He was an old man with half a hand disabled, not walking very steadily, and completely worn out.
Age...
Feng Chengyue couldn't quite guess, he looked to be in his sixties or seventies, but considering folks from the mountains are generally weathered, with poor skin, he could very well be in his fifties.
The old man's left hand had several fingers amputated, leaving just the thumb and index finger, making his hand look rather startling.
When his limping foot saw Qiu Mingyan arrive and excitedly went to bring a stool, the hobbling appearance pained Feng Chengyue's heart.
The old man was weaving bamboo baskets, and in the yard, large and small baskets, each one intricately woven and exquisite.
But perhaps now that societal living standards have collectively risen, fewer and fewer people use these old tools, the old man's business couldn't be good, otherwise there wouldn't be such a large inventory in the yard.
