Preface
My name is Huang Daiyu.
My grandfather took out this name after looking through the "Kangxi Dictionary" for three days. Dai is the color of distant mountains, Yu is the shape of treasure. Grandpa said that this girl has water in her life, so she needs to use mountains to suppress it and jade to suppress it.
The result was not suppressed.
The first memory in my life is the day my father was buried.
To be precise, I didn't know it was a burial. I just remember a large wooden box being carried by many people walking on a very narrow field ridge. The sky was gray and the ground was wet. Everyone's shoes were stuck in the mud and made a "pop" sound when they were pulled out.
I was hugged so tightly that my stomach hurt. Later I found out that the person holding me was the third aunt next door.
I pointed to the wooden box and said, "Dad is sleeping in it."
The third aunt's hand shook and she almost dropped me.
"There is a hole in Dad's head," I added, "on the left side, it's so big." I made a circle with my little hand, it was about the size of an egg.
The third aunt's face turned pale. She later told my mother that at the scene of the car accident, my father's left temple was penetrated by the guardrail, and the wound was indeed as big as an egg. And I was not present when it happened. I was placed at my grandma's house in a neighboring village, eight miles away from the scene of the car accident.
That year, I was two and a half years old.
This was the first time I realized that I could see things that no one else was supposed to see.
Life after that is like a long sleepwalk from which one cannot wake up.
I have seen the headless men harvesting in the rice fields, the woman in red combing her hair on the beams of the old house, and the middle of the pond late at night.
