"My dear old friend."
In a military camp at the Persian Border, Song Heping met Avanti again, nearly two years since their last meeting.
The other's head had acquired more white hair, but those eyes remained as sharp as an eagle's; his beard was meticulously trimmed, displaying his strict attention to detail.
"Avanti, I'm glad to see you again."
"You've not been here for a long time." Avanti made way and gestured invitingly, "I hope you didn't have a full dinner, I've prepared some desserts and snacks, as well as some fine Persian black tea, I hope you will enjoy."
It was a simple arrangement as always, Persian woolen carpets on the ground, with Arabian water pipes, black tea, cookies, dates, and some mutton.
Avanti was very polite.
The two sat cross-legged on the carpet, with Avanti taking the initiative to pour steaming tea for Song Heping.
"When you called me today, I knew you must have run into trouble, my friend. So, tell me, what's the matter?"
