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Zaoshu Township is the poorest township in Quan County. In the past, Zaoshu Township was called Fengshou Commune, but for decades, Fengshou Commune has never had a good harvest. The reason is that most of Zaoshu Township is in the middle of the mountainous area. There are no serious fields and nothing can grow. It is caused by drought. No matter how much it rains there, the fields cannot store water. Some crops are not afraid of drought, such as peanuts, sweet potatoes, and dry tobacco, but these crops are not valuable. Everyone in the township had to go to Shiqiao Town to buy food for meals, but no one in the village had any money in their pockets. All the young and middle-aged people have gone to other places to work. People in Zaoshu Township have lived in remote valleys for many years. Not many people go to school. Those who go out to work are often deceived. Some people have worked for more than a year without making any money back. The family's pocket money depends on raising a few chickens or pigs and selling them before the Spring Festival. Whether you are raising chickens or pigs, you need to feed some grain, but the villagers are reluctant to do so, so the eggs are not big and the pigs are thin.

Short story writer Wu Yunqiang, born in the 1960s, is a member of the Yunnan Provincial Writers Association. He started writing novels in 2004. His novellas "Explosion", "I'm Rich", "Fragrant Sister-in-law", "Sapphire Suburbs", "Who Will Wake Up First" and "The Last Call" have been published in "Sichuan Literature", "Anhui Literature" and "Border Literature". Among them, "Explosion" won the 4th Zhaotong City Government Literature Award. He has published a collection of works "Into the Valley of Beauty" and a collection of novels and novels "Visities in the Eyes". He is currently the vice chairman of the Federation of Literary and Art Circles of Suijiang County, Yunnan Province. After donating 20,000 yuan in road funds, Zheng Dongli would have the same dream every few nights. In the dream, he was driving his beloved "Daben", carrying his beloved wife Wang Yushi, on the newly built highway in his hometown, either speeding or stopping to enjoy the scenery.

Tang Shijie, a native of Yichang, Hubei Province; graduated from the Railway Engineering Department of Changsha Railway Institute in 1967. He is the author of novels "Earth Ship" and "Death of Love", collections of short and medium stories "Sun of the Plateau" and "Magic Cave", long essays and collections of essays "The City of Martyrdom for Love", "Blowing Breath of the Soul", "The Ancient Cradle", "Hazy Border", "Meditation on Yunnan", "The Shaping of Mood", etc., As well as film and television literary scripts such as "The Grand Canyon" and "Shangri-La". Member of Chinese Writers Association. He once served as vice chairman of the Yunnan Provincial Writers Association and editor-in-chief of "Literary Circle". Catching up with the early dusk in Qushi, I was slowly walking along an alley into the small courtyard deep in the town.

In Yongding County, fifty miles southwest of Longyan City, the capital of western Fujian, there is a county seat called Shenxiandu. Shenxiandu is a transportation hub in the upper reaches of the Yongding River and a commodity distribution center during the water transportation period. This is the last ferry on the upper reaches of the Yongding River. All parallel imports must be disembarked here and distributed through the Shenxian Ferry, so the ferry evolved into a polder. Near the top of Shenxiandu, there is a village named Tian Duan, all of whom have the surname Liao. Regarding the Shenxian Ferry, the Genealogy of the Liao Family in Tianduan recorded this: "The Shenxian Ferry is unpredictable and deep, and the water is sluggish... In the past, when the Shenxian Ferry opened for business, many boats docked here. After the night was quiet, the lights on both sides of the bank were reflected, like thousands of sparse stars." Since the Shenxian Ferry, there has been the Shenxian Ferry polder here. The ferry and the polder are combined into one, both called Shenxian Ferry.

Dongbagou is very poor, but the villagers in Dongbagou are very enthusiastic. To use the words of the village chief Yan Fangliu to describe it, that enthusiasm is like the sun in the sky. Except for the crack in your crotch groove, it can't shine on the rest. With a lot of effort, it can make your whole body shine! Although this metaphor is inappropriate and a bit exaggerated, from the moment the Wang Xi sisters set foot on the land of Dongbagou, they really felt it. The sun is the most poisonous at noon in summer in Dongbagou. There are very few people walking on the dirt roads between villages. When Wang Xi's car first entered the village, they stepped on the brakes, smoked a cigarette, and waited for a while in order to find a villager to ask for directions. Entering the village committee compound, he met Yan Fangliu and explained his purpose. The news that they were going to do something good for Dongbagou Village and help a few poor people was like wings that suddenly sprouted, attracting enthusiastic villagers. In the sparse village committee compound, more and more people are entering.

