On a cold winter day, it was snowing heavily. I rode my bicycle through the narrow alley. I was going home. The cold wind, mixed with snow, was blowing hard in my face, and I was so anxious that I couldn't help pedaling hard. Suddenly, my bike clattered and I fell to the muddy ground. I struggled to get up and with great difficulty lifted the heavy body and realized that the chain had fallen off.
What to do? I need to get home! I was desperate. Suddenly I realized there was a figure looming in the wind and snow behind me.
Gleefully I dragged my bike, one slippery step at a time, towards him.
"That master! Wait!"
The man turned around. Wasn't that the old grandpa who fixed the bike downstairs from us?
In another burst of joy, I was just about to tell him to wait for me when he came over to me.
"Broken bike?" His pale face was wrinkled, "Let me show you."
Saying this he bent down and fixed the bike with his bare hands. Beads of sweat slid down his face as if they were pearls, but I firmly believe that when the helpful sun shone on his face, the beads of sweat must have been brighter than the pearls.
The snow got heavier. I want to pay the money, but he waved his hand, striding into the snow and wind. The snow left a long trail of footprints.
I got on my repaired bike, took one last look at the footprints, and headed out of the alley.
In the empty hutong, a string of footprints shone with a golden light, stretching into the distance.