[Rural Daily Life] + [Unrefreshing Articles] + [Parents' Short Stories] + [Documentary Literature] + [Changing Times] + [Female Elegy]
Her name is Zhao Di, born in a poor peasant family in the 1970s. This name destined her to be the blood bag of the family throughout her life.
During the famine years, she swallowed the rough bark of trees to save the life-saving rations for her younger brother; during the snowy days, she was sold by her father to a disabled old man in a neighboring village with a high price as a gift, just to exchange for her younger brother's school fees. She spent many dark nights in the black brick kiln, protecting her head when being beaten, like a silent old cow, building a new house for her brother bit by bit.
Later, my husband died and times changed. She cleared wasteland and farmed the land, raised several children, and thought she had made it through. But the children she raised with blood and tears imitated the elders of the clan, and opened their blood-sucking fangs towards her...
There is no golden finger, no rebirth and counterattack, just thirty years of a miserable woman growing wildly like weeds. This is the life of Zhao Di, and it is also the silent complaint of countless rural women of that era.
