Too cold. Too fucking cold. Too damned fucking cold.
To her eyes, everything seemed as obscure as the surface beneath a thick layer of dust. In her memory, however, everything was as clear as a postage stamp.
That winter was in the year of the Chicken. She had fantasized that her husband-to-be would like to celebrate that Spring Festival with her family. As she’d told him many times that she very much missed the particular moments of family reunion at Spring Festival after so long. However, what Bing had responded was a shock.