The February spring wind is still cold, with snow on the roadside yet to melt.
At the roadside tea stall, the waiter lazily stretched and glanced at the guests filling the seats, pondering the shopkeeper's early morning encounter with a magpie—indeed a good omen.
It's not yet noon, and already so many guests have arrived.
With the shopkeeper making money, perhaps he'll be in a good mood, and life will be easier for everyone.
Yet, for some reason, the shopkeeper didn't seem all that pleased.
On the contrary, he appeared cautious, sitting behind the counter, seemingly counting accounts, but his gaze continuously roamed over the guests.
His left hand under the counter occasionally rubbed together.
This is his small habit whenever he's nervous.
The waiter was bewildered.
Is the shopkeeper getting so much money that it's making him anxious?
What is he nervous about?
