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... ith the living room on the left and the kitchen on the right, holds almost all of Jiang Qin’s beautiful memories.
My biological mother, Ms. Yuan Youqin, was cooking in an apron. She was chopping with the chopping board as loudly as possible. It sounded like meat dishes, the kind with bones in them.
Qin Dad Jiang Zhenghong was sitting on the sofa to read the newspaper, humming "The Cloud of the Hometown" in his mouth, and his slippers shook on the toes.
Feeling this familia ...
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