In the spring of the 29th year of Guangxu's reign, I was in a private school outside the front gate of Beijing. Ten-year-old Jiang Chunshui sat in the last row of seats. Although his eyes were staring at the books on the table, he felt a little drowsy, and his little head couldn't help but move bit by bit, like a chicken pecking at rice. Her mother's health has been getting worse and worse recently. She coughed for half the night last night. When she got up and poured a spittoon for her mother, she wiped her mother's mouth with straw paper. There was a trace of bright red blood on the straw paper.
