It’s Qingming Festival of the year. At noon, it’s gray and rainy. Along the way, we can see a continuous stream of people coming to worship their deceased relatives. In the distance, a man with a long black umbrella went straight to the cemetery on the mountain. Finally, he stopped in the western corner of the cemetery and looked at the tombstone. His eyes began to wet. How familiar he was. Three years ago, like today, he walked step by step on the steps of the cemetery with a long black umbrella.