I'll Kill You in My Memories

As I write these words, I can no longer tell whether this is a novel or a letter that is too late. The person in the story was the center of the universe when I was sixteen, the second half of eighteen, and most of nineteen. Now, I am more like an archaeologist, trying to piece together the outline of our common past among the ruins of memory. Some of the masonry is weathered, and some of it is too smooth from my repeated rubbing. So let me confess: What you are about to read is a version revised by memory, time, and regret. I wrote it to place a ghost - her who lived in the old summer, and me who clumsily loved her. I wrote it to complete a conversation. Although the other end of the conversation may have been silent for a long time. If you have also stored a part of yourself in an old person or an old incident, then this book may be written for you. We are all learning how to be at peace with the people and things that have shaped us and then left us. All memoirs are novels, and all novels are memoirs. What this book attempts to record is not "what happened" - that has evaporated in time along with the chirping of cicadas in summer. What it records is the refraction and deposition of events in a person's mind over the years. I cannot guarantee the absolute accuracy of the details, only the authenticity of the emotions. Now, please follow me and open the rusty iron door. Behind the door is the summer of 2021, and the wind in Xibei Town is blowing against my face, carrying the heat of the bluestone slabs. Everyone needs to figure out the role of Lin Jia by themselves, because she can be anyone in anyone's eyes.