Library

The place where she lived was a low bungalow in a corner of the town. The walls were peeling off and it was leaking. As the eldest daughter in the family, the words Xu Chunmei heard most were her father's words: "You are just throwing away water. What's the use of reading so many books? Why don't you go to the factory early to earn money, supplement the family income, and save money for your brother to marry a wife." For the few dollars of tuition, she did needlework for a neighbor. Her fingers were bruised and bruised by the thimble, and the blood beads from the tip of the needle dyed the thread red. In this way, she just relied on her stubbornness to sneak through high school. She doesn't believe in fate, and she doesn't believe that women can only hang around the pot and men in this life. Like her mother, she lives a cautious life without getting a good word. That night, there was a big quarrel at home. Her father threw the bowl, pointed at her nose and called her a "loser" and a "loser", while her younger brother gloated and snickered from the sidelines. Xu Chunmei said nothing, silently picked up the broken porcelain pieces on the ground, and then dragged out a wooden box covered with old newspapers from under the bed. It was cloth and needlework that she had secretly saved for many years, as well as a few tattered tailoring books. She lit the kerosene lamp, and the flames danced in her eyes, reflecting determination. She sewed stitch by stitch and sewed out the first batch of small commodities - floral scarves, embroidered insoles, and children's tiger-head shoes. The stitches are fine and strong, carrying all her expectations for life.