At the end of this March, just before the completion of this work, I was invited by Nanjing Normal University to attend an event in Nanjing, where I met Zhao Bowen for the last time during a break.
Zhao was always busy, rushing about, still wearing his trademark tortoiseshell glasses and dark trench coat, but this time he had a blue surgical mask due to the rainy and chilly weather of the returning spring; he buttoned up high and carried a black umbrella, sitting down in front of me.
"Oh dear, it's never quiet, this damned pandemic comes in waves," Zhao Bowen muttered, "When will it ever end?"
"How has Nanjing been recently?" I asked.
"It's been okay, not as serious as in Shanghai," Zhao Bowen said as he sat down, took off his mask, and casually filled up a cup of tea for himself since we were old acquaintances.
