Don't Rush at Dawn

Lonely forever, let's look at the turmoil in a small teahouse, and the old past has brought up a cloud of dust. "Uncle Mo, my grandfather passed away, and he left this notebook behind." Turn to the first page. Two lines of words on the paper: "Notes on the War in Korea. Lin Xiuyuan, March 1951." Two lines later, there is another line of words. The handwriting is darker than the first two lines. After writing, I went back and traced it again: "If you come back, this book will be used as gossip; if you don't come back, this book will be left to future generations." Air raid shelter, silver cigarette case, sandwiched with a piece of paper. There is a line of words written on the paper: If I hear you hear it and see it, I will wait until dawn. At this time, I will return and I will not move forward in this world. "When he wrote these words, he probably had already made up his mind." "Not coming back?" "Yeah." He took out a manila envelope from the bottom of the counter, unsealed. Inside was a similarly yellowed piece of paper, folded in quarters, with signs of wear on the corners. He opened it and spread it on the table. On the paper it says: "Before his death, Brother Yanqiu entrusted me with a package of maps, half a photo, and a silver cigarette case for safekeeping, and asked me to send them to Cangzhou. However, the war has not ended and the road is blocked. Now I will entrust the original items to my fellow villager Lin Xiuyuan. If this thing comes to Cangzhou, please give it to Chayu Teahouse. The owner's surname is Mo. My old friend Shen Yanqiu died of serious injuries in Shangganling in October 1952. He didn't say much before leaving. "