The Remaining Warmth of the Red Layer Echoes in the Palm of My Hand

When she was squatting by the lotus pond in Yinshan Mountain, the palm of her right hand suddenly felt warm. Sixteen-year-old Lin Jianxia came to Xiangxi with her parents. It was originally just an ordinary summer vacation camping. But there was an extra layer of warmth in her palm—a warmth that seeped out from under her skin, continued to heat up, and never disappeared. My mother said that she had felt the same temperature twenty-three years ago on the tombstone of Huan Guo Tomb. That stone wall, that set of palm prints, those dark red powders - they connected into an invisible line, starting from Yinshan Mountain, passing through the stockades and deep valleys in western Hunan, passing through the stone formations and basins in the north, and extending to some place she couldn't tell. Someone is waiting for her on this line. Someone has been waiting on this line for years. She didn't know what that line was. But she knew it was going. And her palm was leading her to follow its footsteps. A story about walking, temperature and inheritance. ——The remaining warmth of the red layer echoes in the palm of the hand.