About This Novel
Before I started telling this story, the melancholy cinder path had not yet disappeared. Bamboo groves on both sides of the path block out the sun, and the sunlight is lost on the road, like coins burning hot in sweaty hands. Passing through the bamboo forest, a large field of wheat that had just woken up from winter suddenly spread out in front of us, rolling with dark green waves. My brother and I walked out of the house and reluctantly embarked on this always damp and gloomy path. When we walked to the school on the other side of the wheat field, we often raised our hands to our chests and spread them out to catch the sunlight falling from the high sky. We walked faster and faster, and the light spots flew from our hands to our bodies. Gradually, we started running, and the light spots flew faster and faster, dancing on our bodies. We are always delighted by this scene. My brother straddled his legs, held it in vain with his left hand across his chest, and held a thin bamboo branch in his right hand. With a red face, he urged the imaginary horse under his crotch to run in front of me.
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