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Before the Qingming Festival, begonia began to wither, green willows appeared, and the sky was blue after the rain, crisp and pleasant.

Many people spread paper and burn incense, go to graves in advance, and enjoy the beautiful scenery with old friends in an attempt to dispel some sad emotions.

Su Hong walked among the pedestrians with a bundle of yellow paper. He looked exhausted under the green cloth crown, and his slender body swayed under his robe. Even if his clothes are covered with cotton, he can still make people see that his bones seem to creak, as if they will be scattered all over the floor when touched, allowing pedestrians to run away.

Crossing the river ditch, bypassing the mountain ridge, he came to a deserted grave with few pedestrians and stopped.

Here it is. A year ago, I accompanied my wife back to my parents' home. She said she was tired when she came. She sat down and ate half a cake, talking and laughing, and suddenly fell dead. When Su Hong invited someone home to help with the funeral, she didn't expect her family to die, too. He was the only one who died in one day-no, there was another one. She was beheaded in the autumn and is now sitting in prison.

Su Hong down from the yellow paper, sitting on a stone, looking at the desolate tombs murmured:

"I am very ill and my body is not as good as before. It's not easy to come here to see you, so I wronged you ... all the money at home is used for mourning, and it's not enough for you to move home. I am really a coward. ...

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