After the harvest in autumn, agricultural work slows down, but the slack period is also the time when rural social stability is most likely to suffer problems. At this point, the higher ups will have to arrange for people to be spotted. The home of Lao Zhou, the village clerk and security director of Dawan Village, is at the intersection. On this day, at Lao Zhou's house, the township police station chief asked Lao Zhou to keep an eye on a person and keep a close eye on him. The person to be targeted is the nail, and the nail is the old petitioner. When it comes to nails, cadres at all levels have a headache, but county officials are better off taking charge now. The responsibility to prevent nails from jumping to higher levels to petition will ultimately fall on Dawan Village. The police station chief was afraid that he would not be able to tell the truth over the phone, so he followed the instructions from his superiors and went to Dawan specifically to implement this person-marking task. Murakami left him to eat, but he didn't eat. The director was about to get on his motorcycle and sprinkled a circle of "Gypsophila" flip-up Yellow Crane Tower cigarettes. When they saw the director walking away like a wisp of wind, they all lit up their cigarettes, ate their cigarettes, and then went back to sit in Lao Zhou's room without saying a word.

In fact, the leading figures in the village have long known about the news that Yuewangzhuang is going to change its appearance. Yue Fuquan was an ordinary citizen, so it wasn't until he went out to see the crops that morning that the news hit his ears. Yue Fuquan likes to get up early and go to the slope to see the crops. Even in the dog days of summer when hanging up the hoe and the mid-winter of ice and snow, when there was not much work in the fields, he would get off the kang and leave the house at dawn, hurrying and slowly out of the village, walking around from field to field. Yue Fuquan went out a little late that morning. At about three o'clock in the night, the old woman fell into an old habit. Her stomach suddenly hurt, and she groaned while pressing her hands there. Because it was an old problem, Yue Fuquan did not get up. He lay there and held her down for a while. When the old woman's humming subsided and her body gradually stopped, Yue Fuquan sighed and stopped moving, and fell asleep drowsily.

Mailian is from Huangcun, and almost everyone in Huangcun has the surname Huang. So far, Huangcun only has one or two families with foreign surnames who moved from who knows when and where. Mai Lian's father's surname is Huang, and Mai Lian's surname is naturally Huang. Her family is an authentic Huangcun native, and she has been living in Huangcun for who knows which generation. In front of Huangcun, there is a small clear river. The Xiaoqing River has flowed for many years and has nurtured many generations of Huangcun people. There is a stone bridge on the Xiaoqing River, which connects Huangcun to the town. On the day she graduated from junior high school, Mai Lian packed up her luggage alone and walked along the foot of the school wall in disgrace, heading towards the school gate. She was afraid that someone would recognize her and ask questions here and there, and she would not be able to get off the stage. The straw mat on her back may not be tight, but it scratched her neck, making it itch.

That fall, our Wucang Village became an angry village, all because of my sister Yang Xiaofeng. My sister is a shy girl who doesn't like to talk. She is no different from other girls in the village. They all work in Yang Zibiao's bearing factory. She smelled like a mixture of perfume and motor oil, and that smell came out whenever I was eating and hit my nose. Because of this, I often quarreled with her. No matter how noisy, my sister still sprinkles lots and lots of low-quality perfume on her body to cover up the smell of the engine oil from the bearing factory. My sister is very fair, and she likes to blush when she gets a little emotional. But that autumn, her face was always gloomy. My sister, her young life entered winter early before the cold came.

It was just after the ninth month of the lunar calendar. The weather was gloomy and it looked like it was going to rain. The wind was also so strong that it blew in waves, like a pack of wolves roaring past, making people feel timid for no reason. On September 9th, Tian Kangzhan's newly built house and courtyard walls were torn down by the whole village and turned into ruins. Tian Kangzhan went to find the party secretary. He couldn't feel the air-conditioning rushing towards him, and felt a fire in his heart. When he saw the party secretary's painted black door, the fire became more intense. He grabbed the door knocker and started banging it hard. There was the sound of the door opening in the room, and then the party secretary hurriedly said: Who is it! I am in a hurry to report my funeral. The door opened. The party secretary was obviously taking a nap, his eyes were relaxed, and he was a little angry at being disturbed. When he saw Tian Zhanzhan, he was stunned and asked: Lao Tian, ​​what's the matter? The door was knocked down and collapsed.

I looked outside the window and saw that the gastrodia was bright. I quickly got up and ran towards the kitchen without washing my face. Saihu immediately stood up from the eaves, circled around me three times, twisted his waist, waggled his tail, and tried his best to make me flirty. I patted its head, squatted down, and put my face against its face. A kind of plush warmth spread to my face, which was very warm. Saihu and I made out for a while and said: I'll go to the kitchen to get you some food. You'll be full. I want to make my face look better today! I ran to the kitchen, picked up the two steamed buns and three medium-sized red sweet potatoes left over from the night before. I left one steamed bun for myself and fed the rest to Sai Hu.

