Four Seasons in the Countryside: Notes of My Childhood in the 1980S

Hu Zi's emotional and delicate growth narrative. The author uses "dog" as a mirror to reflect the life course of a boy who learns courage, responsibility and farewell from companionship and loss. Huzi is not only a guardian, but also an enlightener of emotions - its death is not the end, but the beginning of "my" psychological coming-of-age ceremony. The father's words in the article, "If you are afraid at night, just call me," quietly complete the intergenerational transmission of guardianship responsibility, and the silent gaze of "I" under the moonlight at the end is the final release and acceptance of childhood protection. The article buries the heart-shaking emotional power in ordinary daily life. The unspoken understanding between humans and dogs constitutes the most touching dialogue in life. It is a book of the soul filled with the breath of the earth and the temperature of the years. The author uses a hemp rope as a guide to draw out the forbearance of his father's generation, the wild growth of his childhood, and the spiritual birthmark of a generation over the past forty years. The words are like rusty knives cutting through the thick cocoon of memory, revealing a texture mixed with blood and soil - there are my father's college dreams blown away by the wind, my sister's bicycle without a beam, the life and death lessons taught by a black dog named Huzi, and the creaking circle of the stone wheel on the wheat field. There is no pretentious nostalgia in these stories, only the truth that scabs and blooms. This is not nostalgia, but recognition. Recognize those barbaric years that took root in barrenness and grew under the scorching sun, and recognize the earthy smell that cannot be washed away. The author uses calm and sharp writing to carve a generation's "wild survival" into an epic, allowing us to still feel the salt and toughness of the soil in our blood in the reinforced concrete forest. When I close the book, I feel like I can still hear the wind in the plains of northern Anhui, carrying the sweetness of kudzu flowers, saying softly: My hometown has never gone far, it just continues to grow in our bodies.