Mrs. Zhao hummed a little tune as she pushed her vegetable cart to the familiar marketplace, just like any other day.
She expertly stacked the fresh, dewy cabbages, then placed her old wooden scale—polished to a glossy shine from years of use—in the most convenient spot.
But… as she looked around, she felt something was off about the market today. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on.
'Why isn't Wang the butcher from East Street at his stall today? And why is the Fuman Building next door closed?'
Just as she was wondering, a regular customer came over to buy some vegetables and asked curiously, "Mrs. Zhao, what's going on today? The street feels a lot quieter."
"Who knows," Mrs. Zhao replied while deftly bagging the vegetables. "Maybe they have some family business to attend to." She didn't dwell on it, because a new customer had just arrived at her stall.
