Lan Po shines in the evening, she is in her seventies, she was born in fireworks and outlives the years.
When I was young, I listened to my mother talk about Nie Ling's courage on the road at night, and saw her body of a little over 14 meters bent like a bow between the stove and the ridge of the field. Her hump carried the growth of four girls, and also carried the toughness of an ordinary woman of that era.
Now that I have become a mother, I have fully understood the meaning of the saying, "The days are like trees, no matter how cold it is, you can survive the winter." I keep writing just to remember the tree that my mother planted - its roots are rooted in the old times, but its branches have already passed through the years, drawing new green from the bones and blood of the grandchildren.
This story is a response to my mother and a longing for time.
