The night wind was like a knife covered with ice, blowing across the bare slopes of Meishan Mountain, picking up dust and an indescribable smell of gunpowder smoke. The smell penetrated into the nose, carrying a rusty smell, and went straight to the forehead. I tightly held a piece of cold and smooth white silk in my hand, my knuckles turned white from the excessive exertion, and they were almost embedded in the fine silk. The other end of the white silk ribbon was tied to the lowest horizontal branch of the crooked-neck old locust tree, swaying slightly in the wind like a dying snake.
