She found the address and asked a passerby for directions, who pointed towards a small building at the end of the village.
It was a typical rural house, somewhat old, with weather-beaten terracotta and white ceramic tiles on the exterior walls. It was autumn, and the sun-drying yard was filled with corn cobs, cowpeas, and chili peppers; under the eaves were piled sweet potatoes, potatoes, and plenty of fresh vegetables, with some grain scattered around, and a few chickens pecking back and forth.
This house exuded a fully pastoral and tranquil air, completely different from the bleakness she had imagined for a lonely, elderly person.
Standing there, unsure of what to do, an elderly woman came out of the house, thin and stooped, with a head of white hair.
