The room was empty, with nothing unnecessary left. The man's gaze finally settled on that pile of Xiangzi, and he picked up the picture frame at the top. He seemed quiet, with a stubbled chin and slightly drooping mouth. His gaze, through the reflection of black-rimmed glasses, fell on that photograph:
In the photograph, the cheering boy looked just as he did years ago, as if time had frozen at that moment. The image, captured with old technology, now seemed slightly aged. But truth be told, it wasn't that long ago—just seven or eight years back. Yet it felt like it had been as long as a century.
The memories from that time have become somewhat unclear —
He gently took out the photograph, turned it over, and saw some small writings on the back:
'Zhang Yu, r.e.D, Flutter_b, Ag,——R.'
As he looked at each name, the man's eyes slightly narrowed.
Until an urging voice came from outside. "F, how much longer?"
