Library

In front of the computer was a small box wrapped delicately with red pearlescent cellophane. At noon, Qiao Xiaoqiao opened it and saw that inside the box was a mahogany pen holder. This was a gift from Li Rui, the supervisor sitting in the next office, to Qiao Xiaoqiao. Along with the gift box was a small card, which was written in black oil pen: I wish you happiness! There is no name on the signature place, and a smiling face is also drawn with a black oil pen. The difference is that it is a smiling face with glasses. Colleagues all know that this logo belongs to Li Rui, and of course Qiao Xiaoqiao also knows it.

There is a master who plays the piano very well, playing the piano wherever he goes; there is also a shoemaker with eyes as focused as an engineer, squinting in the sun when he has nothing to do. There are also strange people who can raise golden eagles, say congratulations, and are good at singing flowers. This is the life style of the Uyghur people.

I have heard the wind in the Gurbantunggut Desert, seen the clouds in Buxel, caressed the plants in the Tianshan Sacred Tree Park, and sent away the birds in Ulungu Lake. There are also grand banquets for naming ceremonies, merry running donkey carts, and a bazaar every seven days. He writes down all the strange scenery in Xinjiang, full of visible emotions.