Flesh and Blood

About This Novel

The letter that came to my home from Hainan across thousands of rivers and mountains has been lying quietly on the table. Summer is coming. I sit in front of the window sill on the second floor every day, staring blankly at the sometimes gray and sometimes black sky, feeling sad. It has been raining these days, for ten days, from morning to night, without stopping for a moment. The weather forecast says that the rain will not stop within a week and will continue until early June. Everywhere in the house was wet and stained. The floor tiles looked like they had been splashed with oil and were slippery and shiny. The dining table and wooden chairs in the living room and the large wardrobe in the bedroom had grown a thick layer of white velvet. Even the pole of the wrought iron table lamp on the recently purchased bedside table was rusty. On the seventh day of rain, I felt like my whole body was starting to grow hair. Every day I kept wiping the exposed parts of my body with a dry towel, as if otherwise I would become a piece of wood or an iron rod.

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