That lane was not only narrow, noisy, winding but deep, muddy, sunless. It was recognizable by the same grayness, the same length and width, the same broken bits with puddles, the same curves with a sharp bend at a shabby paper factory that was still open. Only most of the houses on both sides looked newer, taller, neater, tighter, nicer, and the passers-by seemed fewer and stranger, though more vehicles were seen. Out of the lane was an open road forking in two directions. At the beginning of the right fork was a slope, a part of a bridge crossing over a river full of carp. On either side of the road there were small restaurants, snack bars, shops, bakeries and vendors selling all kinds of food. Mei chose to sit at a small folding table in the middle, where the wind was blowing the hot mists of rice noodle rolls into a spire. When eating, she looked east and west. On her right, the former Shouning Vocational High School was now Shouning Number Seven Middle School. On her left, seen through the open gate of an arched tower, the familiar square, with grass in the center and an ovalshaped rubber running track, seemed only smaller. She remembered one tranquil summer afternoon before leaving for a city far away, both the greenness of the grass and the comforting rubber were once melted under the bareness of her feet.