When my mother was hospitalized, I hired a woman to help me hold parent-teacher conferences. She wears a white shirt and has a white crane on her arm. She doesn't remember her name or where she comes from. She only remembers how to hold back the wine at the wine table, how to cite the law to ask for wages, and how to tell at a glance which man is going to lie. She taught me all this.
Later I discovered a pattern: every time I feel pain, she feels pain too. When I scratched my arm, there was a red mark on her white crane tattoo. She never explains. Only on the day I found out, he said in the calmest tone: "I will give you half of your pain. It will be invalid if it expires. It will also be invalid if it hurts."
Her name is Song Qiulai, and my name is Song Xiaoman. Mom said that their names are related - they are both solar terms, one is summer and the other is autumn.
She goes to the beach every evening and sits, as if waiting for someone. I asked her who she was waiting for and she said she didn't know.
She has been waiting for me for a long time. From summer until autumn.
Purpose: Everyone who feels that they are not good enough or that they are scraps deserves to be firmly protected - not out of contract, not out of debt, just because you are you.