The night was as dark as if ink had been spilled. The darkness was as thick as paste and could not be dispersed.
Raindrops as big as peas kept hitting the roof of the broken thatched hut, crackling, like God beating a drum hard, which made my heart tremble.
On the outskirts of Xinye, there was a lonely thatched house that was shaking in the wind and rain. It felt like it would be swallowed up by the crazy weather at any time.
Inside the room, sixteen-year-old Liu Mu wrapped a thin and torn dress tightly around his body and huddled in the corner.
The cold rain dripped down along the cracks in the roof, making his hair wet and his young face also wet.
"Alas..."
This long sigh didn't sound like what a teenager should have, it was full of vicissitudes of life.
It has been three months since my adoptive father and grandson lost his head.
In the past three months, Liu Muke had tasted all the bitterness of the world.
As soon as Lao Suntou left, this thatched cottage really became a helpless little nest, wandering in the wind and rain, and it didn't know when it would collapse.
