He lifted his head, once again sizing up Ah Lan.
The person before him was too clean, clothes brand new, face without a hint of hunger, and eyes full of spirit.
Even asking about "labor" was unusual.
"Where exactly... do you come from, and how did you end up... in this utterly forgotten corner?" The old man's hoarse voice inquired.
Facing the old man's unabashed confusion, Ah Lan knew his attire and state were out of place here and could no longer use ordinary excuses to dodge the question.
He chose to avoid directly answering the question and gently pursued the previous conversation:
"Just passing through." His gaze swept over those deathly silent shanties:
"Where have all the people gone?"
The old man's cloudy eyes still fixed on Ah Lan, as if calculating something, his chapped lips moved a few times, almost sighing as he spoke.
Then his trembling hand weakly pointed toward a direction cloaked in yellow dust, his voice carrying a resigned despondency:
