Death Bell

Cheng Mo's hand hung above the glass counter of the bookstore. The August sunshine passed through the gap in the rolling shutter door and cut a golden line on the dusty Cihai cover. Forty-nine days after my father's death, the used bookstore in this Jiangnan town still stubbornly smells of ink and musty smell, like the scent of medicine on the bedside of an old man's death bed. Ding dong—— The moment the bell on the door curtain rang, Cheng Mo stood up reflexively: Welcome. But when he looked up, his eyes were stung by the sun - there was no one outside the door, only the dead leaves of the old sycamore tree were swirling on the concrete floor. This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.