The noisy city was alive, vibrant, and full of motion. The surroundings were beautiful — bright lights, the hum of engines, hurried footsteps — all blending together like a living painting.
On the left side of the street stood a shiny red Mercedes-Benz, the newest model, parked behind the city's most prestigious restaurant. The restaurant's wide glass windows reflected soft lights onto the car's polished surface.
On the right side, two couples were sitting on a bench, holding each other close, whispering and laughing quietly.
— "Luo Li, you're crazy, really…"
— "Heh, you made me crazy, darling…"
Their soft voices slipped through the busy street noise.
A little further ahead, an old, worn-out bicycle stood beside a black stray dog. The dog sat still, eyes fixed in one direction—not watching the crowd, but waiting. Waiting for someone. Anyone could see it was expecting its owner.
Behind the street was a row of small shops—the kind of area where you could find almost anything. Bright signs, colorful displays, and the constant movement of people filled the place.
From that row of shops, a young man walked out. He was about 180 cm tall, well-built, and walking with a calm confidence. His hair wasn't too long; it was neat and fitting him well. He wore a black jacket and black pants—simple, but stylish.
But the most striking part of him were his eyes.
His left eye—red.
His right eye is blue.
Like a yin-yang circle split into two colors, opposite yet complete.
He was talking on the phone as he stopped at the traffic light.
— "Mom, I bought the pasta and the meat… but I didn't have enough money for the other thing you wanted."
On the other side, his mother's warm, gentle laughter came through:
— "Haha, it's fine, son. You can get it next time."
The young man nodded slightly, smiling to himself.
He slowly walked forward, still speaking with his mother, until he reached the old bicycle and the black stray dog.
The dog immediately recognized him, standing up, wagging its tail, and eyes shining with excitement.
He patted the dog's head.
— "Let's go home, Masterpiece."
The dog let out a soft whine, as if saying, "Yes, let's go."
And so the young man pushed his bicycle forward, the dog walking loyally beside him, as they made their way out of the crowded noise of the city and toward home.
…
The young man lived in a village close to the city center. His house, from the outside, was old—built from worn wood, supported by three pillars, its green-painted walls faded with time. The roof looked as if it could collapse at any moment… Yet for the past eighteen years, it somehow never had.
The young man himself looked about eighteen as well. He pushed the door open with a creaking sound.
— "Mom, I'm home! Is dinner ready? I'm starving to death…"
Unlike the outside, the inside of the house looked much better. The whole place was about ten by fifteen meters—not really a house, more like one big room, but organized enough to feel like home.
In the upper left corner stood an old stove.
In the right corner, a study desk; beside it, a messy pile of books and notebooks scattered on the floor.
To the right of the entrance door, up against the wall, was a tiny two-meter kitchen area.
On the left side, a small wooden rack for shoes and clothes.
It was simple, small, and humble—but it was home.
In the center of the house, an elderly woman lay covered in a thick blanket. Her hair had turned completely white, her face lined with deep wrinkles. She looked around seventy-five, maybe eighty—anyone would mistake her for a fragile grandmother.
— "Mom, are you alright? I'm home…"
he said while changing his clothes.
— "Today my manager said he will raise my salary. Soon I'll earn enough for us to buy a new house… If I save for ten years, we can live in one of the best places in the city center."
The room was silent.
Aside from the young man's voice, there was no other sign of life—no warmth, no sound.
It felt as if the guardian spirit of the home had long since departed.