Zong Yi
"Right, Han Chen?"
Han Chen paused, "Yes."
"You should set your phone to silent, out of sight, out of mind."
Buzz, buzz—the phone vibrated at an inopportune time again.
"Alright," Han Chen took out his phone.
On the screen.
Zhou Mo: Where are you?
Zhou Mo: Why are you not talking again?
Han Chen quickly replied: Busy.
Zhou Mo: Ok.
Han Chen switched his phone to silent mode, put it back in his pocket, and pretended nothing had happened.
Zong Zheng stubbed out the cigarette, threw the butt in the trash can, and asked, "Does anyone here know how to cook?"
"I don't," Han Chen said.
"Du Moliang probably doesn't either."
Zong Zheng washed his hands, searched through the drawers, and finally found an apron in one of the cabinets. He shook it out and put it on.
"Is the celery ready?"
"It's ready," Han Chen had removed the leaves, and was now rinsing the celery under the faucet several times.