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On the rest day in London, I like to go to Portobello Road Market, which is the largest antique flea market in the world. Maybe you will bump into the bookstore where hugh grant and Julia Roberts met in Notting Hill. It didn't rain that day, and it was neither cold nor hot. I walked along the canal. Portobello Road Market is the busiest on weekends. Sunday is its regular flea market, and I stroll in front of the leather antique stall in the open air. I went directly to the second-hand bookstore on the ground floor. I like to look for books there. In every dusty yellow book, because it is infiltrated by years and owned and cherished by people, they seem to exude wisdom and meaningful breath. I squatted in the novel area and searched, and suddenly I found a very strange book. More accurately, it should be a hardcover book with yellowed handwriting. It is very old and incomplete. The paper inside was soaked in wax, but it was written in Chinese after a long baptism. I can't help but imagine that an old woman from China, with a pale face, came to England through the Indian Ocean and Arabian Sea with a delicate bone China teacup in her hand. We are constantly being summoned by the ghosts of the past. There must be something on her. ...