At four o'clock in the morning in Jiangnan Ancient Town, the mist is thicker than ghosts.
In the backyard of Wangchuan Funeral Shop, there was only a dim, moisture-proof lamp, which cast a thin circle of light on the wet bluestone.
Lin Jiuzhang was wearing a plain indigo cloth coat, standing in front of the black and white photo of his adoptive father and old shopkeeper. The smoke from three sticks of freshly lit incense was rising straight upward, like a slender rope leading to another world.
The old man in the photo has a pale face, and his eyes always have a sense of peace that can see through life and death.
But Lin Jiuzhang remembered that half a month ago, when the old shopkeeper was dying, his cloudy eyes were full of struggle and unwillingness.
He held Lin Jiuzhang tightly with his skinny hands, making a whooshing sound in his throat, and squeezed out a few vague words intermittently: "Twenty years ago... By the water... Be careful... Eyes..."
Before he finished speaking, the person died.
Twenty years ago, waterside, eyes.
These words were like three thorns, piercing deeply into Lin Jiuzhang's heart, causing no peace day and night.
