Standing under the dilapidated low eaves, behind him was the setting sun, its twilight casting across his surroundings. Jiang Zhihao felt as if he had just woken from a dream.,As he died, he saw himself lying on the sickbed and his weeping descendants. Then time rewound ceaselessly until he stood once more before that door.,The mother and child clung to each other, their faces etched with grief. It was a memory he would never forget, the most painful of his life.。