When someone knocked on the gate of the old house, Chen Yanqiu was pruning dead branches from the osmanthus tree in the courtyard.
At sixty-two, the retired senior officer still stood ramrod straight. He put down his shears, wiped the dirt from his hands, and walked to the gate.
A young woman stood outside, holding a clear umbrella. Rainwater dripped from its edge, soaking the tips of her shoes. She wore a faded denim jacket and carried an old canvas bag. Her eyes held a hint of nervousness, along with a stubborn resolve...
