In the later long narration of this story, the morning when my mother died was not solemnly recorded by anyone. She woke up from her sleep and saw her mother still lying on her side, but her body had long since withered. The rain all night seeped in through the cracks of the broken window, falling drop by drop on her mother's gray face, completing a belated cleansing of the world. Death did not come suddenly. It had been lingering in this room for a long time, announcing its arrival in advance. She didn't cry or shout. She just washed her face as usual, combed her hair, fastened her collar, then gently closed the door and returned to her long-term job.
Purpose: A memo, not a murder case
