Lying in a ditch was a one-person enterprise. Two people made it cramped. Three people turned it into something resembling a hot pot.

After roughly two minutes of silence in the grassy ditch, He Tangtang finally couldn’t take it anymore. He reached over and nudged Han Qingyu upward, like chopsticks pushing a meatball around in a pot.

Then he let out a quiet “hey” and waited for the other two to look at him. Pointing at himself, he said to Xin Yaoqiao with earnest emphasis, “Um… I’m seventeen. I won’t even be eighteen for a few more days.”

“Huh?” Xin Yaoqiao couldn’t help the involuntary sound that left her lips.

He’s actually a little younger than me?

Then, taking another careful look at He Tangtang, she said apologetically, “Sorry, Uncle.”

He Tangtang was speechless.

“I…” Xin Yaoqiao looked away and stared at the ground in a fluster, trying very hard to rein herself in. “Sorry, Little Uncle—no, young comrade.” 

Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help laughing.

Thankfully, He Tangtang was gracious...