Library

The day after Uncle Wu Ming was killed, I received a letter from my father. After unfolding the letter, I was not very surprised. On the contrary, my mood was surprisingly calm, and then there was an indescribable cold feeling - not only due to the weather in the twelfth lunar month, but also probably related to the description of Uncle Ming's death in the letter. My father wrote this part in great detail, but I didn't read it carefully. I packed it up hastily and got on the train back home. Wusong is not that far from Shanghai. Even for horses with weak legs, it probably only takes half a day. Trains are naturally several times faster than horses. However, the Songhu Railway was built in 1876, which means it is more than sixty years old. The rails are old and the iron box does not dare to do anything arbitrarily. In the end, it's not much different from riding a horse. But that doesn't matter to me. I could just read my father's letters again on the way and maybe find a clue or two.