A young boy from the 1970s, separated from his family, fled famine and led his younger brother into

Su Nianci left home early the next morning.

She was wearing an old gray-blue coat, and her hair was tied back.

He had a faded canvas bag slung over his shoulder.

She stood at the gate of the courtyard, head down, tying her shoelaces.

Lu Xingzhou leaned against the door frame and looked at her.

He held a glass of warm water in his hand, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

"I send you."

"No need, I'll go by myself, it'll be quick."

Su Nianci didn't look up, her fingers continuing to move.

"Then I'll wait for you here."

"What are you waiting for?"

"Waiting for you to come back."

"it is good."

Su Nianci tied her shoelaces and straightened up.

She glanced at him, a slight smile playing on her lips, then turned and left the courtyard.

Banxia poked half her head out of the bedroom window, her hair a mess.

His voice was also muffled, as if he had just woken up.

"Mother."

"Where are you going again?"

Su Nianci stopped and turned to look at her.

"I have something to take care of, I'll be right back. You stay home and listen to your father."

"I want to go too."

"Not today."

"Why not? I can help too."

"I'll take you next time."

Su Nianci smiled at her.

Banxia pouted and snorted in dissatisfaction.

Hoshino reached out from behind and pulled her back.

The window slammed shut.

Su Nianci walked to the alley entrance and waited for about ten minutes.

A rural bus with peeling paint swayed along.

There weren't many people on the bus, only seven or eight scattered around.

Most of them are elderly people who go to town early in the morning to sell vegetables.

Several bulging woven bags and bamboo baskets were piled up in the passageway.

She found a seat by the window and sat down.

The shuttle bus swayed and drove out of the city.

The buildings on both sides of the road gradually became shorter, turning into low-rise bungalows.

The houses were transformed into large tracts of farmland.

Eventually, even the fields became sparse.

What followed was replaced by rolling hills and newly planted windbreaks.

Su Nianci leaned against the car window, her canvas bag resting on her lap.

Two hands were placed on top of the bag.

The scenery outside the window kept receding, so fast that its outlines were no longer visible.

Only green vertical lines remained, flashing past rapidly.

She didn't look at the scenery outside.

She simply lowered her head and unzipped the canvas bag a crack.

He reached in and gently touched what was inside.

A glass bottle.

A piece of paper folded very neatly.

There was also a copy of a letter.

Her fingers paused for a moment on the cold surface of the glass bottle.

The bottle contained fine, grayish-white paper ash.

It settled densely at the bottom of the bottle.

Those were the ashes left from the diary she burned years ago.

After she finished burning it, she casually gathered a small handful of ashes.

I put it in this little bottle and kept it in the drawer.

It was pressed together with the letter from Granny Guiying.

The bus made a sharp turn at the intersection, and the bus jolted.

Her shoulder hit the car window.

An elderly man selling vegetables nearby turned his head and glanced at her.

"Girl, where are you going?"

Su Nianci looked away from her bag and raised her head.

"Go to the entrance of that village ahead."

"The village entrance?"

The old man's eyebrows furrowed.

"There are hardly any households left in that village. What would you do there?"

"Look at the trees."

"Looking at the trees?"

The old man didn't understand and mumbled something.

"Young people these days do things that we old folks just don't understand."

He didn't ask any more questions and continued to tidy up his bamboo basket full of vegetables.

The car swayed for nearly three more hours before finally stopping at the end of the dirt road.

Su Nianci jumped off the car, her feet landing on the soft mud.

The sole of the shoe sank in halfway.

Ahead lies that familiar poplar grove.

Autumn has arrived, and most of the leaves have turned yellow.

When the wind blows, it makes a rustling sound.

She did not walk towards the Gesang flower sea.

She walked straight into the depths of the woods.

The fallen leaves crunched underfoot as I walked, one step after another.

Every step I take carries the weight of memories.

After walking for about fifteen minutes, she stopped in front of a clearing in the woods.

Three tall poplar trees formed a semi-circle.

right here.

She still remembers that the dilapidated, drafty cowshed was located right here.

She squatted down and put the canvas bag on the ground.

Take out a small folding shovel from inside.

These are things Su An left at home before.

She chose a spot with soft soil in the middle of the three trees.

He gripped the shovel tightly and began to dig.

The shovel blade cut into the soil, making a soft, cracking sound.

She didn't dig fast, but each shovelful was steady.

The edges of the dug pit were neat, as if it had been measured with a ruler.

The pit isn't deep, only about 20 centimeters, just big enough to fit a shoebox.

She put the shovel aside.

He pulled a round tin can out from the bottom of the canvas bag.

It was an old tea canister that she had found in the kitchen yesterday, which she had washed clean and left to air dry overnight.

Tea stains still remain on the can.

She unscrewed the lid of the jar.

The first thing I put in was that small glass bottle.

The ashes at the bottom of the bottle swayed gently with her movements.

That was Lin Xi's diary, a record of someone else's childhood.

Then, there was a copy of Granny Guiying's letter.

She still kept the original, carefully locked in a drawer.

The handwriting on the copy lacks the trembling strength of the original.

But she could recite every single sentence written on it.

Go love, go live, go do what you want to do.

She carefully folded the copy and gently pressed it onto the glass bottle.

At last.

She pulled a piece of paper from the side pocket of her bag.

She wrote it at her desk last night, in just one minute.

She unfolded the paper and took one last look.

There was only one line of text written on it.

Lin Xi, thank you for the past thirty years. From now on, I will only be Su Nianci.

She folded the paper into neat quarters and put it into the tin can.

Then put the lid on and tighten it firmly.

The tin can was not heavy, even though she held it in her palm.

But she hesitated for several seconds before bending down and pushing it into the pit she had dug.

The bottom of the jar hit the hard soil with a dull thud.

She didn't use the shovel again.

She used her hands to scoop handfuls of soil from the side into the pit.

A handful.

Two handfuls.

Three handfuls.

The soft soil quickly covered the iron can, filling the entire pit.

She patted the dirt off her palms.

The mud stuck in the crevices of my hands could not be cleaned no matter how much I rubbed it.

She stood up and looked down at the freshly turned soil.

The wind blew down from above the tree canopy, causing the yellow leaves to fall one after another.

A few petals fell onto her shoulders.

A few more pieces landed on the newly filled soil.

Her eyes suddenly felt hot.

A surge of heat welled up from the bottom of my eyes.

I paused for a moment when I flipped up to the base of my eyelashes.

Then, two tears fell almost simultaneously.

It landed on the newly filled soil, creating two shallow pits.

She squatted there, watching as the two small pits were slowly filled in by the fine soil around them.

Looked for a long time.

Then she laughed.

The upward curve of the corners of her mouth was slight, a very light twitch, and quickly stopped.

But that smile came from a very deep place.

She reached into her coat pocket and her fingers touched something soft.

Tiger-head shoes.

She took out the small tiger-head shoes and held them in her palm.

The tiger's face was crooked, and one of its eyeballs, which had been sewn together, had fallen out.

The remaining one was also teetering on the brink of collapse.

She's been touching the shoes for so many years, they're practically worn smooth now.

She gently rubbed her thumb against Tiger's forehead.

These tiger-head shoes were not put into the pit.

She clutched it tightly and stuffed it back into her pocket.

Then he stood up and patted the dirt off his knees.

Turn around.

she left.

The fallen leaves of the poplar forest carpeted the ground with gold behind her.

The wind swirled the leaves up and then let them fall back down.

The rustling sound carried her far, all the way to the edge of the woods.

She did not look back.