Library

As soon as I came downstairs, I saw my brother sitting by the flower bed alone, with his back to me, smoking. I was stunned. My brother has not smoked for many years. I leaned against the glass door of the hotel, crossed my arms and looked at him. He blew out a puff of white smoke, dyeing his black collar gray. He looked at the white sky, lowered his head, and seemed to look at the palm of his hand again. The cracks in my palm are very unique. His lifeline is so short that even a blind fortune teller cannot make up auspicious words. He looked sad, and the vastness of his sadness could be felt from behind. I slowly sat down against the glass door and looked at my brother's back. I think of that day, and I don't know what my father said to him. He sat alone on the steps in front of our jade shop, looking up at the moonlight and the fireflies, smoking one cigarette after another, all night long until dawn.