In June in Beijing, there are heavy rains.
Heavy raindrops hit the asphalt road, splashing white mist. A pale lightning tore through the night, and the thunder that followed seemed to shatter the entire city.
In front of the European-style iron door with intricate carvings in the Su family villa, a slender figure stood alone in the wind and rain, like a lifeless sculpture.
The rain had already soaked Su Wan's entire body, and her cheap white T-shirt clung tightly to her body, outlining her too-thin frame.
Her face was pale, and her black hair was wet and stuck to her cheeks. She had only one pair of eyes, which were as quiet as a bottomless ancient well in the flickering night, without any ripples.
In her hand she clutched an old smartphone and a yellowed photo carefully wrapped in plastic film.
In the photo, a kind old man is holding a little girl with braids. The background is a dilapidated mud house in the countryside and a rack of roses full of purple flowers.
That was the only photo of her and her grandma.