On November 1, 1973, a student studying at Xianggou Middle School returned to the village and gave me a handwritten notice from the commune education team, asking me to go to Xianggou Central Primary School for a meeting at nine o'clock the next morning. I got there on time the next day, saw Principal Song Jinke in the courtyard, and asked him what meeting he was holding. He smiled and said, "Go and wait, you'll find out soon." He pointed to an office. I'll just go there and wait. Sitting there at this time were Gu Shaotang and Zhu Kongfang, private teachers from Xianggou Central Primary School, and Sun Qinbiao, a private teacher from Wangzhuang. After a while, Chen Qingyu also walked over, a tall man about 1.8 Meters tall. He is a private teacher at Quanlian Lian Middle School. He taught mathematics when I was in junior high school. He was loud and passionate in class. After a while, commune education assistant Liu Shaohua and central primary school principal Song Jinke came.

Xiaochengzi Village is actually very peaceful at night in late autumn. The air evaporating from the crop fields smells like sweet food. Because the night was very dark, the stars in the sky looked very small and faint, and the only thing that was brighter was the first quarter moon hanging in the western sky. Wang Lianshu felt like he was about to fall asleep when he was woken up by Xing Shuzhen. Wang Lianshu turned over and turned his face away. He saw Xing Shuzhen glaring at him angrily. He was startled. He thought that his wife was evil again. They hadn't been together for many days and he had to defeat her. So she closed her eyes and hummed and rolled on Xing Shuzhen's body. After Xing Shuzhen pretended to scold Wang Lianshu for a few words, she made her body as soft as noodles. Wang Lianshu said to himself, my aunt, please forgive me. I haven't blinked for three days and three nights, please be gentle.

It's time to visit the prison again. After Wang Xinya decided to visit her father in prison, she hurriedly watered the wheat when she came back. Wang Xinya has five acres of wheat, which takes a long time to water. When there is a drought, the wheat is poured too much, but the water cannot keep up. There was not a single snowfall last winter, and people thought it would snow after the New Year; but after the New Year, it still didn't snow. I also thought it would rain on February 2nd - the dragon will raise its head on February 2nd! But after February 2, the sky was still sunny. The wheat harvest in the hills and hills has shown signs of failure, and there is no hope; the wheat in the flatlands cannot have any more problems. Drought relief and watering wheat are the top priority right now. The large well in the group can water the ground quickly, but you need to queue up.

In Kunming, I only like Tongren Street. I fell to the ground, I really fell to the ground, under the eaves of an old house on Tongren Street. I love Tongren Street because Tongren Street put a stamp on my buttocks. My mother said that it was my father who stamped it on my left buttocks when I was little. It was a birthmark, a black and blue mass, but my mother insisted that it was my father and blamed him. Now that I am in my thirties, my mother still talks about the birthmark. Xiaoqing, you are so mean, have you gone back to your old nest again? I wouldn't move my butt, what's so good about it? After I married your father, the little chirping, non-soundproof board house started to get moldy, and I was bitten by ticks.

At the age of 17, Tao Tou followed Zhang Ba around the world. Zhang Baken is wearing a hoe, because the hoe is his species. This is the unanimous opinion of the villagers. Rumor has it that Hao Tou's father, Liu Si, had a disease. The corn that had been cut early had no seeds, so he borrowed the seeds from the good man Zhang Ba and planted them in his own land. It was also said that Hao Tou's mother had a loose belt on her wheat trousers. She was interested in Zhang Ba's money, so she let Zhang Ba have sex with her and gave birth to Hao Tou. No matter how it is passed down, it will never change from its origin. That hoe was made by Zhang Ba. Judging from looks alone, Hao Tou looks nothing like Zhang Ba. He has a wilted head and droopy brain, and is taciturn. The hoe looks like his mother's maimang, with a white face and a thin and narrow body. In rural areas, people with such a stature and appearance are somewhat frowned upon. There is a feeling that you can't afford the menial work and can't let go of the fine work, and you can't support your family. Zhang Ba, on the other hand, is tall, burly, and handsome.

Shuhe Ancient Town is very old. There are records that it is older than Lijiang Ancient Town. The older the town, the more valuable it becomes. A few years ago, tourism in Shuhe became popular. I came here and opened a restaurant. I own a restaurant and write short articles. I have been writing for many years, and I have become a member of the Provincial Writers Association. They all call me a "writer." If I don't write something and appear in provincial and municipal newspapers, I feel like I don't exist in the world. When I write short articles, I can't do without the things around me. I accidentally included Shuhe and the matter of opening a restaurant. In this way, many friends in the literary world also knew about my restaurant opening. Think about it sometimes. I felt like I had betrayed myself. When meeting outside or chatting on the Internet, they always say that when they come to Lijiang, they will come to Shuhe to meet me for a drink. I said, welcome, welcome! They said they would give us a discount. I said, you come here for free.

