Good could not even remember how he got back to his residence.
By the time he arrived at his house, it was around nightfall, and everyone was on their way back home. Smoke curled up from the chimneys, and he could hear people greet their families. The air was soaked with sweet aroma of porridge and the salty odor of sweat. The neighborhood was so lively and energetic that nobody would believe that this place was actually a residential area for refugees.
Good could smell the hope that empowered the energy and liveliness of the refugees. Residents here would be well fed as long as they worked hard. Within half a month, people could afford eggs and pork. Everyone was hopeful about their future, with their voice confident and their spirit high. Although the residential area was untidy and raucous, it was by no means dismal and miserable like a slum.
Everything here was colorful.
Except Good.
