"Sorry, so sorry!" Driver Li hurriedly apologized, "The car in front suddenly turned..."
Qiaoqiao shook her head. "It's okay, Uncle. It's snowing. Just drive slower." Saying that, she smugly turned to Song Tan:
"Sister, am I right?"
Under the relentless chatter of this little motormouth, all of Song Tan's affection had been obliterated. At this moment, she replied perfunctorily, "Right, right, you're absolutely right."
Qiaoqiao could tell, though. She hummed a bit, pulled out her phone, and opened the calculator. "Uncle Chang bought radishes—40 a pound. Ten thousand yuan is 250 pounds. I didn't get it wrong..."
Driver Li finally couldn't hold back his curiosity and asked, "Kid, are radishes at your house really 40 yuan a pound?" This silly kid, pretending to do math like that—kind of endearing, honestly.
Just thinking about how he worked hard for a whole month, only to earn a little over 200 pounds of radishes... it really made him feel like a big joke.
