Above, there's an enormous face, so large it eclipses everything overhead.
This face is ubiquitous in Fengdu, carved into statues, hung on altars, painted on cliffs.
When she was young, her grandfather would gently stroke Yin Meng's head while pointing at "it" and say:
"Meng Meng, remember, this is our ancestor."
After her father's disappearance, her mother's remarriage, and her grandfather's illness and burial, Yin Meng, all alone, would often stand behind the counter, supporting herself with her hands, watching the bustling streets during temple fairs.
Ancestors seem omnipresent here, yet they never appear in their descendants' lives, no matter how hard she struggles, taking up tools with tender hands at a young age to craft coffins, or staying aboard under the blazing sun to help retrieve swollen corpses for a meager fee.
