The first time Lin Zhaodi broke her fate was when she chased a hare and ran into the ancestral hall at the age of six. Her grandfather was carving her name into the seventh line of the yellowed family tree, and the stalactites she picked up from the cave lay on the niche that was supposed to be dedicated to men. This third girl, who cried half the chicken coop collapsed when she was born, managed to make her way through the villages of southern Fujian in the 1990s with her ponytail filled with cockleburs.
She wears three treasures on her waist: a telescope for repairing clocks, a Swiss Army knife she won from a second-rate man, and an old enamel tank containing mountain spring water. When the two sisters, who had never met before, were brought back to their old home, twelve-year-old Zhao Di was leading twenty-three "private soldiers" to pay at the mountain temple - three baskets of red bayberries, five bunches of bananas, and transparent shrimps rescued from her grandfather's fishing net.
Zhaodi, who is "a brat among girls and a bully among boys" never expected that she would encounter two major events in the summer when she turned eighteen: the notice of failure in the college entrance examination and the fierce-faced boy who was always typing codes in the corner of the Internet cafe. Just like when she rushed out of the rainstorm cave with her crying sisters, this time she clutched her college admission notice and blocked her crush at the corner of the laboratory building: "Hey, do you want to go to the mountains with me to watch the stars?"
Purpose: Use the rebellion of the name as a blade to cut open the traditional cocoon; use the wind in the mountains and fields as wings to rewrite the family epic