周贵斌的心在流泪、在泣血。4月28日傍晚,他与妻子来到长江边,默默地拿着香烛、纸钱、白花,迎着习习的江风,静穆成一块礁石。这是女儿去世两年的祭日,每年他们都要来和长江诉说思念,把一朵朵小白花丢进江中,看着白花随波浪浮沉,慢慢地飘向远方。每每这时,香烛燃出的青烟袅袅绕绕,撕心裂肺似地扯出了 Zhou Guibin’s heart is in tears, tears of blood. On the evening of April 28, he and his wife came to the banks of the Yangtze River, silently holding incense candles, paper money, white flowers, facing the winds of the study and quietly forming a reef. This is the anniversary of his daughter’s death two years. Every year, they have to come to miss the Yangtze River and throw blossoming small white flowers into the river. They watch the white flowers drifting slowly toward the distance with the waves. Often at this time, the incense sticks out of the smoke curl around the heart pierced like a tear