Zhang Wei Qiang was on the rooftop terrace of his villa in the city.
Taking a small sip from his glass, Song Yong picked up a peanut and tossed it into his mouth, chewing slowly. Before him and Zhang Wei Qiang was a stone table with matching stools. The two of them sat facing each other, with just two small, one-tael wine cups, a simple plate of peanuts, and a dish of spicy dried fish between them.
A cool evening breeze drifted by, carrying a hint of chill, but the two men didn't seem to notice as they sipped their wine and chatted leisurely.
