Shen Que's tall figure appeared outside the train station, and the longing to return home after so long made him take a deep breath.
The air in his hometown had its own distinctive smell.
"Cough...cough—"
The smell of smoke was overwhelming!
Shen Que glanced at an old man beside him, his face full of wrinkles, holding a dry tobacco pipe.
He nodded to the old man, who asked with a grin, "Young man, want a ride on the tricycle?"
Shen Que declined.
As a grown man, how could he have the nerve to sit in a tricycle pulled by an elderly man?
After refusing, Shen Que headed towards the bus stop, while behind him, the old man with the tobacco pipe knocked out the ashes and smirked.
"A cripple...trying to be tough."
Shen Que's silhouette alternated between tall and short, unnoticeable when standing, but apparent when he walked.
Just as he expected, he could stand, but he limped.