It's foggy again. Whenever it was foggy, my mother would always mutter in front of me: "Your father would always say at this time, I'm going to get some air." I didn't know what my father meant by "breathe", and I didn't understand the word until I went to school. But what puzzles me is that Zhouzhuang is so big that my father can't even breathe. I really don't know how he could hold back so much, because instead of going out of the house to get some air, his father walked out of Zhouzhuang alone along the village road and went to get some air outside the mist-shrouded village. It seems that the fog in the village is not very big, the air is humid, and even the ground is covered with a layer of moisture. This moisture often makes me have the illusion that the dirt road does not look so hard, but it is hard to step on. The fog is not thick, just wisps, thick or light, like a hanging veil, rising and falling under the caress of the wind.

"Green Leaves in the Scenery" is a novel written by writer Li Yiqing in ten years. It was the only one in Ningxia that was selected as a key support project by the Chinese Writers Association in 2008, and was included in the "Special Topic to Commemorate the 60th Anniversary of the Founding of New China" (ranked third). Regarding this novel, "Literary News" once commented: "Li Yi's "Green Leaves" is a novel on the theme of rural education in northwest China. The author intends to give a direct, in-depth and calm presentation of the current rural education status in western China through a comprehensive narration of a township's education. A series of educational stories and typical education cases with profound philosophical thoughts are used as the basis, and the teaching experience, emotions and life of grassroots educators are used as the latitude to construct a vivid drama of grassroots education, thereby reflecting the pace of innovation and progress of rural grassroots education in the past 30 years, and writing the rich and ordinary life path and spiritual history of the educators who stick to the grassroots level.

The Nagarjuna Bazi, sleeping in the Wumeng Mountains, lit up one after another with the sparse crowing of chickens. Along with a few brisk and loud dog barks, the coughing sounds of the elderly also sounded chaotically, like a tragic symphony. On the bumpy dirt road, more and more people went out for morning work. The man was carrying a pole, tied with a rope, and carrying a sickle. It seemed that he was either cutting grass or chopping firewood. The women usually carry a big bamboo basket on their backs and have to work every day for the few pigs at home, which are the only source of income. The annual fertilizer money, charcoal money, oil, salt, sauce, vinegar, and tea money are all carried on the few pigs. Not only that, but what's even more terrible is the annual student money, which catches people here off guard. The growth rate of pigs can never keep up with the increase in student tuition fees.

A muffled sound of "bang" broke the tranquility of Pinggang Village. Village party secretary Liu Dahua is having a meeting at the village committee. A group of young men suddenly burst in with panic expressions: "Secretary Liu, it's not good, it's not good! The gate collapsed! The gate at the head of the village collapsed!" Village director Shi Jin, village accountant Liu Deng, women's director Zhou Xiaoqin, and league secretary Chen Li all followed Liu Dahua to the head of the village with their hearts clenched. All the villagers came, and the old man Xiong Dageng was at the front. The harbor embankment has been washed out by the flood, which is more than 20 meters long. The surging water is like a wild horse that has escaped the reins, washing away the crops in the enclosure. Xiong Dageng looked at the flood of water, stumbled, and shouted: "It's over! This year's crops are all over!"

The intermittent sound of the flute came from afar, and the boy playing the flute sat on the grass slope. In the sunshine, the soybeans all over the slope made the sound of exploding, and there was the sound of grasshoppers flapping their wings everywhere. The young man's face was so delicate and graceful that it seemed as if it did not belong to this mundane world. His long and slender fingers moved lightly on the flute hole, and his eyes looked into the distance - a distance that no one could see, as if he could cross fields, rivers and woods and see another world. His long, narrow, upward eyes revealed his indifference and even disdain for the world in a casual glance. Only when he was playing the flute was he attentive and vivid, and even the surrounding scenery seemed to be brought to life by him.

The short-term wind force is 8 to 9, the instantaneous wind speed is 17 to 33 meters per second, and the minimum visibility is zero. This is the third sandstorm since spring due to the influence of cold air from the west and north of the Mongolian Plateau. This is a large canyon, with strong winds carrying sand and dust blowing in from the mouth of the canyon. The gentle slopes on both sides of the valley are endless wheat fields that have just been sown. The wind stirs up the bare surface soil and lifts it into the sky. The dust moves and floats in the vast sky, filling the entire valley. Over the endless wheat fields, the wind extended its invisible and powerful long claws to the woods on the top of the mountain. The big trees whose throats were strangled by the wind were unable to escape. They bent their bodies along the water and wailed and cried. "Woo-wu-wu." Thousands of big trees whimpered together, and the rumbling roar shook the river and the sea, and the sound resounded throughout the sky above the canyon.

