Artist: Huaaun Huang
Time passes so quietly when you sit idly as if guarding the spiritual light of your ancestors. Stories and legends are written everywhere, under the light or in the shadow. The threshold at the door that has been crossed so many times by your ancestors is now waiting for the familiar footsteps, and the corridors where the children have run through so many times is now utterly quiet. Time seems to have frozen on a summer day five hundred years ago. A surname has been passed down though and, like the framed picture on the wall, keeps company with the aging house and the past glories.