The early morning sun shines lazily on the only main street in Qingshi Town through the sparse clouds. The aroma of freshly baked wheat cakes floated in the air, mixed with the faint smell of the barn, and the monotonous but powerful clanking sound from the distant blacksmith shop. Everything was no different from the novice village in my memory, ordinary, even a little boring.
Lin Mo was lying on the lounge chair under the old locust tree with a crooked neck at the entrance of the town. Under him was an old blanket that had been dug out from nowhere. His eyes were half-squinted, as if he was asleep or in a state of wandering. Occasionally, townspeople who got up early passed by and cast curious or kind glances, but he just didn't bother to raise his eyelids.
