"Mr. Dàkōng, do you know that elderly gentleman from just now?" Heath followed Dàkōng, unable to contain his curiosity as they walked, and asked in puzzlement. He still did not quite understand why that elderly gentleman had two sets of taste preferences.
"I do. That old fellow was among the first residents of our nursing home, too, but he's had a hard life." Dàkōng took a drag on his cigarette. The old man was a heavy smoker; this was already his second cigarette. Heath had no idea when he had developed such a strong addiction.
Heath listened patiently without speaking. Right now, he just wanted to be an ordinary onlooker and a good listener.
"His name is Luota. He used to be an outstanding dancer, the kind who won awards. Later, after he moved in, his wife passed away. From that day on, Luota went mad. He said his wife hadn't died, that she had merely attached herself to him and was living happily with him. He also kept asking me to make a portion of food for his wife." Mr. Dàkōng shrugged, but Heath froze. Why did that sound so...
Unusual?
At first, it really had sounded like mental illness, enough to make Heath wonder whether the nursing home needed a psychologist on staff. But then he remembered what he had experienced earlier-the change in taste preferences when the elderly gentleman turned around.
"Mr. Dàkōng, may I ask if you know what flavors Mr. Luota's wife liked?" Heath asked urgently. He felt this was a very important clue.
"Hmm? Of course I do. Luota's wife used to live in our nursing home, too. She liked sour food, quite a distinctive preference." Dàkōng calmly took a drag and blew a smoke ring, but turmoil surged through Heath's heart. He remembered