That May more than ten years ago, it happened to be raining heavily in the south of the Yangtze River.
The plum rain soaked the whole village, the rice flowers in the ground were rolling like snow waves, the peaches and pears were green and dotted with sparkling water drops, the spider was busy building a web among the branches, and the loquats, which were about to mature, exuded bursts of fragrance.
I accompanied my mother to a relative's house and when I came back, I received a message that Bai Qing from the village was going to Shenzhen to work. She asked me if I wanted to go with her.
