My Hard-Luck Father

This article is written for all fathers like "Old Zeng". They don't know a few words, are not good at words, and don't know how to express love. When they live, they work, and when they work, they live. They regard themselves as tools and their hard work as life. They never say "I love you", but they write these three words on the ground with a lifetime of sweat and silence. They are like neem trees. Roots are rooted in suffering, flowers bloom in the wind. After they left, the yard was empty and the crank handle on the wall was rusty. But where they stood, there was always a dark mark on the ground - that was evidence that they had lived. It's sweat. It's tears. It has been sixty years of silence. I would like to dedicate this article to those fathers who are suffering. I hope you are in another world and don't have to carry it anymore. When my dad passed away, he couldn't make a sound in his throat. I heard that the last few days of cancer pain were very painful, but because my dad couldn't make a sound, I never knew what he meant by waving his hands in the end. All the speculation left a deep pain in my heart. I hope my dad won't suffer anymore. The serialization is over, now start revising and republishing it