Ten years later.
The cobblestone streets of the old town of Wudu had been repaved, with new stones filling in the potholes, their color slightly lighter than the surroundings, like fresh patches on an old dull gray coat.
The gas street lamps on the corner were replaced with electric lights, wires pulled over from the direction of the factory, weaving a dense web over the old town.
The bakery owner's wife was still there, but her son had taken over the business.
She sat in a chair behind the cash register, wearing reading glasses and knitting, occasionally looking up at the customers coming and going at the entrance.
The old bookstore was still around.
The paint on the wooden door had been redone, the hinges replaced with new ones, no longer making that elongated creaking sound.
The wooden sign on the door frame had also been replaced, its lettering more precise, with a simple pattern carved along the edge.
