Tales from the Old Forests of Changbai Mountain

Opening "Stories in the Old Forest of Changbai Mountain" is like opening an old quilt covered with snow. Underneath are the bullet casings of the Anti-Japanese Alliance, the bone bells of shamans, and bloody memories frozen in time. This is not a simple anti-Japanese novel, but a three-dimensional epic carved on birch bark with bronze nails. The hunting knives of Chen Qingshan and others split open not only the iron cans of toadstools, but also the solidified narratives of history textbooks. When Yan Wen's Dai knife opens the Japanese army's anti-epidemic uniform, revealing the tattoos of seven surnamed laborers underneath, you will find that the author is completing a delicate operation - he stitches the obscured folk memories into the grand narrative with suspense threads. The most amazing thing is the construction of the "mountain spirit system": the shaman's bone bell measures resentment, the bronze nail identifies the direction, and the ginseng wine breaks the poisonous miasma. The magical contrast between these folk wisdom and the Japanese biological and chemical weapons is like a battle across time and space. When Jin Ling'er used menstrual blood to break the evil spell, the insulted women completed their revenge in the most primitive way. It is recommended to prepare Northeast grilled cold noodles and highly burnt knives when reading - the former will allow you to chew the fireworks when the fungi attack, and the latter will help you swallow the sore throat when the seven surnames are dying. After all, in this old forest, even the autumn rain smells of gunpowder smoke, and every wolf howl is an unfinished last word. The moment I closed the book, the outline of Changbai Mountain outside the window seemed clearer. Perhaps those heroic souls who remain forever in the mountains are staring through Chen Qingshan's bronze nails at the dawn they paid for with their lives.