A man who looked like a lawyer handed me a letter. "Your grandaunt's husband, Li Laoshuan, has passed away. He left you a farm deep in the mountains."
"The condition is that you personally run it for a year. Otherwise, the farm will be taken back."
I headed into the mountains that very night. The road was so bumpy my bones nearly rattled apart. My phone lost its signal and became a useless brick. Just as dawn broke, the driver slammed on the brakes and said impatiently, "We're here. Walk from here."
He drove off as if a ghost were chasing him.
A sweet, fishy smell hung in the air, making my scalp prickle. The farm was in ruins, abandoned for decades. I used a rusty key to open the creaking wooden gate. Weeds in the yard were taller than a person. The soil in the fields was
