This was probably a sleepless night for everyone, as the quiet of the small county town at night was so pervasive that it seemed to sink all hearts into silence, minute by minute.
When dawn slowly arrived, a light drizzle began to fall on the small county town. On this sunless morning, the dust on the roads had somewhat settled.
At eight-thirty, a group of people left the inn, embarking on the journey to the little mountain village where He Zhilan spent her childhood.
The bus stopped at the entrance to the village. The mountain roads, after the rain, could almost be described as a mass of yellow slurry, with locals cycling out of the village even falling and getting covered in yellow mud.
For those who live in big cities, this was, to some extent, indescribably difficult.
