Li Wangyou really couldn't do something like asking a twelve or thirteen-year-old little girl to bathe him. After all, he was a good kid who grew up under the red flag.,She reached for the soap, but all she saw was a small bucket filled with yellowish-brown grease.,Jiāng's neck was stiff as he twisted it from side to side, taking in the scene. It was still that same bathhouse: blue-tiled roof, whitewashed walls, and on a wooden rack beside him hung his own long robe, freshly taken off...。