<Re-issuing a Ticket>

Chen Cheng worked as a train conductor for Taiwan Railways for forty years. He had a habit when checking tickets: if he found someone without a valid ticket, he never exposed them on the spot. Instead, he would quietly buy them a ticket himself, paying out of his own pocket. His colleagues called him foolish, but he would just say, "Perhaps they're truly in a difficult situation." This habit began on Lunar New Year's Eve thirty years ago. That year, he had just been promoted to conductor and was working the last train of the day. As the train passed a station, he noticed a woman hiding in the restroom, with half a cloth shoe visible under the door. He knocked, but there was no response from inside. He didn't force the door open, but simply leaned against the doorframe and said softly, "The next stop is the final destination, and ticket checks will be stricter. If you need to buy a ticket, you still have time." A moment later, the door opened. A young woman emerged, head bowed, clutching an infant tightly, her face pale. She said she was going south to find her husband, but her money had been stolen en route. Chen Cheng didn't ask further questions. He took money from his pocket, bought her ticket, and gave her his own packed lunch. The woman took the lunch and tears welled up in her eyes. She said, "Brother, I won't forget this. I'll repay you someday." Chen Cheng smiled and said it wasn't necessary, just to raise the child well. When the train reached its final stop that night, the woman got off with her baby, turned back, and bowed deeply to him. Chen Cheng stood by the train door, waving goodbye. The platform was cold on Lunar New Year's Eve, but his heart was warm. Thirty years passed, and Chen Cheng retired. For his last train, his colleagues held a simple farewell. As the train pulled into the final station, he stepped off one last time, stood on the platform, and looked at the empty carriages. A year