The cold winter wind blew through the courtyard like a knife. He Yuzhu, an old man who had devoted most of his life to this small world, was standing alone at the door of his home. His body that had experienced the vicissitudes of time was slightly stooped, his shabby cotton clothes were shivering in the cold wind, his gray hair was messily scattered on his head, and his wrinkled face was full of pain and despair.
He Yuzhu looked at the familiar yet unfamiliar figure in the room, his lips trembled, and his voice contained the last hint of pleading: "Jia Gen, I am your stupid father, how can you drive me out of the house? I have given you three houses in this courtyard. I have worked hard to bring you up over the years, you can't ignore me!" His eyes were red, and turbid tears were swirling in his eyes. It seemed that he couldn't figure out why he had devoted all his efforts to get such an ending.
Inside the house, Jia Gian sat on the chair that once belonged to He Yuzhu. He glanced at the old man at the door with cold eyes and snorted: "How dare you say that? Look at you, what have you done in these years? What can you do with your little pension? There's no way you want to stay here now!" There was no trace of emotion on Jia Gian's face.
