When dusk spreads over the old walls of Qinyuan Community, Yang Zhining will always sit under the locust tree and rub the carbon fiber cane. The copper lotus flower on the top of the staff has been polished by time, and there are still a few grains of fine sand from Storm Lake embedded between the petals. Thirty-five years later, those days soaked in blood and tears are still hot in my memory - the torn Chinese books, the copper crutches sunk to the bottom of the lake, the mottled carvings on the rock wall of the air raid shelter, and the fierce strength in my father's back when he walked to Song Gao's house holding bricks in his hand.
This is not a fairy tale about "counterattack". When fate presses you into the mud, what can save your life is never mercy, but your own strength to get out of the blood. As my father said: "Light doesn't come by waiting for it. It can be realized by oneself after boiling the blood."
New works are released. Welcome everyone to go to Tomato Novel to read my works. I hope you all like it. Your attention will help me tell each story well!
