ShangYan silently reached into his pocket once more, his fingers brushing against the worn photograph.
Twenty-three years. If the man in that picture had ever walked these streets.
Someone had to remember him.
The driver noticed the determination in his eyes and smiled kindly.
"Don't lose heart, young man. Sometimes people spend years searching because they're looking in the wrong place. Then one day..." He gestured towards the lively little town outside. "...they ask the right person."
ShangYan lowered his gaze before offering a sincere smile.
"Thank you."
The driver waved a hand dismissively.
"No need. If you're still here in a few days and haven't found anything, come back to the airport taxi stand. Most of us have lived on Y Island our entire lives. Even if we don't know the answer ourselves, we'll know who to ask."
Those words lingered in ShangYan's mind as he stepped out of the taxi.
