"": 200,
"": "",
"": "A child's compassionate heart.
Most children at this age were either carefree or unruly. Whatever their temperament, playing was surely in their nature!
"He was only a child" could mean many different things.
Zhang Ze was a child, too.
Yet Zhang Ze thought very differently.
He had warned a stranger that there was a ghost in his house.
He constantly paid attention to the absurd injustices in the Old District.
Sympathy could arise in an instant, but sustaining it was difficult.
And sustained sympathy was no longer merely sympathy. It was compassion.
To feel compassion for someone's misfortune and try to change their circumstances-that was true kindness!
Zhao Gang's wrinkled face was etched with pain, suffused with lifelessness and lingering despair.
Zhang Ze's support and words brought a trace of a smile to his face, but it quickly faded.
Luo Bin noticed that Zhao Gang glanced at the courtyard gate opposite them, and the anguish in his expression deepened.
Soon, the old man and the boy reached the door.
Zhao Gang raised his hand. His arm trembled uncontrollably, and only with great difficulty did he find the lock, insert the key, and open it.
The two went inside, and Luo Bin followed.
The courtyard was piled with "rubbish": neatly folded cardboard, all sorts of flattened bottles and cans, and a small amount of scrap metal.
With a clatter, Zhao Gang dropped the battered sack from his back.
Zhang Ze helped him over to a tap by the wall, turned on the water for him to wash his hands, then wrung out a cloth and wiped his face.
Then he led him into the main room and seated him.
He opened his schoolbag and took out biscuits, bread, milk, and other food, along with a lunch