Her heart was pounding strongly and wildly. She knew she was bathed in the light of the setting sun, unable to hide, and he had seen her—or perhaps he had seen her all along, having been lurking there all this time.

  But then, immediately, she realized her mistake. The man was moving slowly forward, tapping his cane against the ground while his other hand felt along the surrounding walls.

  His eyes were open, yet he seemed oblivious to everything around him… He was blind!

  She let out a long breath, slowly lowering her hand from her mouth, but she was suddenly gripped by another, more sorrowful feeling.

  She kept her gaze fixed on the man, watching him struggle, stumbling and faltering as he moved through the ruins. He wasn't very young—probably over forty—and the hardships of life were clearly etched on his face. His features appeared particurly sharp in the fading light of the setting sun: a mencholic face, one marked by suffering yet vibrant and sensitive. And if not for his sightless eyes, he might almost have been considered handsome.

  He had thick bck eyebrows, a straight nose with character, and his tightly shut mouth gave off an impression of stubbornness and a bad temper. His clothes were not ragged; on the contrary, they were very well put together, neat and meticulous. His suit fit perfectly, his tie was neatly tied, and the bck cane with a gold-tipped handle was polished to a bright shine.

  Everything about him suggested one undeniable fact—he was not a beggar but a gentleman from high society. But why was he huddling in this ruin?

  He groped his way through the rubble and thorns, stumbling several times before struggling to regain his bance. The setting sun cast a long shadow of him across the overgrown grass, a shadow that was thin, long, and solitary. The way he fumbled and struggled looked so desote, so helpless, almost hopeless. Tears welled up again in Fang Siying's eyes. What kind of tragedy was this? Could there be any greater sorrow in life than being disabled?

  Just as he was about to walk directly into a pile of broken brick, Fang Siying instinctively jumped up. Without thinking, she rushed forward and managed to steady him just before he tripped over the debris. Panting, she called out:

  "Oh! Be careful!"

  The man was startled. He froze for a moment, and then, futilely, he turned his sightless eyes toward her. In a voice both alert and strong, he said:

  "Who is it? Who is it?" For a moment, Fang Siying didn′t answer. She just stared bnkly at the man’s face in front of her. She had lived for thirty years, but this was the first time she had seen such deep pain and urgent longing on a man′s face.

  When she didn′t respond, he raised his voice again, "Who is it? Who was that just now?"

  Fang Siying snapped out of her trance, took a deep breath, and said in a steady voice,

  "It′s me, sir."

  "You?" The man replied sharply, "But who are 'you'?"

  "My surname is Fang, Fang Siying." Fang Siying introduced herself with a sense of helplessness, feeling a strange absurdity rising within her. Introducing herself! Why was she introducing herself to him?

  "You don't recognize me," she said in a detached tone. "I was just passing by and, out of curiosity, I walked into this site of a fire, just to take a look."

  "Oh," he listened intently, as if deeply focused on her words.

  "Then the sigh I heard just now wasn′t a hallucination? So there is a living person here, not some ghost?" He muttered, as though speaking to himself.

  "Ghost?" Fang Siying furrowed her brow, studying him thoughtfully. "Are you waiting for a ghost?" she blurted out. It was clear from his expression that there was a trace of disappointment on his face.

  "What?" His voice carried a hint of irritation. "What did you say?"

  "Oh, nothing." Fang Siying responded, studying the face before her—he was clearly an irritable person! "I was just wondering, why are you sitting in a pile of ruins?"

  "Then what about you? Why did you come to this pile of ruins?"

  "I told you, I'm curious," she said. "I was actually on my way to the Songzhu Temple."

  "Alone?"

  "Yes, I don′t have many friends in Taiwan. I′m an overseas Chinese, on vacation here. I′ve lived in the U.S. for over ten years."

  "Oh." He seemed uninterested in her background but continued to listen attentively, his focus sharp in a way that only a blind person could manage.

  "But your Mandarin is very good."

  "Is it?" A faint smile passed across her lips. She knew her Mandarin wasn′t perfect—she had spent five or six years living in pces without a Chinese-speaking community, where she didn′t speak a word of Mandarin. As a result, there was a slight foreign accent in her speech now.

  "Yes, it's very good," he said absentmindedly, sighing. "Are you wearing a rose? I smell the fragrance of flowers."

  "There are two roses. I picked them from the garden."

  "Garden—" He was taken aback. "Are there still flowers there?"

  "Yes, there are two rose bushes, growing amidst a heap of wild grass."

  "Wild grass—" His brow furrowed deeply, lines of tension crossing his forehead.

  "There′s wild grass everywhere, isn't there?"

  "Yes, wild grass and ruins."

  "Wild grass and ruins!" His voice was desote and hollow, speaking softly. "This pce used to be full of flowers and trees."

  "I can imagine." Fang Siying felt a pang of sympathy. The expression on his face stirred something deep within her. "You must be very familiar with this pce."

  "Familiar?! More than familiar. This is my pce! My house, my garden, my home."

  "Oh!" Fang Siying stared at him in shock. "Then, you've lost a great deal, haven′t you?"

  "A world," he said softly, almost too quietly for her to hear, as if speaking only to himself.

  "How did the fire start?" Fang Siying couldn't hide her curiosity and concern. Before he could answer, she quickly asked, "Did anyone perish in the fire?"

  "No, no one."

  "That's a relief." She let out an sigh. "The garden and house can be rebuilt."

  "Rebuild!" He snorted through his nose. "No one can rebuild Hanyan Vil. No one! Unless..." He stopped himself, turned his head toward the sky, as if suddenly realizing something, and said, "It's getting te, isn't it?"

  "Yes, the sun has already set."

  "Then—I must go." He said hurriedly, exploring the ground with his cane, stumbling over the overgrown weeds and rubble. The helplessness in his movements deeply touched Fang Siying. Instinctively, she reached out to support him.