"Where's Chen Xiao?"
"He said he's writing a paper. He plans to finish the first draft within three days."
"Tell him not to rush it."
"Okay."
Yang Ping hung up the phone, placed it face down on the coffee table. The living room was quiet, and kitchen noises from Xiao Su cooking echoed, with the spatula clashing against the iron wok making crisp sounds. Dabao lay on the carpet, having fallen asleep at some point, resting his head on his arm, mouth slightly open, breathing evenly, facing the window. The sunlight cast a faint golden gleam on his hair.
