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In an environment where reforms are deepening in all walks of life, three middle-aged women are represented by the impact of the workplace, trivial matters in life, and emotional crises. This portrait depicts the life and work of middle-aged women in China today. They have won their dignity in life with their humanity that never shows weakness, their passionate emotions and their unremitting pursuit of the future.

It's just the beginning of November, and God seems to be experiencing extreme sadness, with lingering tears mixed with snow particles like rice grits. When Xiang Tengshu's flight landed, the rain and snow that had been scattered for several days happened to leave. As soon as he stepped out of the cabin, the cold wind rushed into his arms like a puppy. He trembled and his mother, who died of illness, and his ex-wife Lou Xiaomin ran towards him. In an instant, the roar and roar of the waterfall rang in his ears, and he seemed to hear his mother's call from deep under the water - he thought he had left his mother and Lou Xiaomin in Zhaqu Temple, which is more than 5,000 meters above sea level. He breathed a sigh of relief and looked up at the dark night sky. The midnight stars were like river lanterns floating on the water, shining brightly. Xiang Tengshu stepped on the crunching ice and returned to his home after a year's absence.

A collection of the author's short stories, including "The Woman and the Horse", which tells the story of a strong woman whose love is greater than her fate; "Behind the Clouds", which stubbornly chooses life but cannot escape from the embarrassment of reality; "Country Woman", where an ugly girl marries a man and loses her husband and raises a son on her husband's behalf; "Yellow Flowers", which depicts the life-and-death friendship of childhood sweethearts in a noisy and chaotic situation; and "Singing Again at Rest," which expresses the endurance, struggle, hard work and struggle brought about by writing. The characters in these works are mostly small people living in the cracks of society. Their stubbornness and unwillingness to admit defeat, their struggle against fate and their persistent belief in life, plainly infect readers through the sophisticated narrative style, revealing the brilliance of life in the tragic atmosphere.

This is a novel that describes the life, family, love and mission of our country's oilfield workers. For love, they opened up wasteland and farmed land. For love, they dedicated their youth and even their lives without regrets.

This collection of novels includes six novellas and two short stories by the author. We all know that the underlying resources and choices are based on the author's unique discovery, because many times, the fate of the little characters cannot be controlled by themselves after all, and it also has all kinds of tragic overtones that people don't want to see. As a female writer, the author not only has compassionate feelings, but also has delicate brushwork, narrative style and even the core of the work. She used her own writing power to write about all kinds of little people living at the bottom.

The two railway tracks leading to the coal yard were like two sharp machetes, cutting through the north and south ends of Sidao Street. The squat bungalows at the north end of Sidao Street are like abandoned children in the wilderness. The black soot raised when coal is sold in the coal yard, coupled with the wisps of black smoke coming out of the chimney on the flat roof, makes people's throats tighten, and the sticky phlegm spit out when blowing the nose is mixed with black threads. The snow in the first month, even if it falls like goose feathers, is just superficial. It's not as white and hard as the snow in the twelfth lunar month. The cedar that fell to the ground was as soft as a used rag, and it was disgustingly polluted. Liu Chun poured a handful of stove ashes on the snow and was about to turn around and go back to the house when he glanced at the chimney on the roof of her grandma's house as if remembering something. She saw black smoke rising out like a blocked intestine.

Snow in February is a style painting full of a touch of nostalgia of a northeastern town. It is an aria steeped in love and hate, and about a woman who has tasted the warmth and coldness of the world. The protagonist Bi Xingbo has a bad fate, but she is kind and tenacious. The two childhood playmates who grew up together with Bi Xingbo have always been entangled in their relationship. They don't want to hurt each other, but life is like a vine, tightly intertwining these three women who are not siblings - for this reason, they struggle, they resist, they howl, but in the end they still cannot escape their fate. Destiny is like a witch casting a spell... The three women trembled in labor pains, searched in confusion, gained or lost in the search.

It describes a family fleeing from famine in Shandong, with its fathers Liu Shichang, Liu Changhe, Guan Laowu, and Ding Dazhuang as representatives of an era; Liu Zhenzhen, Liu Zhuzhu, Zhou Lina, etc., And the working team in the village as representatives of an era. Their sense of self-responsibility and perseverance for the rural areas to get rid of poverty and become rich, for the revitalization and development of the countryside, are a force of this era and a powerful attack on the impetuosity and profit supremacy of some people today.

A heavy fog rose right under Lu Lihua's eyes. In other words, Lu Lihua witnessed with her own eyes how the fog changed from thin to thick and became too thick to be dissolved. In the first half of the night, Lu Lihua sat on the kang and looked at the old elm trees. As she looked, the old elm trees became less clear, as if they were covered with a layer of gauze. Lu Lihua rubbed her eyes, and the old elm tree was still disappearing little by little into the white gauze. "You, you are so naughty, are you playing hide and seek with me? You still have a sweetheart, and you want to abandon me?" At this time, Lu Lihua had not realized that it was foggy, and she was still complaining about the old elm tree in a soft voice. Lu Lihua didn't come back to her senses until she could no longer see the old elm tree. She pressed her face against the glass window, not to mention looking at the stars in the sky. Even Chang Xingming's dilapidated bicycle locked under the window was indistinct. Only then did Lu Lihua realize that it was foggy. The heavy fog swallowed up the old elm trees and drowned Lu Lihua's troubled thoughts in a distant place.