Grandma Wang, the washerwoman, still remembers that misty morning. In the cold spring of March, the river was still bitingly cool. When she squatted on the bluestone and beat the sheets, she faintly heard a faint cry. The sound was intermittent, like an abandoned kitten.
Beside the reeds, she found a bamboo basket. Lying in the basket was a baby boy wrapped in faded blue cloth. The blood scab on the umbilical cord had not completely fallen off, and his little face was blue with cold. There is nothing else at the bottom of the basket except a note that says "Born on the eighth day of March".
"What a sin..." Grandma Wang touched the baby's cheek with her chapped fingers. The child suddenly stopped crying and looked at her quietly with eyes like black grapes. The look in his eyes was too calm, not like what a newborn should look like.
That afternoon, Grandma Wang sent the child to the Sunshine Welfare Home in the county. She makes a living by washing people's clothes, and she really can't feed this baby.
"Since I picked it up while washing clothes by the river, let's call it Jiang Huan." When Director Li of the welfare home wrote this name on the registration form, Grandma Wang was patting the baby's back with her rough palms. The child didn't cry or fuss, just stared at the swaying peach branches outside the window in a daze.
This is the beginning of Jiang Huan's life.
I have never written a novel before, and I am running out of time. I want to leave something behind. This is a rough and ugly little story. I may not even be able to finish it, but I still want to write out what I think to prove that I have been here.
Intention: Love others, love you, love yourself