The wail of the police sirens abruptly quenched Run Sheng's fiery bravado. He drew out a stick of incense, lit one end with a match, and clenched the other between his lips, his cheeks puffing as he took a deep drag, pulling from it a sense of desolation.
Li Zhiyuan watched with curiosity, wondering if he could really blow smoke rings.
The next moment, wisps of light smoke spiraled from Run Sheng's nostrils.
He had begun smoking.
For a moment, Li Zhiyuan couldn't help but doubt if this was indeed the proper way to use incense.
He understood why Run Sheng was feeling downcast; Run Sheng was practically glued to the televison at home, and the local county station was fond of running gangster films on repeat.
Whenever he went out at night, Li Zhiyuan would always hear the slicing and gunfire coming from the first floor.
It seemed Run Sheng had ingested too much, and it affected him.
