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Beside the small table stood an invisible elderly figure that no one could perceive.

The elder's withered face was clad in a hospital gown, his emaciated frame so thin that his eyeballs seemed ready to pop out, revealing tiny pupils amidst the whites of his eyes. His weathered face appeared as if only a thin layer of skin clung to his bones. The hem of his hospital gown hung with a string of ice, and he stood barefoot on the ground, radiating a chill that sizzled outward.

With each gust of wind, the elder trembled uncontrollably.

Recently, Ding Tao's mental state had been unstable, and the elder, fearing something might happen to him, had stayed close by his side. Normally, when there was nothing amiss, he would hide within Ding Tao's bag. On several occasions, when Ding Tao had wandered into something in a daze, the elder could feel someone tugging at his clothes, helping him avoid mishaps.

Being freshly deceased, the elder was still ignorant of many things and naturally didn't know that he shouldn't come too close to the living.

Now that he understood, he blamed himself for causing trouble for Ding Tao.

With the issue of hunger resolved, the elder expressed his heartfelt gratitude, bowing deeply to Chu Yuening.

Chu Yuening set down her teacup and offered a gentle smile, acknowledging the elder's gesture.

In the next instant, the old man dissipated into a wisp of green smoke.

Not far from the sugar cane juice stall.

With dark circles under his eyes, Ding Tao found a corner funeral supply store to purchase incense and candles. As he was about to leave, he hesitated and turned back to look at the elderly woman in the shop.

"Granny, should I intervene in other people's affairs or not?"

The grandmother wore a headband, her hands clasped behind her back in a vibrant, buttoned cotton robe. Upon hearing the young man's intention to meddle, she bared her golden tooth in a grin.

"I say! Why bother with other people's troubles? Are you just bored?"

Ding Tao chuckled while holding the sugar cane juice, slinging the bag with the incense and candles over his elbow. With one hand, he opened the lid of the drink and drained it in one go.

Then, stepping over the threshold, he flagged down a taxi without hesitation, right there on the street.

Chapter 120

Inside an old residential building in Sham Shui Po.

The wind blew in through the iron-grilled window, rustling a few small potted Aspidistras whose once lush green leaves had withered to a dull yellow. They swayed feebly with the breeze.

The floor was covered with packed cardboard boxes, and the family portrait that once hung on the wall had been taken down and discarded by the door.

The woman, with her bright red lipstick, pointed at the remaining clothing yet to be packed, urging the man, "Hurry up and finish packing. The new owner is coming tomorrow. Do you want to keep your dead father's house?"

"I warned you, this place is ancient. If it weren't for a friend's help, who'd even buy it?!"

Liu Fuchun squatted on the ground, stuffing cans and jars into the boxes before sealing them with tape. "I know, stop nagging. I only have two hands, how fast can I go?"

"How can we not hurry?" Lin Mei snorted. "We need to sell the house and move to Canada. I don't want to live in a tiny apartment in Hong Kong anymore."

She had already asked friends about the situation in Canada.

For the same price, they could only afford a flat in Hong Kong, but in Canada, they could buy a small villa, albeit in a slightly remote area. But there were more white people, and the quality of life was likely much higher than in Hong Kong.

She wouldn't have to fight with the market housewives over vegetables and haggle over prices anymore.

Liu Fuchun sealed the boxes listlessly, his thoughts occasionally drifting to his deceased father who passed away in the hospital. His mother had passed away a couple of years ago. Now, he and his wife were planning to move to Canada for better prospects, and it seemed unlikely they would ever return to Hong Kong.

"FATHER... he can probably only remain in the hospital," Liu Fuchun mused, his mood somber.

"Hey, Liu Fuchun," Lin Mei noticed his unease and asked, "You're not thinking of going to the hospital to retrieve him, are you? That deadbeat father of yours, dying aside, he even left us with a debt of twenty thousand! He really dared to owe."

"Enough," Liu Fuchun said, his spirits dampened as he stood up and tossed a sealed cardboard box onto the sofa. "He's already gone. Just stop nagging."

"How dare you?" Lin Mei crossed her arms and widened her eyes. "You were the one complaining about him. He lived in our house, and I slaved away like an ox and horse serving him for so long. Now I can't even say a few words?"

Liu Fuchun sighed. "What do you mean 'our house'? He was the one who bought it."

"You're his son, so the house is yours!" Lin Mei wouldn't let go of her point. "Anyway, once the house is sold, we'll be leaving the country. You can't change your mind now or waste twenty thousand to retrieve a dead body!"

Knowing he couldn't win this argument, Liu Fuchun fell silent.

In his mind, he kept replaying their decades-long relationship as father and son, wondering what had made them so estranged.

It all started around the age of twelve when he became obsessed with table tennis. Envious of his classmates who each had their own paddles, he begged his father, just returned from the construction site, to buy him one too.

He still vividly recalled that moment when his father squatted down, a complicated emotion in his eyes as he gently patted Liu Fuchun's slender arm, clearly struggling with the request.

"Spring, I'm sorry, but Father can't afford to buy you a ping-pong paddle right now. Our family needs the money."

Liu Fuchun, still relatively young, could understand his father's gentle refusal.

He merely sighed but didn't reproach his father. It wasn't until half a month later when he spotted his father outside purchasing a brand-new, sealed table tennis racket that he assumed it was a surprise from his father and followed him home.

To my surprise, I saw my father pass the racket to the child next door.

In that instant, Liu Fuchun felt betrayed. His understanding father had used money to buy a racket for a stranger's child. Not only that, but later on, his father often kept in touch with the neighbor's child and would even invite the boy over to their home for meals regularly.

Due to the neighbor's child excelling academically, he was frequently compared to that child, being urged to emulate their achievements.

Until one day.

He overheard the neighbor's child, in tears, calling Liu's father "Dad."

From that moment on, the towering figure of his father crumbled in his heart.

By the time Liu Fuchun reached his rebellious phase, he had stopped communicating with his father altogether, harboring resentment towards him.