When she died on the hospital bed in her last life, Su Nian cried and said to me, "I've liked you since I was sixteen."
I was intubated and couldn't say a word back.
That image is etched in my bones.
Opening her eyes again, she returned to 1980. She was still alive, her sleeves were stained with flour, and her collarbone was so thin that it protruded.
I said to myself: In this life, for every bowl of porridge she gives me, I will give her a reason not to cry.
The people in the town laughed at me for being crazy - I was seventeen years old and ran to buy sacks, saying I would wait for the flood to come.
They don't know, I know.
