When I met him, "Southern Girl" had not yet been sung. In that northern village, I sang like a song, "Standing by the roadside in a flowered skirt". On every sunny day, he would go out and be busy, while I would "hang my clothes to dry in the middle of the yard."
The first time I listened to this song, I was alone in Lijiang. In the crowded streets, I quietly listened to the wandering singer holding a guitar standing on the small stone bridge and singing softly. Boys holding cameras and girls wearing embroidered clothes walked past me from time to time. I cried uncontrollably in the sunshine.
For him, for my youth, and for the north that I can never go back to.