About This Novel
I deliberately rolled a pumpkin down from the top of a bare mountain. It ran, whistling in the wind, until it hit the back eaves of my house before stopping, revealing its pink flesh. My mother's two lips were like a carpenter's plane, scraping my body hard from a distance. At the same time, she picked up the rotten pumpkin, chopped it into dices, and poured it into the iron pot in the kitchen to cook. Let's get straight to the point. Ravines, cliffs, mountain ridges, mountain roads, mountains, mountain valleys... They stretch endlessly. I hate the Wumeng Mountains that I can never get out of, and those Wumeng pigs that never seem to have enough to eat. Wumeng majestic walking mud pill. I swear that one day, sooner or later, I will trample Wumeng Mountain under my feet and behind me like the Red Army trampling on mud balls, and never come back.
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