"Ganjiawa Scenery" to be published by Beiyue Literature and Art Publishing House is a collection of Wang Baozhong's "Ganjiawa" series of novels. It consists of 20 short stories, which have been published in major literary journals across the country. This journal has published several articles before, and this issue publishes three of the chapters for the benefit of readers. Wang Baozhong's novels are long-lasting and easy to read, with solid and profound realistic skills, vivid and detailed descriptions, simple and implicit narrative language, overwhelming rural customs, and successful character creation. The author has poured his emotions and thinking about the countryside and farmers, and his love and exploration of short stories into the fictional village of "Ganjiawa" to paint a picture of the survival of farmers today. His contribution to contemporary short stories is self-evident.

Whenever I think of that pit, I can't help but wonder that many times, people's destiny is not in their own hands. Some inconspicuous things have already changed people's lives inadvertently. That's the pit half a foot deep. It was dug out from a poplar branch with a hatchet. It was originally meant to play a trick on me. He likes to play pranks. He often goes to the mountains to cut firewood, herd cattle and pick wild fruits. He often digs a hole on the mountain road when no one is paying attention and covers it with withered grass and leaves, so that no one can easily detect the hidden danger. Many passers-by accidentally stepped into the pit and were either startled or turned upside down. At that time, he was hiding in the bushes and having fun. I have been fooled a few times, and every time I stepped into a pit accidentally, my knees always hurt. That day, Yang Zhizhi and I went up the mountain to herd cattle. At some point, he dug another pit on the mountain road, but I noticed it. "This trick won't work for you anymore."

World and Earth In China at the beginning of the 21st century, there was a poet named Chen Er, whose name on his ID card was Chen Duobao. At that time, most Chinese poets had a pen name, and some had several pen names. The poet Chen Er, also known as Chen Duobao, was born in 1971 in a small mountain village called Shangenchencun in Taizhou, eastern Zhejiang. According to the "Haidong Chen Family Genealogy", the ancestors of the Chen family began to live and multiply here during the Chunxi period of the Southern Song Dynasty. Seven or eight hundred years later, there were still only 60 or 70 families when Chen Duobao was born. Where Chinese people choose to live, they must look at Feng Shui. The simplest model for good Feng Shui is: there is a mountain behind the village and flowing water in front of the village.

When the flood waters subsided, the weather turned colder, and the wind in the morning and evening became biting to the skin. I'm looking forward to the weather getting colder. It would be nice if the dog-day season turns to winter as soon as possible. Fortunately, I have something on my mind - when the weather gets cold, my son Shasan will no longer swim in the river. The river he swims in is not a small ditch, but the Huaihe River. The water of the Huaihe River is not an ordinary water, it can harm people. In the early years, it had a bad temper. In three to five years, there would be floods, houses would collapse and houses would be destroyed, and everything would be wiped out. Nowadays, it has been treated more safely, but it is not safe. Every summer, when its master is not happy, he will take away a few people who splash in the water. Isn't it true that the eldest child of Xiaoliu's family, the head of the village, and the first scholar in the village to be admitted to university, drowned when he went back to the village to swim in the river during vacation?

The poor Houshan Village has to directly elect the village chief (the official name is "Village Committee Director", but people are still used to calling him "village chief"). Du Dagang, who made a fortune in the provincial capital, was tricked by his father into pretending to be ill. It turned out that his uncle, father and uncles wanted him to be the village chief. There are many people who want to be the village chief. In order to win votes, everyone in the village is busy looking for their bosses and providing money. The branch secretary is also secretly doing things. Are these people who want to be village chiefs good leaders in selfless dedication? Can Du Dagang, who originally wanted to continue to make a fortune in the provincial capital, become the village chief? As soon as he returned to his low thatched house and looked at the weather-beaten faces of his uncles, fathers and uncles under the dim light, Du Dagang suddenly lost the feeling of jogging along the forest avenue in the morning in a big city wearing high-end sportswear.

The large playground of Dongfang Primary School is outside the fence. Open a small side door on the right, get out, and your eyes will suddenly open up. The so-called playground is a huge irregular soil flat. A large sand pit was dug in the front left for students to use for long jump. A straight 100-meter runway was created on the left side of the bunker - it was just a matter of tamping the soil, spreading fine sand, and using cement to build a three-inch-high boundary line on both sides. There is also a basketball stand - a giant one-arm made of reinforced concrete, with the upper end extending two feet forward, holding a backboard like a shield, standing alone under a slope on the right side of the playground. The soil slopes connect to the graves, and graves of various sizes spread along the wall of the county machinery factory toward Dongfang Primary School. Most of the graves have steles made of cut bluestones erected in front of them, and these graves are usually relatively full; a few graves without steles are thin and short, and some are about to sink into the ground, but they still stubbornly raise their backs, showing their presence that cannot be ignored.

