The dunship docked by the river, making meals less convenient than before.
Originally, we planned to take turns going back to the station to eat, but after clearing the snow off the pontoon bridge and just laying down some straw mats, Old Qian braved the cold wind and rode his bicycle over to deliver food.
He used small insulated pots, similar to thermos bottles.
They were all new, with three insulated pots for rice, three for dishes, and two for soup, even bringing along bowls, chopsticks, and soup spoons.
Watching him busily serving rice and pouring soup, Han Yu asked with a smile, "Uncle Qian, is that iron frame you had me weld onto the bicycle the other day for carrying these insulated pots?"
"Yeah, I've got nothing much to do anyway, so I thought I'd deliver the meals to save you all from running back and forth."
"Thank you, Uncle Qian."
"Don't mention it, eat it while it's hot. It's cold today; it'll be cool if you don't eat now."
...
