He Ao flipped to the final photograph. It showed the entrance to the cleaning company beneath the setting sun.
Scattered groups of people were cleaning in front of the gates, while a picture frame as tall as a person stood in the middle of the entrance.
Inside the frame was a photograph of an old man. He wore a white shirt and plain trousers, his face lined with a little excess flesh. He sat quietly there, his aged gaze fixed ahead.
He seemed to be watching the distant skyscrapers, yet also the people close by.
He did not look particularly kind. If anything, he carried an imposing air that warned strangers away.
Yet simply sitting there, he gave people an invisible sense of security.
The sunset's radiance fell upon the photograph. Behind it was a faint glow, while before it lay dim shadows.
It was as though the place where the old man in the photograph stood was the boundary between sunset and night.
He stood there quietly, overlapping with that line between light and darkness.
Lonely flowers had been placed before his frame. They did not look like fresh flowers, more like handicrafts or plastic flowers—the kind Flo City's poor liked to use when mourning the dead.
Real flowers were still far too expensive for ordinary people.
Yet these simple, crude plastic flowers were piled up in the photograph like a small mountain, enveloping the frame.
The person in the photograph was Hawk's grandfather.
He Ao glanced at the date on the photograph. February 13th—it was Grandfather's death anniversary.
But Hawk had always mourned Grandfather at the family cemetery. Most of the time, he had believed that few people in the world still remembered Grandfather.
He had not expected there to be such a place in Flo City, where