Old things possess an ancient charm, making people reminisce and reflect.
The mottled rust seems like the marks of a thousand-year-old history, imprinted on the once-glorious yet now faded ancient door.
Lin Dapao stood in front of the door, his eyes seemingly traversing the river of time; the image of his childhood self picking up a ball at the doorstep gradually turning into the young man reciting poetry, the youthful spirit and heroism, and the calm, capable demeanor of middle age.
The figures in his memories continuously overlapped, and finally, as if in a dream, returned to the present. Lin Dapao felt that the bluestone slabs beneath his feet were somewhat familiar, still so recognizable.
Looking up at the Lin Family gate, it gave one the sense of an old man returning to his hometown.
