Strolling past the weathered exterior of the greenhouse, a silent observer of the gradual transformation of its front. He noticed the subtle signs of wear etched into the wooden structure.
The wood didn't seem to be treated to withstand the harshness of the passing winter. The coating, if any, had weathered, its hues slightly muted, yet the charm of the rustic architecture still stood beautifully against the increasing warmth of spring.
The term "greenhouse" initially perplexed him. In the beginning, it seemed a weird wordplay invented by the witty ger, an investment in frivolous pursuits. However, as the days unfolded and the seasons shifted and deepened, Xuan Yang started to see the value in such "indulgences."
It became less of a strange personal hobby, and more of a refined luxury few could even think of, being able to afford the greenhouse was beside the point.
