I covered my ragged clothes and curled up in a dark corner of zuixianlou alley, dying. I was an orphan. I was left on the Bank of Qinhuai River when I was born. It was an old drifter who took me home by the river. She had no children and no children. Like all the stories, she adopted me and depended on each other. She can’t read, but she’s full of wind and frost. On her old and shriveled face, there are knife like wrinkles on her face. She can’t teach me knowledge, but she let me learn all kinds of trivial things from childhood.