Chapter 470

• The images were not clear—a blurred memory of an event that occurred when I was still learning to read. I was over three and a half years old, and although I had been brave since I was young, at that time I was not so reserved.
• One day, as I was walking home, I saw a boy sitting on the sidewalk crying profusely. Since he was wearing the same uniform as me, I stopped to ask him why he was crying.
• He looked up, his eyes overflowing with tears and his nose running. Rubbing his hands on his face to wipe it clean, he stood up and swallowed his tears.