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That year, I didn't get admitted to college. It's not a shame to say that, but not everyone can go to college. I'm not a careless person who doesn't think about anything, but on this matter, I really didn't think very far. I didn't think too far ahead, and it seemed like it wasn't just about going to college. Whenever something happens, I always get into trouble with others. I always can't figure out whether others are right or I am right. Many people say that I accept death. I have heard such words so many times that even I myself feel that I am such a person. Neither my father nor my mother went to college and have been farming all their lives. My dad said, how about farming? Farming is pretty good. Today's young people are running around to find work here and there, and the land is abandoned. It was a March morning, and the sky outside was blue and black. The branches of the jujube tree behind the house are spread out like an ink painting. I just love to see this jujube tree. When I was five years old, my dad brought back a sapling and planted it in the backyard.

This book is a collection of short stories that compiles and collects 16 short stories by the writer Cao Xiangrong. The works present rich, complex and vivid social reality. Writer Cao Xiangrong, like most ordinary people, has been living at the bottom and has personally experienced a series of changes in the city. She uses her delicate and sensitive artistic sensibility to truly record the current social life. The characters in his works have different identities, but each one is vivid and full of personality. The stories he creates realistically reproduce the richness and vividness of real life, and truly reflect the inner world and living conditions of people today. The works present a natural, genuine and original character.

Xia Xia turns 40 after another year. Xia Xia looked at the seventeen-year-old girl running on the street, looked at the eighteen-year-old boy running on the street, and watched them walking in pairs on the street. Xia Xia went back to when she was her age. Year after year, Xia Xia only sees the people around her growing, but does not feel that she is growing. She had a hallucination-like dream for herself and hid herself in that dream. Xia Xia's dream was her beautiful memory. Xia Xia's beautiful memory is when she was sixteen. At the age of sixteen, Xia Xia's mother was busy looking for her husband's family. Xia Xia's mother stood anxiously in the alley, telling everyone she met that Xia Xia was already sixteen years old and it was time for her husband to have a family. Xia Xia learned these words later. When Xia Xia's mother said these words, Xia Xia was studying in a middle school.

Cao Xiangrong, female, teacher, member of Shanxi Writers Association. Started publishing essays in 1995. "The Stilling Moon", "Memory of Books", and "Walnut" were published in "Chinese Prose", Issue 9, 1999, Issue 9, 2000, and Issue 4, 2002 respectively. The collection of essays "The Fading Moon" was published by China Overseas Chinese Publishing House in 2001. Started writing novels in 2003. In 2004, two articles, "Mud Whistle" and "Women in Alley Hutongs", were published simultaneously in the fifth issue of "Yellow River". The novella "Mud Whistle" was selected into the "Selected Novels" that year, and was the first article in the 12th issue (second half of the month). In 2005, "Mud Whistle" won the "Yanmen Cup" Outstanding Novel Award from Yellow River Magazine. On the granite slope, people flowed like a sea, going up and down, and people's faces were smiling. The whole village of Gamashi had no choice but to eat at Zhang Ergou's house all day long. Today, Zhang Ergou's family has a big event, his mother's eightieth birthday.

Liu Yong took his wife Axiu and drove all the way to the door of the Civil Affairs Bureau. They got out of the car. Husband Liu Yong looked at the smile on Axiu's face and smiled too. Liu Yong smiled, blushed, and stretched a hand from his shoulder to the back of his head. Before leaving home, Liu Yong said that he really wanted to get a marriage certificate now? When Liu Yong said the words, he laughed first. Axiu looked at Liu Yong's red face, and in a daze, she remembered his youth. When Liu Yong was young, he was extremely beautiful. They had just gotten engaged. How old were they then? Sixteen, seventeen? They got engaged under the agreement of their parents. Axiu remembers that on the day they got engaged, relatives said that Axiu's father cried while drinking. Axiu got engaged, and her father was so sad. Now, A Xiu's daughter is eighteen years old.

These are the five large north rooms, which were built a year before marrying the second daughter-in-law. This house was originally built by the family for the boss Tian Zhu to marry his wife. Unexpectedly, the second child got married before the eldest child. It's not that the second child deliberately wants to get married before the eldest brother, it's Tian Zhu, the eldest son of the family, who is sincere. Nowadays, girls are engaged, unlike in the past, who just married a young man if he saw that he was honest. Today's girls marry based on which young man is smart. Tian Zhu, the boss of this family, seems to be an unintelligent person at first glance. He has lived in this village for almost thirty years. When he met the girl, he couldn't lift his head. As soon as he met the girl, it was like a golden living treasure appeared in front of his eyes. He kept his head lowered and his face was suppressed. His face was so red that he was either about to hit someone or was hit by someone. The boss doesn't follow trends either. He only had two coats. He took off this one and replaced it with that one. Both of them were worn to the point of being worn out. The boss is concentrating like this, still thinking about marrying a wife one day.

The next day, Xianxian died and hung himself. When he died, he was holding a red-painted clay whistle in his hand. There was another person dead in Xianxian's room, it was Dung Boy. A pair of scissors was deeply inserted into Dung Boy's belly. Facing the rising sun, I stood. I'm standing on a high mountain ridge. My back is bent. My body tilted to one side, and my legs were higher and lower. This is what I looked like when I came out of prison. I held the mud whistle in my hand, and I blew it long and hard once, and again, and I blew the mud whistle in my hand again and again, and I was illuminated red by the rising sun.

That year, he was thirty-nine years old. Being thirty-nine is a bit embarrassing for a woman. When you look in the mirror, you can often see the gray hair hidden in your hair. The face is not as bright as the twenty-year-old, and the calm color invades you unconsciously. You hate time, fearful, and hopeful. In the early morning, the breeze blows, and standing in the sunshine, you forget whether you are thirty-nine or twenty-nine. You smell the scent in the air when you were eleven or twelve, along with a snap there, or a bird call. The air is the same as before, the sunshine is also the same as before, exactly the same as when I was a few years ago. You are eleven years old and in elementary school. As you walk, you take out a small round mirror from your pocket. You look at your face in the mirror, look at one of your eyes, then look at the other eye. You don't like double eyelids. The double eyelids remind you of the neighbor's aunt, wearing leggings, half-big feet, and a pair of round-toed shoes.