Dawn.
Garen was strolling alongside the street next to the river wearing his black coat.
On his left, sounds of river colliding against the bank could be heard. The midnight wind blended itself with the gloomy surroundings; one cannot help but to feel as if winter was just around the corner.
Garen had his hands inside the pockets of his pants while strolling; the coat masking the torn shirt that he was wearing inside. He unbuttoned his shirt and looked down on his chest, only to find the red mark on his exposed skin slowly fading away.
His hands reached to his stomach. Still can’t shake off the pain.
At the corner in front of the street, an old lady appeared in her gray gown, gently pushing her cart. On her cart stood a cylinder-shaped black container, and on the container’s surface were the words: 2 yuan milk.
