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The hot pancake-like sun sticks to the center of the sky, burning hot. A string of clear and pleasant cow bells was carried by the wind from the forest path, leading out a group of large and small buffaloes. Grains, lentils and milk residue were riding on the back of the cow respectively, with a big leaf above their heads to block the sun. They were bare-chested and covered in sweat. The leading buffalo entered the river, and the group of cattle followed. They spit out the bamboo leaves, quickly took off their underwear and threw them on the branches on the shore. The three mud monkeys jumped up and down from the backs of the cows and played like crazy for a while while whistling. Then they plopped into the water and swam among the cows as nimbly as fish. While playing in the water, they caught and sucked the leeches that sucked the cows' blood. The wind blows. The mountain forest is like turbulent waves, and the sound of branches and leaves comes.

His name is Bai Yingtai, not Zhu Yingtai. From childhood to adulthood, people loved to call him Zhu Yingtai. However, Zhu Yingtai is just Zhu Yingtai. Bai Yingtai doesn't matter, they are all Yingtai anyway. Bai Yingtai's mother strongly opposed his father giving him this name. She felt that calling her son Yingtai was too girly, and she also believed that others would call him Zhu Yingtai. Bai Yingtai had to admire his mother. She was indeed very foresight, but in the end she did not stop his father from writing the name Bai Yingtai in the household registration book. Bai Yingtai's mother said that when she was just pregnant, his father had prepared the name, which meant that whether he was a boy or a girl, he would be called Yingtai.

I went to the firewood garden to look at the firewood. Chai Cao Yuan is the most magnificent house in this old alley. My father bought it from the grandson of a businessman named Chai at a large price and gave Chai Cao a place to live. Fifty years ago, my father abandoned the compound together with the firewood and never came back to see it again. This is my first time here. The person who opened the door was a woman in her forties, the daughter of my aunt Chai Cao who she later recognized as an illustrator. I should call her sister. This painter sister speaks softly and walks softly. She gives me the feeling that she doesn't like to talk and doesn't want others to talk to her.