At the age of twenty-six, I received a phone call at midnight.
An abandoned baby, a bank card, a disappeared woman. From then on, my life was split in two, one part was the old dream of Chongqing, and the other part was the wind and rain of Chengdu.
I took my eight-month-old child to watch the fireworks in Sichuan and Chongqing and write about my life at dusk.
This journey was embarrassing, painful, and hot, but I finally grew up.
My twenty-sixth year was a journey with a weakness.
