The car drove out of the urban area and onto the provincial highway, and the scenery outside the window gradually changed from high-rises to fields.
It was early summer, the seedlings of the early rice had already been transplanted, the fields were a stretch of fresh green, and the paddies were like mirrors, reflecting the blue sky and white clouds.
In the distance, the mountains undulated, morning mist like a thin veil coiling around their waists.
Song Heping looked out the window, and his memories slowly began to awaken.
He had walked this road countless times.
When he was seven, he first followed his father into town to sell vegetables.
They got up before dawn, his mother tied up the greens, his father carried the pole with the baskets, and he followed behind.
They walked for three hours before reaching the county town and set up a stall in a corner of the vegetable market.
