On the seventh day of the rainy season, Lin Xia squatted by the leaky bay window of the rental house, catching the dripping rainwater with an instant noodle bowl. The phone vibrated in the pocket of her faded jeans, and the landlord sent a message: "We must move out before the end of the month, and a sunroom will be built on the top floor." She looked out the window at the gray sky, and suddenly remembered the iron box her grandmother had given her before she died - it was lying quietly at the bottom of the suitcase, with yellowed letterhead and a few seeds covered with soil.
The smell of fumes from neighbors cooking came from the corridor, mixed with a damp musty smell that entered the nose. Lin Xia wiped her face and dragged the suitcase out from under the bed. The surface of the iron box was stained with rust, and it made a squeaking sound when it was opened. The writing on the letterhead was smudged by the years: "Nanny, if you can't stay in the city any longer, just plant the seeds left by your grandma. They are collected from the patio of the old house and are stained with the earth's atmosphere."
