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Standing outside the bridge tunnel, you couldn't see clearly, and indeed, it was somewhat dirty and messy outside, but as you went in another meter or two, you would have found the place had all the necessary furniture.
At that moment, the old man was sitting on a long bench, combing his hair and beard with a comb.
Without thinking much, you moved a small stool from the side to sit next to the centenarian, gazing straight at him.
Looking at him from such close proximity, you realized that his slovenliness was merely your initial perception; from your current angle, you noticed that the old man was not dirty at all.
His face was very clean, and his long hair, silver like cobwebs, was casually tied with a black rubber band picked from a trash can; at the same time, he sported a white beard resembling that of a mountain hermit or a master of Chinese classics, equally well-groomed and clean, hanging down to his navel.