The autumn rain in 1972 was particularly violent. When Bai Weiwei's Liberation Shoes got stuck in the mud, she saw blood-red wild cuckoos on the rock wall. Those flowers burned into pieces in the rain, just like the piano keys burned by the Red Guards last night.
"Educated youth from the city?"
The dialect with the smell of gunpowder hit her ears, and Bai Weiwei turned around suddenly. A barefoot young man stood under the twisted branches of an old locust tree. His muscled calves were exposed from the gap in his raincoat. The shotgun barrel was still emitting green smoke - the roar that scared away the wild boar just now came from this man who looked like a mountain ghost.
