For the first half of winter break, Chen Yuan had been trying to find the answer to this question.
People always say the few years it takes to go from a boy to a young man are equivalent to ten years at any other stage of life. The first step on a boy's journey from cluelessness to maturity is always a period of confusion.
And Chen Yuan was very confused. He didn't know which direction to take.
To be precise, he'd lost his sense of purpose.
...
「Another day.」
Chen Yuan was outside with Mr. Chen, putting up Spring Festival couplets. He stood on a small stool while his father handed him pieces of clear tape.
When Chen Yuan was little, he was the one who handed over the tape. Now, as his father grew older and his son grew up—gradually becoming a head taller than him—they had swapped roles.
PFFFT—
Chen Yuan puckered his lips, blowing on the doorframe that he'd already wiped down with a towel. He held the ends of the couplet in place with his fingers.
"Is it straight?"
