Like the old man, an aged cushion, dingy and unnoticed by either sanitation workers or scrap collectors.
Su Ziceng had no intention of picking it up. Perhaps it was because it was so worn out that the old man hadn't taken it with him.
As fireworks burst in the sky again behind him, Su Ziceng hurriedly beckoned Pello to turn back and watch. Pello didn't immediately turn his head; instead, he squatted down and picked up the cushion.
Underneath the cushion, several layers had been stitched together with black thread. Touching it, the filling was not just ordinary cotton. The surface, worn from years of friction and use, had lost its original appearance. Ordinary people couldn't tell, but by touch, Pello could sense that the cushion was made of bear skin.
