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Zhang Xiaobei was sitting alone in the car smoking. He looked at the cigarette butt in the ashtray. This was already his seventh cigarette. It's raining outside, very hard. The rain washed away the car glass without restraint, leaving irregular rain marks. A bolt of lightning pierced the darkness, making Zhang Xiaobei's heart tighten. That moment of light reminded him of the wrinkles of varying depths on Lao Liu's twisted face before he died. Zhang Xiaobei cursed lowly and put out the cigarette. A little spark splashed out, flickered, and fell on the back of his hand, leaving a little gray-white mark.

The sky was frighteningly overcast, and there was a burst of heat in the air that was so oppressive that it made people breathless. Lao Li looked up at the sky. A dark cloud was approaching from the south. It looks like a thunderstorm is coming soon. Lao Li sighed, shouted to the old cow grazing not far away, and muttered in a low voice: "What's wrong with the weather this year, it seems like it's leaking..." The khaki old cow was still grazing leisurely, chewing slowly and regularly, completely ignoring the coming storm. Lao Li saw that the cow's head was already stretching towards a grave. He took a few steps, picked up the cow's reins, and dragged it outside. This is the ancestral mausoleum of Lao Li's family. In rural areas, each family has its own mausoleum, usually built in the wasteland at the foot of the mountain.