The damp heat of the rainy season in Diannan left a deep impression on him.
Just like that little girl who wore cotton linen short sleeves and capris, her skin tanned by the scorching sun, he would think of her whenever he had nothing to do.
On the border of the Three Kingdoms, along the banks of the Mihesha River, poppy fields were everywhere.
It was in that sea of flowers that an 11-year-old girl dragged him ashore.
The girl wore a red string on her left wrist, and as she treated his wounds, the dangling end of the string swung back and forth.
At that time, the dark bloodstains had soaked through his military camouflage at his waist.
Seeing her taking scissors out of a rattan basket and squatting next to him to cut open his T-shirt near the wound, her small mouth slightly pursed, her face serious in a way that did not match her age, he asked while leaning against the wooden bed: "Aren't you scared?"
