Perhaps what you hold in your heart will one day be realized by someone.
Zhou Man felt an unprecedented exhaustion, as if he had slept a very, very long dream. In the dream, there were no endless criminals to catch, no endless performance metrics to chase, only a young man piecing together building blocks and a painting hanging on the wall.
The painting, Zhou Man thought, must be the young man standing beside an airplane—that was his father.
Chapter 82