The ward was dazzlingly white, and Xu Damao, who was in his eighties, lay on the bed, drifting in and out of consciousness. He Xiao walked to the bedside and pulled out a black and white photo from the old man's pocket - young Lou Xiao'e smiling at the camera. "My mother was so beautiful when she was young." Xu Damao cried like a child, trying his best to squeeze out two words: "Xiao'e..."
