When she was four years old, her mother walked past her without looking back.
The stove is cold and the pot is empty. Grandma's hands are her only warmth. Her brother kicked her into the stove, and her father's wine bottle fell to the ground forever.
Fortunately, the bowl of hot rice from Fa Xiaojia kept her alive.
At the age of fifteen, she went to Shenzhen alone. Serving dishes, selling wine, falling in love with the wrong person, losing children, and learning to count money in a rental house.
Later, she opened the bar and closed it again. I opened a confinement center and learned to take care of women who had just given birth - just like no one took care of her back then.
If something happens to a man, she will bear it alone. Mom died, and she went back to take care of the funeral arrangements. Brother went in and came out, and finally died in the rental house.
She put the three graves next to each other and stood in the wind, thinking: In this life, everything that should pass has passed.
At the age of sixty, he returned to the village, sunbathing with Fa Xiao, writing books, and teaching his neighbors how to write. The granddaughter calls her grandma.
In the spring of her eighty-third year, she held her son's hand, smiled, and closed her eyes.
She spent her life proving that no matter how cold the stove is, it can still cook hot meals.
