This man, this village, I imagined many times.

It was raining, I came to the village, here is not different from my imagination. A main street, self-built tile-roofed houses, kindergartens, stores, drugstores, tractors parked on the roadside, umbrellas hang in front of people's homes.

Then I came across this man, who was very thin. He was carrying a Burgundy umbrella.

He passed me and turned back and said, Girl, why don't you have an umbrella?

As on the phone, he spoke crisp Mandarin. Like me, he seemed out of place. Then he walked to the east and I walked to the west. I passed him and turned back and called to him, "What’s the year of you born?”