The following stories are true in life. Many of them were told by my father, mother and fellow villagers when I was a child. In the summer, we sat around the bamboo bed, in the moonlight, under the stars, in the darkness, I snuggled in the arms of my father or mother, listening to the adults telling stories. These stories are seared into my memory and I return to them from time to time. Over time, these stories made me feel some meaning. They are so mysterious, elusive, so poetic and meaningful. These stories are like a mysterious passage that allows me to walk in. When I walk through, I see a world that is both inside and outside our lives. I am amazed that my fellow villagers, in their difficult and boring life, unconsciously explore a spiritual world. And pass these explorations on to their descendants in the form of stories. These stories have been passed down from generation to generation, but there is no doubt that they are somewhat time-stamped...
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
