In silence, early autumn had arrived, and the autumn breeze began to stir. In the evening, Chen Hao returned alone to the foot of his apartment building from the Yin Yang Master Association. Just as he reached the entrance to the staircase, he suddenly stopped, lifting his gaze towards the sky, dyed a fiery red by the setting sun. At that moment, a cloud above his head seemed to be shaped by the wind into the contour of his grandfather's face.
For a moment, Chen Hao was filled with bitterness; he missed his grandfather. Staring at that cloud, Chen Hao stretched out his hand, attempting to touch it. Under the illumination of the sunset's afterglow, warmth gradually filled the palm of his hand. He closed his eyes, the warmth feeling as if it were the temperature of his grandfather's face.
