Feng Shan stared at the water stains blooming on the package, unsure if they were from rain or the passage of time.
These past years in prison.
He had long grown accustomed to the looks of disgust from outside the iron bars.
Now, the middle-aged man's words were like a dull needle.
It pricked gently at a long-scarred wound, bringing a faint, dull ache, but not the heart-piercing agony of the past.
'The man wasn't wrong,' he thought. 'I am a murderer.'
Feng Shan hugged the package, his fingertips brushing against a soft contour within.
But the argument between Uncle Luo and his son was getting on his nerves.
Unwilling to cause a rift between the father and son, he forced a smile and said softly, "Uncle Luo, Brother Luo, I have to go."
"No!" Uncle Luo stumbled half a step forward on his crutch, his cloudy eyes wide. "Back when you had your restaurant, you always looked out for my business. How can you just leave now that we've finally had a chance to meet?"
