I remember once traveling to Nanjing and seeing a stone calendar, the time was always fixed on December 13, 1937.
It was the anniversary of the Nanjing Massacre.
Every year, the same or different people come here to lay a few bouquets of flowers or pay deep silence.
On a drizzling afternoon, I took my camera to Wuyi Alley. In the intermittent narrations of several old people, a story spanning eighty years gradually emerged from the water of time. Therefore, as a reminiscence person, I present this story to remember the winter that was stained with blood and filled with tears.