Visiting the Wrong Grave and Burning the Wrong Ghost

1---The rain falls in torrents during the Qingming Festival, and travelers on the road are heartbroken. I stood at the foot of the mountain, looking up at the dense cluster of graves halfway up, and couldn't help but swallow hard. My name is Li Qingqing, I'm twenty-two years old, a recent college graduate, and still doing my internship. My parents work in Guangdong, and they can't come back for Qingming this year, so the "glorious but arduous" task of paying respects to our ancestors fell to me. "Turn left at three big willow trees, under a crooked tree..." I recited the WeChat message my parents sent, clutching a simple hand-drawn map in my hand. The weeds on the mountain were taller than a person.