It rained off and on during the first three days, but by the fifth day, the sun had baked the earth dry again.
On the little hill behind them, a flock of sheep grazed, scattered like puffs of white cotton, while a pack of dogs lay in the shade of the surrounding trees, occasionally lifting their heads to look around.
Zhou Li and Zheng Zhilan stood on the edge of an incline, picking a type of raspberry called Red Bubble.
The raspberries were flourishing. Zhou Li had seen them growing in the countryside when he was a child, but they were nowhere near as good as these. Here, the raspberries looked as if they were cultivated—big, red, and densely packed on vines that stained the slopes crimson.
The vines were thorny, and Zhou Li was careful.
Following Zheng Zhilan's instructions, he chose the bright red, large, and plump ones, eating as he picked.