Du Zhongquan squatted under the table and vomited. He had not finished vomiting out his stomach full of wine, but also wanted to vomit out the bitter bile and his heart, liver and five internal organs. Du Zhongquan cursed himself while vomiting, I, Du Zhongquan, am a pig and a dog, but I just want him, Zhang Tai'an, to go to the county and give me some money to open the tunnel in Backdraft. Isn't it just that I want the two villagers groups in Backwash to have a good way out of the mountain, and not climb the narrow and steep stone wall path when they get out of the mountain? I would drink as many drinks as Zhang Taian asked me to drink. He would drink even when he was drunk, and he would drink even after he vomited. What Zhang Taian said at the wine table was not fart. When he sobered up, he refused to admit anything. He said he didn't promise to get me money, so I'd throw a stone at the sky. My fingers were digging into my throat, and my stomach was still churning, which made me feel extremely upset.

At the beginning of spring, bright popsicles were still hanging from the branches of the trees in the mountains. Wu cadres from the township went to Tiantougang Village to implement the work of building a well-off society in the village. Tiantougang Village is the only road connecting the township. It is a mechanical plowing road that winds like a snake, but it is now tightly sealed by ice. Cadre Wu had no choice but to walk to Tiantougang. The rat-tooth-like ice crunched under his feet, which sounded a bit unsettling. Township cadre Lao Wu has been in contact with Tiantougang Village for a long time. Before the contract responsibility system, I stayed in this village, eating and living in Tiantugang for 200 days out of 360 days a year, and mingling with the villagers. Old Wu was involved in all matters in the village. Even when a villager's pig became ill, Old Wu personally went into the pig's nest to help diagnose the disease and give injections. His nose and eyebrows were unclear and he was covered in pig manure. He didn't care.

The mill is at the eastern end of Duoer Village, close to the irrigation canal of Duoer Village. Throughout the year, villagers will pick up the harvested grain and wash it in irrigation canals. Firstly, it is close to the mill for grinding flour, and secondly, the water in the irrigation canal is clear and can wash the grain cleanly. On a sunny day, the slopes of the irrigation canals are covered with reed mats of various sizes, and the mats of different colors are dotted with patches of different colors. Life in Duoer Village is not rich, and the reed mats are almost never complete. It is normal for a mat to last seven, eight, or ten years. Some mats are so patched that the original appearance and color of the reed mats are no longer visible. Among the women who dried and washed the grain, Xiyue was the most eye-catching.

It was already nine o'clock in the evening when Yang Dongdong arrived at Minquan Village. If he hadn't met Liu Xiaoqin halfway, he might not have been able to reach Minquan Village tonight. He only knows that this village is located at the junction of two provinces and three counties. It is the most remote village in the county, more than a hundred miles away from the county seat and more than ten miles away from the town where the township government is located. Committee member Han, the organizing committee member of the town party committee, persuaded him to stay in the town for one night. Commissioner Han said that the only mountain villages in our town like Minquan have not yet been connected to asphalt roads, and the two provinces and three counties are always at odds with each other. I plan to repair it after the rainy season this year. Tomorrow there may be a tram or a motorcycle passing by, and you can take a ride there. Yang Dongdong knew that the trampoline that Commissioner Han was talking about was a fuel-powered tricycle. That kind of car was not safe to run in the city. It would easily overturn when it encountered bumps, let alone a rugged mountain road?

This book is a sequel to the author's collection of rural novels "Township Party" published in our company. To live means to live a life. It mainly writes about the rural areas of Guanzhong for decades. In order to survive and pursue a better life, they have struggled tenaciously and unyieldingly, which fully demonstrates the diligence, kindness, righteousness and survival wisdom of the working people. The novel comes from the author's life experience, has an original local flavor, and the story is full of twists and turns.

The village party secretary who just returned from a meeting in the township said that during this year's May Day Labor Day, the township will hold a "Workers' Song" singing competition, and all cadres and masses in the township can sign up to participate. Not only that, in order to promote the construction of rural spiritual civilization and allow rural people to share a cultural feast, the township also clearly stipulates that each village must select at least one representative to participate in this singing competition. This work must be linked to the year-end assessment of the village's "two committees" and evaluated as a performance project this year. According to the village party secretary at the village group leader meeting, the township leaders attach great importance to this "Workers' Song" Singer Competition, in order to reflect the spiritual outlook of the working people in the township through the songs of workers.

The work tells in the first person what happened in the "fields and villages at that time", some novel, bizarre, amusing, and even touching and concerning stories. Grandma, uncle, aunt, old lame soldier, aunt, and "me" and Gou Shengzi, Lunzi, Xiaoyingzi, Suozhu, Shitou, in the unique "season" of China's specific historical time and space, in that "field" and "village", many true stories of life happened and were performed, and at the same time, we felt and harvested strange happiness and sadness, confusion and helplessness. Family, friendship, and fields are the love and pain we can never let go of...

