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Many years ago, the "thin waist canal" my grandma called me blocked my brother and I from secretly going to the county town, but it could not stop us from dreaming of leaving the mountain village. The ignorant child at that time finally escaped from his hometown and went to the more exciting and broader world outside. Later, he finally established a foothold in the city, learned to speak fluent Mandarin, and learned to survive in the city. He seemed to be more like a city person than a city person. I slowly eliminated the tiny evidence that the village had left in my life, and transplanted myself to the city. However, the few root ends I left in the village did not rot into mud with the autumn leaves. They are still living thinly, causing me pain from time to time. On those moon-stained nights, they cried out in pain softly and shrilly in desolate and lonely corners. I was in Xianyang, more than a hundred kilometers away, with my ears close to the night, watching them appear in detail in my meshed hearing system.