One afternoon in 1995, Su Qiao dug out his mother's belongings and found a dozen yellowed newspapers behind the clothes and accessories. The densely packed traditional Chinese characters were so blurry that people couldn't see clearly. He took out his reading glasses and put on his reading glasses to identify the words carefully.
There was a black and white photo on the large page, with blurred faces. Two people were sitting opposite each other, and only their smiles could be vaguely recognized.
Newspapers were the kind that were scattered all over the streets fifty years ago, but this one was folded well by my mother and kept together with my father's photo.
Su Qiao got up and moved the chair under the locust tree outside the house. In the sunshine, he unconsciously fell asleep.