The works are novels with realistic themes. The time span of the novel is from the 1960s to the present, a story that takes place between three generations of grandparents and grandchildren within a period of a decade. Regarding love, hate, life and death, different people in different eras use different outlooks on life and values ​​to deal with it. The result is a long scroll of life with bright colors and strong contrasts. The novel takes Jiangnan as the place where the story takes place. It consciously highlights the regional culture and occasionally mixes in the Jiangnan dialect to depict the warmth and warmth of human relationships between "barren mountains and harsh waters" and "green mountains and green waters".

This novel mainly depicts the rural social reform and development with distinctive regional characteristics that occurred in Tianjiatun, a backward village in the west where the protagonist is located. The protagonist Tian Hua is a young man who is enthusiastic about public welfare and willing to help others. He took on the important responsibility of the village chief in the construction of the new countryside. He helped the villagers get rid of poverty and become rich, and in the process of changing old ideas, he cultivated new people and made the village a model of new rural construction, and at the same time he realized his self-worth.

This is a work that reflects the life of educated youth who have returned to their hometown. This book describes thirteen characters, among whom all ten team members died. However, like those Gao Daquan works in the past, it did not fall into the same stereotype of beauty and grandeur, but actually expressed "this one" in life. It is a living and personalized literary model. Their sacrifices were definitely not for revolution and morality, nor for the ultra-leftist things that were extremely popular at that time, but for taking their respective living conditions and life trajectories to the most real and glorious end of their lives. The work very realistically describes rural life in the 1970s. They had no music, no electric light, no love, no entertainment of any kind. But they worked hard and enjoyed hardships, but they had very good personality. They wrote a generous and tragic life song in that era, which gave us profound inspiration and infection.

A narrative novel. About home, fellow villagers, youth and confession - stories that happened and are happening in that land, the suffering and love and hatred of the folks, the growth and dreams of the youth, as well as the reflections and confessions of those who have experienced the "catastrophe", and the farmers' yearning and efforts for the city. There are dozens of stories, each one making people feel sad and sad. This book takes the lives of three generations of "He Fang Village" as the main line, and integrates the cultural revolution, reform and opening up and other major historical backgrounds. It reflects the existence of the entire society through the joys, sorrows and joys of the villagers of "He Fang Village".

Sun San's village is more than two miles away from the county seat. It used to be called "Dongteng". There are about a hundred households, which is too small compared to the large villages in the southern Shanxi plain that often have tens of thousands of people. Nine years ago, it merged with a small village called Xirong in the west to form an administrative village, called "Dongxi Zhuang". Gradually, Dongteng was no longer called Dongteng, but was called "Dongzhuang", and Xirong was also called "Xizhuang". In fact, it is still an independent village with four distinct areas on the plain. Surrounding the village, fields are connected as far as the eye can see. In late autumn, the sunlight seems scarce and the fields are shrouded in mist. Zhuanghe has been harvested, some are plowing the fields to sow winter wheat, some have just started irrigating, and many people are busy in the fields. We can't be busy all the time, and just take a break and talk together.

When summer came, I started preparing to go to the "front lines of the three major revolutionary struggles." First we went to the Liujiaxia Hydropower Station construction site and then went to the Bingling Temple Grottoes. Soon I got on the train with a lot of stuff, from all kinds of painting supplies to lots of tomatoes. When I woke up, the train was breathing heavily, and outside the window was the grassy slope of Wushaoling in Tianzhu Tibetan Autonomous County. In the distance are the exposed rocks of Maya Snow Mountain. This is a place I am very familiar with. Comrades from the Zhangye Art Troupe who were traveling with me heard that I was going to the Qilian Mountains alone, and seriously advised me to change my mind. The Zhangye painter we originally agreed with was unable to go with me because his child was burned to death while working at the reservoir construction site. I don't want to give up my long-awaited trip to the Qilian Mountains, even if it's just an adventure. With no one accompanying me, I had to go alone.

The sky is still so high, the stars and moon are still so bright, and there is no sign of rain. In the evening of that day, Niu Shun carried two empty buckets on his shoulders and limped along the mountain road leading to Niujiao Village from Zaojiao Ya with a dejected look on his face. At this moment, he was thinking about something in his mind. Because this matter has been hidden in his heart for a long time. He remembers having it in mind when the drought first started last year. He also wanted to speak to his pear girl several times, but every time the words came to his lips, his lips only moved and stopped. At present, all the crops in the fields are dry, and there are dead branches and leaves all over the mountains and plains. A single spark can burn half of the sky red. One by one, the wells also dried up. Therefore, more than 300 mouths and thousands of livestock in the whole village stared blankly at the deep well outside the village, which had less than ten loads of water day and night.

