In this chilly spring, the wind on the river is as sharp as a knife. The mountains disappear in ten thousand hues, like withered graves.,On the north slope of Chang County, there is a stunted mountain ridge that looks like it's limping. On the ground are three incense sticks and paper money for the dead. Two men in rough hemp clothing are squatting by a pit, with a shovel and freshly dug earth at their feet.,The night temperature was very low, even I could see my own white breath. Inside the white coffin, the woman didn't look old, she was in her prime, wearing a burial shroud, with a waist like willow branches and a flat belly, not like she was pregnant. Yet there was a circle of black stitching on her neck.。