My childhood was steeped in my grandma's stories. The smell is the aroma of steaming grains from the wine shop, the roughness of the years grinded by Grandpa Yu's stone mill, the charm of ink brought by Grandpa Guo from the Shaanxi Guild Hall, and the fragrance of the old locust tree in front of Grandpa Zhou's Huiyuan gate. They made my first drink of wine, spicy, sweet and with a long aftertaste.
Grandma is of Mongolian origin, born in Nilek. Her life is like a river, meeting three tributaries, changing its course and expanding its territory: Grandpa Yu disappeared, leaving behind a millstone and the mystery of the distance; Grandpa Guo died young, leaving the deepest friendship among scholars in troubled times; finally, she found a resting river bed next to Grandpa Huiyuan Zhou.
Fathers are like seeds blown by the wind, scattered in all directions. The uncle once got lost in the ice and snow of Osaka, and finally returned home after all the hardships; the aunt and uncle took root in the Xibo and Hui families, allowing the family to blossom into the flower of the five ethnic groups. Separation and reunion form a long melody of fate intertwined with joy and sorrow.
"Five brothers and sisters, four ethnic groups" is a simple phrase that hides half of Xinjiang's modern history. The smoke of revolution, the changes of the times, and the ups and downs of individuals in the three districts are all condensed in this imperfect but tough home. Between the cracks, there is tolerance and glimmer of light.
Now we are separated in the world, but connected by blood. Traveling far and wide with Mongolian blood and diverse imprints, the roots are still rooted in Nilek Winery, and the soul is still tied to the old house in Huiyuan. When we were apart, the sky was filled with stars, but when we were together, we were still listening to grandma's endless stories about the past.
I write this article not for the sake of legend, but just to treasure the simple greatness: a woman holds up the sky of her family with love and tenacity, and several unrelated men guard it with their faith. This pot of family wine brewed over the years is now in my hands, and I would like to invite you to taste it carefully.
