"Collection of Prose" contains dozens of past events soaked in mountain wind and fireworks, using Qingxian's childhood memories as threads to connect the ordinary days in the mountains of Yunnan: Dad's corn wine is steaming on the stove, grandma's maltose is wrapped in the fragrance of pine needles, grandma's milk is sprinkled on the corn seeds in the rain, hiding her devotion to the years; In the tile-roofed house, a family holds a bucket to collect water, and the splashing water reflects the tiny details of life; the hide-and-seek in the dark, the screams beside the manure pit and the fights in the haystack, hide the wildness and truth of the poor days; and the bags of corn passed around, and the compensation in the donkey's hoof prints, reflect the stumbling but extraordinarily solid warmth of the neighbors.
There are no magnificent legends here, only the slow turning of the stone mill, the incense from the firewood, and the marks left by the children's bare feet. Every grain of corn, every drop of wine, and every piece of sugar is wrapped in the sweat and hope of the mountain people, enduring the bitterness and sweetness of the years. When the neon lights of the city blur the outline of childhood, these stories hidden in the cracks of the tiles, in the prints of donkey hooves, and in the syrup will take you back to the era when you earned a living with your hands and exchanged love with your sincerity - it turns out that the most touching time has always grown in the soil, sweetened in your heart, and lived in the smoke and smoke passed down from generation to generation.
