Three days later, on January 1st, China's festival, which is also commonly known as "New Year" in most countries around the world, marks the first day of the year.
The clear sky was rare and tinged with hints of red clouds. The long-awaited sunshine filtered through the mists woven by cold air, bringing a warm vitality to this frost and snow-covered land.
Most of the survivors at the villa got up early and gathered in the courtyard, enjoying this rare winter sunshine.
Old Zhao set up a wooden round table in the center of the courtyard. Luo Baocun, who was coughing, saw this and curiously approached to greet him, "Hey, Old Zhao, morning, what are you doing?"
Old Zhao was fretting about having no one to help with the work. Seeing Wen Quanxin coming forward voluntarily, how could he not make use of him? He joyfully pulled a piece of plastic wrap out from the pocket of his down jacket, handed one end to the former's hand, and said, "Just in time, help me spread this on the table."
