Mirroring the past

As I was heading to the train station after leaving Moudao the faces of many people I had met there came into my mind, one after another. The cab driver turned on the radio, which was playing a sad song: "My dear friend, please don't cry," the lyrics said. When the words came round for the second time, I tried to hold back my tears, but couldn't.

A 4-year-old girl was the first person I thought about. After walking on the mountain for nearly four hours, my colleagues and I lost our way, and we met the girl accidentally in Yumuzhai village, about 20 kilometers from the center of town. It was raining, but the girl was standing in an open yard where two seniors were cleaning sweet potatoes. Another woman showed up shortly after.

The women weren't related to the girl; they were her neighbors and babysitters. She had been left with them by her parents, who were looking after the 150 goats they own. She wore a pink coat, but the sleeves were so dirty they were stained black. Although she had no toys or prepared snacks, the girl smiled as she bit into a piece of sweet potato.