In the small restaurant at dusk, it was packed with people.
When Zhao Chun went inside, the narrow restaurant happened to have no empty tables.
Among the five tables of guests, nearly all were occupied. Only one table had a young woman sitting quietly with her head down. This table could still accommodate another person. The other four tables were mostly normal, appearing to host people who knew each other, eating noodles and chatting at a pleasant volume—not too loud, not too quiet.
At the last table, a few men sat around it in a circle. Although they wore normal clothes, their demeanor was sleazy and unruly. They were drinking, and on the table lay seven or eight empty beer bottles scattered about, along with small plates of peanuts and pig intestines to snack on. Some peanuts had fallen onto the tabletop, lying around in twos and threes.
It was the sort of mess that anyone who likes cleanliness wouldn't be able to stand.
