Half a month is enough time for a person to get used to another city.
The sky of Wudu is always murky; Eric can no longer remember the last time he saw the sun.
Every morning when he gets out of bed, the view outside the window is the same as the day before.
The days are like the gears in a factory that never stop turning, monotonous, repetitive, and endless.
But recently, there's been a small, insignificant change in his life.
That old bookstore.
Eric himself can't quite explain why he unconsciously turns into that alley every time after work, pushing open that creaking wooden door.
Clearly, he has never spent a penny in that shop.
He has skimmed through a few of those old books, but he can't recognize most of the words, and even if he could, he wouldn't understand them.
He's not cut out for reading.
Yet he still wants to go there.
The young owner sitting in the rocking chair has a very peculiar aura about him.
