As the saying went, people needed fine clothes just as Buddhas needed gold adornment. Dressed and groomed, Li Xiaoya looked every inch a handsome, dashing scholar. He felt rather pleased with himself, but feigned solemnity as he said, "All right, get back to your work. I'm going out for a stroll!" With that, he stepped outside.
Walking down the street and watching the people coming and going, Li Xiaoya felt as though a lifetime had passed. He did not know why, but he kept feeling out of place among these people, these streets, and even the air itself.
Li Xiaoya wandered through the streets like a ghost before finally realizing what it was. Walking here, he felt nothing but estrangement. He did not belong here. No matter how bustling or lively it was, he felt that his aura, his body, and even his soul were different from those of these people, as though he and they were not even the same kind of being. The feeling left him deeply unsettled.
"Waaah!!!"
"Mother!!! Don't die!"
"Mother!!!"
A sudden burst of crying caught Li Xiaoya's attention. He looked toward the sound and saw two children in tattered clothes, one around eight or nine and the younger only six or seven, desperately shaking a motionless person lying on the ground in a small alley. Their cries were heartrending, though he did not know what had happened. Some passersby merely glanced over before walking coldly away. Others stopped to watch and muttered among themselves. Not one was willing to step forward. Plenty of little beggars like these died in this city every year.
"Uncle! Please help me! My mother's dying!" Seeing more people gathering around, the older little beggar hurriedly lunged toward a middle-aged man.
"Get away!" The middle-aged man dodged aside in alarm.