In the early morning, at the entrance of Shanhai Cemetery, you can always see a hunched little old man sitting on a small bench in a daze. His hair is gray and his eyes are cloudy. No one knows the old man's name or when he started working as a tombkeeper at Shanhai Cemetery. They only know that others call him Old Man Yang. He hardly communicates with outsiders. Apart from cleaning the cemetery as usual every day, he always goes to the highest point of the cemetery. The cemetery is a small hill with only one grave on the top of the hill, which is the kind of grave buried in rural areas. Yes, the tomb is not a cemetery where urns are buried, there is only one tombstone. He sat for four or five hours, either looking at the sky or looking at the photos on the tombstone, muttering vaguely to himself: mountains and seas. His cloudy eyes were like a small movie theater that seemed to be playing stories that belonged to him or to them.
Purpose: To narrate the author's personal emotional experience