A Firework Keeps You Happy Every Year

After nine years in the imperial kitchen, she could fold twelve folds of puff pastry and boil the finest bean paste, but she was beaten to death in front of Shoukang Palace because of a plate of dim sum. When she opened her eyes again, she was Wen Ning, a farm girl who had just died on the way to escape the famine. The cart was swaying, my chest was bruised and my stomach was burning. A little boy with a sallow complexion held her hand tightly and cried, "Arui is not hungry anymore. Arui only wants sister to be well." A tall, thin and taciturn father, a mother wiping her tears behind someone else's back, a shabby house at the end of the village with bare walls, and a pot of porridge that was so thin that people could be seen. There was no money, no land, and even half of the courtyard wall collapsed. But—— The stove is good and the fire can be lit. The wild vegetables are sweet, and the half of a persimmon that my brother stuffed me in is also sweet. My mother dismantled the trolley and built a dish rack, while my father dug out the ditch without saying a word. She sprinkled a handful of minced wild garlic into the porridge, and the whole family's eyes lit up. Life was poor, but no one wanted to kill her because of a plate of snacks. The sky is wide and the earth is wide, and the eaves are low. A stove of fireworks brings peace every year.