Three-and-a-half-year-old Mu Mu is the most ordinary little glutinous rice dumpling in the kindergarten.
No one knows that her seemingly ordinary children's room door connects the most eventful years from 1921 to 1949.
"Sister, why are your steamed buns white?"
The ragged little warrior looked at the breakfast in Mumu's hand, and the light in his eyes was brighter than the stars.
"Child, what's flying in the sky... Is it our Chinese plane?"
The one-armed old hero looked up at the sky, watching the J-20 whizzing by, with tears streaming down his face.
Mu Mu didn't understand the deep truth. She only knew that these uncles, uncles, grandparents, who were all injured, were the best people.
She held their hands and looked at the busy traffic, the mountains of supermarket supplies, and the prosperous China that was no longer bullied.
In this life, the mountains and rivers are safe and the fireworks are ordinary.
Ancestors, welcome home.
