Shi Yiguang squatted by the shallow stream outside Zhuluo Village, burying his two thin arms deeper into the water. The chill of early spring made her tremble slightly, and the pebbles on the bottom of the water hurt her knees. But she didn't move. Under the water, the little face was shaking, blurry and clear. It's so beautiful, she thought in a daze, much more beautiful than the face reflected in Grandma's bronze mirror, or the faces accidentally reflected when the washerwomen splashing water by the stream.
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
