“Higher! Higher!” Wang Daniu saw from afar a small figure being lifted by an adult, who was holding him around the waist. The fair, tender arms stretched upwards, reaching for the red persimmons on the tree. The persimmon tree was planted about ten meters from Zhou Lingchun’s house, right next to the gravel path. It was late autumn now; the persimmon tree had shed all its leaves, leaving only dark, protruding branches with a few remaining fruits still hanging on them. Those few orange-red fruits…

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