About This Novel
Wu Hongcai was holding an oversized white porcelain bowl, squatting awkwardly and weirdly on his grinding mouth. Wu Hongcai put his butt towards the door of the hall and his face to the sun in the sky, a bit like squatting in a latrine. In fact, he was drinking porridge. The sound of Wu Hongcai's porridge was a bit special. One moment it was churping, like the sound of piglets eating in his pigsty; the other moment it was puffing, like a duck farting. In short, it was a bit absent-minded or careless. Only he himself knows that drinking porridge is just a must, and his ears are always listening. The door of Wu Hongcai's house is a firewood door. There are some old reed flowers on the reed wood tied with a simple wooden frame, swaying gently in the breeze at noon. There was a locust stick hanging across the firewood door and a small trumpet hanging, singing "Our Life is Full of Sunshine".
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