Chen Zhou has dug at mouse holes seventy or eighty times since he was a child, but never once succeeded.
Most of the time, digging was just a way to vent frustration over failure, not a fallback plan.
With a bucket of cold water ready, a shoulder pole carrying a small wooden box, a wooden cup, and a pickaxe, Chen Zhou called to Lai Fu resting at the hole's entrance and headed towards the sunny slope.
In the early morning, the sunlit side of the mountain was already basking in sunlight, growing warmer.
The shadowy area was still shrouded in shade, and as he stepped downward, the light breeze felt chilly against his skin.
Lai Fu ran exuberantly ahead of Chen Zhou, occasionally stopping to look back and bark as if saying, "Hurry up, master."
When it got impatient, it would suddenly leap forward, its tail stretched out, and dash madly ahead.
Even if it ran out of sight, there was no need to call for it; it would soon return, wagging its tail merrily.
