The old man carefully opened Zhang Jing's backpack; inside were some food, clothes, and a few other miscellaneous items.
No gun.
Confirming there was no threat, the old man put down his hunting rifle. "Why are you here?"
"Looking for gold."
"Did you find it?" the old man asked Zhang Jing.
“I walked up the riverbank, but found nothing.”
“You should have come in the summer.”
Zhang Jing didn’t argue. “May I leave?”
“Put on some clothes and come in for a cup of tea.”
Zhang Jing picked up his coat and put it on, grabbed his backpack, took Congmingdou, and jogged to catch up with the old man.
The house was about sixty or seventy meters from the riverbank. If it weren’t for the sled dogs, the old man wouldn’t have known Zhang Jing had passed by his door.
“What’s your name?” the old man
