"Aunt, go inside and take care of the children first, I'll sit in the yard for a while," Xiao Xian urged her into the house.
"Alright, the air in the countryside is much better than in the city, no messy pollution. Your house is still there, and I wash and air the blankets every two weeks, they're just like new," Zhuo Feng pointed to the house Xiao Xian lived in two years ago. Xiao Xian nodded, knowing that whether she truly left or disappeared, traces would always remain with some people and places.
The next morning, Zhuo Feng made breakfast, "Xiao Xian, your uncle made soy milk, do you remember that morning's..."
The house was empty, the bedding on the bed neatly folded, as if no one ever returned, as if yesterday was a dream.
But at the head of the bed, a note was left: "Aunt, I know your greatest hope is that Mom and Dad didn't die, and Grandpa isn't dead either."