In late spring, the nights are getting shorter and the days are getting longer, the peach blossoms have faded and the rape blossoms are blooming. The sun sets and the dew rises. The fields and villages are filled with the golden fragrance of rapeseed flowers, making them extremely quiet. A wild cat scurries through the village alley, and a warm and warm plastic atmosphere flows in the village, just like a wild cat creeping in front of and behind the village, between the ridges of courtyards and roofs, in the gaps full of the fragrance of rapeseed flowers, and in the shadows of a few scattered lights. The shadows of the lamps are sweet, and the lamps are extinguished one by one, and the shadows of the lamps are getting thinner and thinner. Only the lamp in the village head's house stays on until late at night. A table of mahjong is gathered at the village director's house. This is a kind of thoughtful way for the village director to gather the villagers. Without the mahjong machine, the villagers' group would not be able to spread the news even if it held a meeting related to the new countryside.

Dawa Mountain is like a lone boat cruising on the vast sea of ​​clouds, standing on the top of the holy snowfield, surrounded by mountains in the distance, towering. I am not able to describe this scene with words. I can only sigh and sigh, with this beautiful scenery, this life is enough! Ai Guoguo continued to write in his diary: I have never been to heaven, but I know it is beautiful. Since I saw Dawa Mountain, she is majestic and mighty, letting me know that the majestic I have seen before is not majestic; her beauty and extraordinary charm have made me realize that the exquisiteness I have seen before is not exquisite; her aura is flowing and unpredictable, making me understand that the illusion I have seen before is not an illusion. To me, maybe this is subversion. Unfortunately, I don't seem to be ready for subversion. I can only open my eyes wide, but I can't see enough...

Bai Miaomiao will never forget the first time she heard her master sing donkey tune. On that late autumn morning, the sky above Bai Village was clear and blue, the messy yellow grass blades by the pond were covered with a layer of light gray frost, and there was a refreshing sweetness in the air. A big girl wore a long rosy-colored waistcoat, stood under the leafy willow tree, and opened her voice. The crispy voice, carrying the earthy smell of autumn, rushed straight into the sky, suddenly whirled in mid-air, and landed on the withered grass leaves. Qiuchong was silent, and Bai Miaomiao seemed to be frozen. Later, he learned that the eldest girl who sang in the opera was called Bai Ling, and he had to call her aunt. He thought, it turns out that my aunt can be so young. Later, he learned that the tune she sang was called donkey tune. He thought, it turns out there is such a beautiful accent in the world. Later, he learned that donkey tune was first popularized by people from Baicun Village.

My eldest uncle was admitted to the city and became a teacher. Originally, he had nothing to do with the temporary job and had very little to do with the village. If a child in the village is arrested by the police or gets a lawsuit for something, and they need someone to understand, they will think of my uncle. My uncle is a teacher. He is an educated person from the village. He is sensible and can help with things. Another reason is that my uncle has many students, so maybe there are students of my uncle in the department in charge. In fact, the uncle is just a teacher and can't help much, not to mention that there are leaders above his students. People in the village have little exposure to the world, and they feel unsure about going to the city to do things. They like to have an acquaintance to lead them, at least they will avoid detours. The uncle saved the villagers from many detours, and the villagers all praised his benevolence and righteousness, and never forgot his roots. Children who grew up drinking Zhulong River water and eating Liujiazhuang rice have not forgotten that they are Liujiazhuang people after living in the city for so many years.

Zhang Bingyi was born in 1964. He is a member of the China Film Association and a first-class creative director. He is currently the vice chairman of Ordos Federation of Literary and Art Circles, chairman of Ordos Film and Television Association, and editor-in-chief of "Ordos" monthly magazine. He started writing film scripts in 2004 and has created more than 20 film and literary scripts. So far, 15 scripts have been made into movies. The film "Smoke Streams Up and Down" won the "Sarina" Art Award of the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region; "Good Things Are Easy to Negotiate" was recommended to the whole country by the Ministry of Health of the People's Republic of China; "Impulse is an Angel" was shortlisted for the San Francisco International Children's Film Festival in the United States and was collected. Thousands of miles across the river. From Malantan Village in Tumochuan River to Hewan Village in Zhungeer on the south side of the Yellow River, the actual mileage would never exceed forty miles, only half a mile.

Bi Anyun said, sooner or later, I will kill her. This sentence caused an uproar under the broken bridge. But this is actually not very appropriate. The women who were doing the laundry together naturally knew what Bi Anyun was referring to, and they had long been accustomed to her vicious and seemingly self-deceiving way. Therefore, some women just looked back slightly nervously towards the village, where the smoke was filled with straw-scented cooking smoke. There was also a woman who glanced at Bi Anyun with a voyeuristic look, and saw that she was suppressing the anger that was constantly pouring out of her body, her face was red, and her squatting upper body was trembling slightly. After staring at the water for a long time, she suddenly raised the mallet in her hand and struck it hard on the washing stone. The dull explosion made ripples in the water.