The last rays of the sunset bronzed the forest and fields surrounding the new estate of the military commander's construction site.
Ah-Xia walked out of the construction site, his rubber shoes covered in red dirt, truly looking dusty and exhausted.
His thirty-year-old frame, weighed down by life, appeared somewhat skinny. His work pants hung loosely at his hips, and sweat stains on his back had formed visible salt marks.
When he took off his safety helmet, his hair, soaked with sweat, was pressed flat against his head like a comical bowl.
His right hand was wrapped in a blood-stained bandage, cut by wire while carrying steel frames in the morning.
His skin was as dark as a pottery jar warmed by charcoal, with rust-colored grooves etched into the corners of his eyes from years of labor. This was the common complexion of migrant workers in the subtropical region.
Weathered by the sun and wind, their hard work naturally resulted in this.
