Time had reversed to not long ago.
In the heart of an area dense with academies, there stood a music store nestled in a small alley.
Positioned between two middle schools, the store owner was an elderly man who accompanied his grandson to school. Here they sold old CDs and videotapes, trendy music equipment, and also some books and stationery. After class, high school students usually headed straight for the food and beverage shops on Commercial Street, and only a few artsy students would visit this store, resulting in scant business throughout the day, much to the delight of the white-bearded old man who enjoyed the peace.
A young boy wearing a cap walked into the music store, greeted the owner politely, and then put down his backpack. This middle school student, faintly smelling of paste, was our unlucky Milais.
The old shopkeeper cheerfully greeted him,
"Ah, little Milais! I guess you went to a barbecue party at noon?"
