Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 124

Slowly, I traced the outline of the wall with my feet, the soil swirling in the air. The wall was shorter than I had
expected: my grandfather, whose family origins date back to Shanghai, had told me about a large, circular stone wall
that surrounded the Old City. “Someday,” he had said, “long after I’m dead, I want you visit our hometown for
me. Treat this as my last request.”
Yet the walls, those ancient, historical walls, have already been demolished, leaving only two sections left, the
only testimony to the centuries-long history of Shanghai.
In the wake of its destruction, the walls have left behind its circular shape in the form of streets: large bustling
streets full of shops and tourists like me, admiring the