Shen Ling extricated herself from the mess of her city life and casually bought a train ticket to Guizhou. She got off partway through the journey and, by chance, climbed into a battered minivan.
The driver was named Chen Yu, though the locals called him A Yu. Dark-skinned and taciturn, he approached everything with an almost stubborn thoroughness.
She was a weary, worldly, self-restrained woman from the city. He was a silent, awkward, sincere young man from the borderlands. From the damp, chilly mornings of Guiyang to the unfathomably deep Qingshui River, and then to the cramped stone lanes of a Dong village, their two worlds collided without warning.
She thought it was only a brief escape, but in his clumsy way, he gave her every ounce of sincerity fate had put in his heart.
Later, she returned to Beijing, thinking it was all over. Then one day, she stepped out of the elevator and saw him squatting in the corridor, a snakeskin sack set beside his feet.
"You don't need to worry about me. Just live your own life."
"Shen Ling, I won't force you."
This is a story about meeting, healing, and salvation.
