About This Novel
In the area south of our city, old houses are densely packed, like the piles of ashes left after burning straw in the fields on the outskirts of the city. But our family is an exception. It is like a mushroom growing out of straw ashes. The wild mushrooms are colorful and green, and they also emit a moist earthy smell. Colorful flowers are staged in the yard in all four seasons. In summer, two large tanks of lotus flowers sit quietly under the outer wall of the kitchen. My mother gets up at five o'clock in the summer and washes clothes in the yard. There is a maroon washboard in the big red plastic bathtub, and a pile of sweat-soaked clothes. After another overnight stay, the fermentation is completed, and the smell is choking. "Plop-plop", she was wearing faded pajamas, hunched over and sitting on a low stool, rubbing her clothes, with flesh-colored thin rubber gloves on her hands, like a doctor operating a scalpel. The lotus flower opened petal by petal beside her, until the apricot-yellow stamens popped out, but she didn't even look at it, as if holding her breath.
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