The rising sun cast a golden hue, sweeping away the gray haze.
Peng Tian opened his tired eyes, his right hand tugging at his collar and his left reaching for the coat on the bedside table.
As he got out of bed, he casually put on the coat; last night's experience wore him out. Although, compared to last night, he was much calmer now.
The timing had to be right for a father and son to recognize each other, and now was clearly not the right time.
Peng Tian did not want to recognize his son under such an identity. He wanted to do it as Peng Tian, and moreover, he did not want it to be a fleeting encounter but rather to spend his remaining years making up for past regrets.
A knock sounded. Peng Tian turned to look at the iron gate. "Who is it?" he asked warily.
"It's Zong Zhen—I've brought you breakfast," said the voice of Little Drilling Wind from inside the house.