Fireworks Reflect the Southern Branches

Food blogger Wen Zhi returns to the old house in Yunqi Village left by her grandmother after an accident. In the small courtyard with green bricks and black tiles, grandma's old stove still smells of smoke, the bamboo forest in the back mountain hides fungi after the rain, and the stream in front of the door swims with plump grouper - but the village is no longer lively as it once was, with most young people going out, leaving only the elderly and children guarding the empty terraces. Wen Zhi started by repairing the leaky roof, and used her grandmother's iron pot to stew the first pot of spring bamboo shoots and pork ribs soup. The aroma was so fragrant that the blind grandma next door followed the smell to the door; she improved the sowing method and grew sweet peaches, so that the teenager who dropped out of school to herd sheep Xiao Shitou picked up her schoolbag again to help her tend the garden; she led the villagers to build canals, pave stone roads, and make dried bamboo shoots and wild tea from the mountains into Internet-famous specialties. Even designers in the city were attracted by the aroma wafting from her stove and came to the village to sketch. From the desolation of one person and one stove to the bustle of hundreds of cooking stoves, Wen Zhi plants hope in the soil and creates warmth in the fireworks. When the cold chain truck drove into Yunqi Village for the first time, when the sound of children reading filled the bamboo forest, and when the designer who always liked to stand outside the courtyard and watch her cook handed her a bouquet of wild roses with morning dew, she suddenly understood: the most moving scenery is the flames dancing on the stove, the tanned smiling faces on the field ridges, the calluses on the palms, and the smell of home that can be smelled every morning when she wakes up.