Shanyue Doesn't Know What's Going on in Her Heart

The moon lotus jade button around her neck has been close to her heartbeat since it was placed on the altar table in the Earth Temple. It has been cold for seventeen years and warm for another thirty years. Her name is Lin Qingyue. The name is the last wish of her biological mother embroidered on white silk, and the artist's distant mountain features are engraved in her bones and blood. But the person who raised her was the widow surnamed Lin in Qingxi Village. She picked her up from the ruined temple with her skinny hands, put her on the stove to drink porridge, taught her to read under the oil lamp, and touched her face before she died and said: "Fly, my mother's moon." In the spring when she was seventeen, she bumped into a young man wearing a blue tunic suit standing in the dusk and asking her for directions. The man was an educated youth from the provincial capital, his surname was Shen, a gentle man from a scholarly family. He gave her a copy of "Compendium of Materia Medica" and the sentence "Going out is the best reward." The profile of him reading in front of the window sill was like a lamp, which lit up Qingyue's heart for a long time. Long enough that she later walked the twenty-mile mountain road alone to take the normal school exam, long enough that she took the green train for two days and two nights with a transfer order from Beijing, long enough that she finally received the award under the spotlight of the provincial capital auditorium, and turned around to see that the lamp already belonged to another person. Beijing is a completely different world. She met Song Zhixing, the young master of the Song family. He had elegant features and a loose temper. He leaned under the street lamp and twirled his sunglasses and said, "I'll see you later." At that time, she didn't believe in "there will be a time in the future". She came from the mountains and knew that she had to step on the road firmly to avoid sinking. She pushed open the iron door of Gu's house, glanced at the laughter and laughter inside through the ginkgo tree, and then turned away; she returned her birth mother's bankbook intact, leaving only "I'm living a good life" and left; when Song Zhixing chased him to the school gate to block people, she said "we are not the same kind of people" and left. She took the train south and left behind all the concerns of Beijing behind the tracks. She only took away a jade button, a handkerchief, and an old piece of paper with a gatha written on it. The wind in Shenzhen is trendy and warm. She said "start from scratch" in front of the mirror in a ten-square-meter rental house, pricked her finger on a second-hand sewing machine in a two-hundred-square-meter factory, cried a lot in the middle of the night when her capital chain was broken, wiped away her tears and made three phone calls to ask for help. She sewed out the "Xiaoyue" brand stitch by stitch - the crescent moon holding a lotus flower, which was exactly the same as the pattern on the jade button. The number of sewing machines changed from three to thirty to three hundred. The factory grew from the crack in the urban village into a building with floor-to-ceiling windows. She grew from the country girl squatting by the stove and drinking corn noodle porridge to a woman who stood in the spotlight and said "grit your teeth and walk." Many years later, at a charity dinner in Beijing, she walked through the crowd in a lotus-colored dress. Around her neck was the necklace with a moon lotus buckle, and on the ring finger of her left hand was a platinum ring with a plain ring that Song Zhixing put on himself. He chose a very ordinary Saturday afternoon, sat on the sofa at her house and said, "If you don't want to wear all the bells and whistles, wear it if you don't want me to ask again next time." He stood on the other side and looked over through the bright voices of crystal lanterns in the hall. The two looked at each other for a moment, separated by more than twenty years, and curled their lips at the same time. That smile didn't require walking over or talking, it was as natural as the night breeze in Shenzhen Bay back then - she finally stopped running, and he finally didn't have to chase her anymore. The wild cherry blossoms in the back mountain bloom every spring. She held the wedding there, wearing a white dress of her own design, with a pink and white petal made of silk pinned to her veil. She knelt down in front of her mother's grave, put the bouquet steady, and said softly: "Mom, I have someone with me. Don't worry." The man stood waiting for her under the old cherry tree, his white shirt blown up and down by the mountain wind. She walked towards him from the depths of the petal-filled path, feeling that all the footprints along the way were correct - the falls, the tears she shed, the darkness she endured through gritted teeth, and the stars she counted while sitting on the rooftop of the factory. Every step brought her to this spring place where the sun was shining and someone was waiting in front of her. The jade button around her neck was still attached to her heartbeat. From Qingxi Village to Beijing to Shenzhen, from the age of seventeen to now, it has kept an old verse for her: "Don't complain that your life experience is like a piece of mail, it has its own pearl that shines deep into the night." Now she finally understands. That pearl was never anywhere else. She spent half her life lighting it up bit by bit. -- This is a story about how a woman who ran away came back. About the counterattack from the ravine to the city, from humbleness to calmness, about a rural girl pulling herself out of the mud with her own hands and growing into a tree that stands tall on the sky and the ground. Here is a girl's hazy first love, a sober and restrained choice, a gritted and gritted persistence to start a business, and a belated but just mature love. The dust and morning light of the 20th century are everywhere between the lines. Every character has flesh and blood, and every relationship is clear and crisp. The limitations of the old era and the arc of human nature are sewn into the heroine's stitches - not relying on men or recognizing relatives, but relying on herself. From the wild cherry blossoms in Qingxi Village to the evening breeze in Shenzhen Bay, from a white jade button to a business empire, here is a woman's complete life: growing like a weed, living like a pearl. Open the first chapter and you will see a sixteen-year-old girl squatting by a clear stream, rubbing her clothes, her frozen red fingers dipped in the icy water of the twelfth lunar month. You have no idea how far she will go. But you will be willing to accompany her through the two hundred thousand words of spring and autumn. --- Her name is Lin Qingyue. The moon in Qingxi. She spent half her life illuminating herself. Now, that lamp also shares some light with you Intention: A jade buckle determines destiny, and a pair of hands changes destiny. This is not a "who found me" story, but a "I became me" story. The dust of the times falls on an individual's shoulders, and she turns around and grows into a tree. Class, origin, gender, prejudice - all the established shackles of fate were eventually broken open by her one by one. As the saying goes, "Don't complain about your life experience, it's like a piece of paper, it has its own pearl shining in the night." You don't have to wait for someone to light you up. You are born with a core, and you ignite the fire yourself. Live like grass, live like a torch. Light does not need to be borrowed from others, it shines on the heaven and earth itself.