The alleyways of the village were like a palace of childhood memories.
At every turn of the flagstone path, yellowed scrolls of memory would slowly unfurl upon the mottled old walls.
Shen Yuan came to a stop outside an old outhouse.
The outhouse had long been abandoned, but on its faded, yellowed wall, the marks of charcoal remained.
The graceful script transcended time, allowing Shen Yuan to picture a small child from long ago, charcoal in hand, carefully writing on the wall, one stroke at a time.
—Shen Yuan's Home.
A smiley face was hidden in the bottom right corner of the word "Home." The sunlight slanted onto just the right spot, a dip in the plaster, making the childish doodle shimmer against the mottled wall.
Shen Yuan pursed his lips, tilting his head toward Li Zhi with a soft scoff. He then pointed a finger at her. "Childish."
