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Six Pieces of Cookies In the evening, the sun was already beating down on the ground. Captain Yang Mazi stood in the waist-deep grave, still refusing to blow the iron whistle he was holding in his mouth. He shoveled more than twenty bricks stained with lime out of the grave pit, tilted his head and glanced at the west horizon, and saw that the sun had penetrated a small area of ​​the ground. Then he puffed up his cheeks and blew the whistle to signal the end of work. Before the whistle sounded, the thirty or so grave diggers jumped out of the pit one by one impatiently. Xiao Daya and I and some other people carried shovels, big iron picks, and pickaxes. Yang Mazi and others used small carts to push bricks, stone strips, tombstones, and coffin boards. They braved the cold wind and strode home. The rush to go home for dinner caused waves of flying dust to rise along the path. Piles of small, smooth sand beans on the road were rolled around by the fast soles of their feet.

Snowflakes were flying like cotton wool. The northwest wind was fierce and well-proportioned, and the snowflakes started to swirl, one, two, three times, and then fell in the distance like a flock of tired birds. The heaven and earth also seemed to be swirling by snowflakes, like a shaking spinning wheel. It has been snowing heavily all day and all night. Guanmiao Town was wrapped in thick white snow, and the houses, courtyard walls, trees and streets could no longer be seen. Instead, they looked like two gentle hills rising in the endless snowy field. The long street that bisects the town is like a frozen ravine, making the town quiet and tranquil, as if it is a country on the horizon. The braying of donkeys broke the dreamlike tranquility, followed by the barking of dogs, and even the magpies in their nests drank the snow flakes and sang loudly. Then, wisps of smoke jumped out from the snow-it was time for lunch.