The man at the door looked terribly embarrassed by An Guoming's question, "Who are you?"
"I… I… I'm your… I'm… Lin Cuifeng."
Lin Cuifeng?
An Guoming was no fool. He asked directly, "Are you from my mother's side of the family?"
"I'm her second older brother."
For the first time, An Guoming truly sized up the simple-looking farmer before him. The man's skin was dark and wrinkled, and the hair peeking out from under his cap was grayish-white. Lin Cuihua was forty-six this year, which meant this man couldn't be more than fifty. Yet he looked older than the sixty- and seventy-year-olds in the village.
No one ever mentioned Lin Cuihua's family. He remembered asking about them once when he was little, and all he could recall was Lin Cuihua saying they were all dead.
Apparently, there was more to the story.
