Mr. Wood was still wearing the same faded jacket, which now had a few more patches. It was impossible to tell how many years he’d worn it, but it was folded neatly and washed clean. His posture was ramrod straight, giving him an air that was clearly different from that of an ordinary old man.

The old man’s complexion looked better than it had recently, though he was still gaunt. He kept looking toward the road, occasionally opening his drawer for a peek. Seeing the small ticket was still there, he relaxed.

"Grandpa Wood!"

Adrian Hawthorne had arrived. He took a bulging bag from his bicycle basket. Inside were Qingming Guo that Rosalind Green had made; she had stayed up late last night making them, so they were still fresh. There were also a dozen or so eggs.

Recently, Adrian Hawthorne had received a lot of help from Mr. Wood, who gave him plenty of posters. As a result, the movie stills he took were clear and attractive, and his business was doing much better than his competitors’. Filled with gratitude, Adrian would bring some food every time he came—things like sweet potatoes, rice cakes, eggs, and meat.

Mr. Wood had staunchly refused the gifts, so Adrian Hawthorne asked to become his god-grandson. Everyone at the movie theater already thought he was one of Mr. Wood’s relatives from the countryside, so he figured he might as well make the pretense a reality.

"Why did you bring more things? Keep them and eat with your mother. I have plenty to eat here," Mr. Wood chided, feeling quite embarrassed.

’At his age, being supported by a young man... How embarrassing!’

’If it weren’t for the children at home crying from hunger, he wouldn’t have had the nerve to accept anything. But this boy was bringing far too much; he couldn’t bring himself to take any more.’

"I won’t bring anything next time."

Adrian Hawthorne smiled and placed the bag inside the gatehouse. He then pulled a warm rice ball from his coat. He had just bought it on the way over. More and more street vendors were popping up, selling breakfast right on the roadside without needing ration coupons. Adrian had bought one for Mr. Wood.

"I bought too much and can’t finish it. Grandpa Wood, you should eat it while it’s hot. It won’t taste good cold."

Adrian Hawthorne pressed the rice ball into Mr. Wood’s hands. His usual cold demeanor was gone; for those who had genuinely helped him, he would always repay their kindness tenfold.

Mr. Wood’s eyes stung. He knew the boy felt sorry for him and was afraid he’d just take it home for his own children—which was exactly what he had planned to do. But Adrian Hawthorne kept watching him, so Mr. Wood had no choice but to eat it. It had been so long since he’d eaten such a substantial rice ball. The fragrant, sweet glutinous rice, paired with pickled greens and a fried dough stick, made Mr. Wood chew faster. He was truly hungry.

He had only had a bowl of thin porridge for breakfast and was planning on more porridge for lunch. It had been a long time since he’d eaten a satisfying meal of solid food. ’This is delicious!’

"Here are some new posters. Take them home for your granddaughter to play with."

Mr. Wood took several new posters out of his drawer—some from Port Krol and some domestic ones. Adrian Hawthorne accepted them readily. He didn’t mention that he was selling movie stills. ’Mr. Wood has probably already figured it out. Since he isn’t saying anything, I won’t either. A tacit understanding is best.’

"Old Wood, your relative is here with more gifts!"

The speaker was Director Hughes from the movie theater. He was generally good to Mr. Wood and not a bad person, but he did have a penchant for taking small advantages.

Adrian Hawthorne took out some more leaf-wrapped Qingming Guo from his basket. It was what he had prepared for his own lunch, about seven or eight of them, and they were still warm. He pressed them all into Director Hughes’s hands.

"I was just about to ask Grandpa Wood to bring these over to you. My mother made these dumplings. Please, try some."

Adrian Hawthorne bowed slightly, a smile gracing his face, as he offered the dumplings to Director Hughes with both hands. Though he had a proud spirit, he also understood the importance of cultivating connections. ’If I can get on good terms with Director Hughes, not only can I get more information, but Mr. Wood will also have an easier time at the theater.’

"Oh, I shouldn’t have. You’re too kind, son."

The smile on Director Hughes’s face became more genuine. Though his words expressed reluctance, his hands held the dumplings tightly. ’These dumplings are a real treat. Now I can save on lunch. This kid really knows how to handle people, much smarter than Old Wood.’