When Eric pushed open the door of the old bookstore, the door hinges emitted a long creak as usual.
This sound had become so familiar to him that it felt endearing.
Two months ago, he found the sound grating, but now it felt as if the bookstore would be missing something without that creak.
Just like the fog of Wudu, without fog, Wudu wouldn't be Wudu.
"Boss." He nodded towards Jeming in the rocking chair.
Jeming acknowledged with a hum, lifted his gaze from the newspaper to glance at him, then looked back at the newspaper.
As usual, there were no unnecessary expressions, nor unnecessary pleasantries.
Eric had gotten used to Jeming's reaction.
He went to the bookshelf but didn't select a book. Instead, he took out the medical book Jeming had given him from his chest pocket and sat on a small stool by the window.
The book was already very worn, with countless creases on the spine and fingerprints and sweat stains on the edges of the pages.
