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I dare to say responsibly that Dongfang You is a century-old fool. For him, I not only hate him, but hate him (this is Dongfang You's speaking habit that he has developed since he was a child. When I think of him, my grammar and rhetoric are messed up). Because he once almost cost me my life, I can neither forget him nor forget him. It is said that recalling the past is a sign of aging. I am not convinced by old age, and I am fully confident that I will serve in a leadership position for another term until I am sixty years old. Since I turned fifty, I have often suffered from kidney deficiency, qi deficiency, heart deficiency and other feelings of emptiness. The things in front of me turn around and are forgotten, but the people and things in the past are lingering in front of my eyes. The one who appears most frequently is the fool Dongfang You - my childhood companion and boy's classmate. His innate smiling face often appears in my dreams.

In that absurd era, farmers' private plots of land, small plots of land, and sloping land were all treated as the tail of capitalism and cut off, and household sideline businesses such as raising pigs, sheep, and chickens were also treated as the tail of capitalism and restricted. The restricted breeding indicators are roughly as follows: three farmers are allowed to raise one pig, and one farmer is only allowed to raise two sheep and three chickens. If you exceed the limit, they will criticize you, fight you, tie you up, beat you, and even drag you around the streets. This restriction really screws up farmers. People with conscience, please think about it, if you only rely on this kind of breeding and the pitiful grains distributed from the team (a person can get two to three hundred kilograms of coarse grains in a good year, but only ten or twenty kilograms in a bad year), how will the farmers maintain their lives?

The place name Erxianju is quite nice, a bit poetic. Thirty years ago, I settled in the ancient city of Rehe, and this was the first place I knew and remembered. But understanding and remembering have nothing to do with poetry and painting, nor does it have anything to do with the fact that there is a small railway station there, nor does it have anything to do with the fact that there is a well-preserved large stone bridge built in the Kangxi year next to the small station. Speaking of which, the relevant thing is that there is a pot sticker shop next to Dashiqiao. It's better to tell the truth, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. I was an employee of that pot sticker shop at the time, wearing a smoky white muslin hat and overalls stained with oily twists. I first sold pot stickers, then baked them and added ashes from the pot. This shop had a new revolutionary name after the Cultural Revolution (it seemed to be called Xiangyang Restaurant), but no one called it, and everyone called it Erxianju Pot Sticker Shop. Place name and store name: they were called together. The Guotie Shop is a time-honored brand and an old house.

The weather this year is a bit unusual. Spring planting is coming to an end, and it is extremely hot and scorching. The sun is also scorching. On the mountain path leading to Jingshang Village, poverty alleviation team leader Zhang Jinqiang and two team members, accompanied by Li Feng, secretary of the Baixiang Party Committee, braved the noon sun and trudged forward with luggage in their hands and shoulders, sweating profusely. After listening to the basic situation of Inshang Village at the township government just now, Zhang Jinqiang, the poverty alleviation team leader, felt a little nervous. Before coming, when the organization talked to him, they briefly introduced the situation in Inoue Village. Although they mentioned the difficulties in the village, they were not so serious. It doesn't matter if you are poor, miserable, or tired, but if you are far away and closed, it doesn't matter. The branch is not sound, the organization is disorganized, boundary conflicts are prominent, and armed fights are frequent. In particular, Inoshang Village is located deep in the mountains and is the only village in the county without access to rural roads. The difficulties exceeded his imagination.

When I was a kid, I lived at Red Prairie Ranch and never traveled far. There is a road south of the pasture. Whenever a car or a herd passes by, the road is always dusty. At that time, I often wondered what it would be like on the other side of the road. Many years later, I walked back from the other end of the road and returned to my hometown after a long absence. However, my childhood is long gone and my hometown has become so strange. The past events fell into the crystal ball of time one after another. In my gaze, the road to my hometown was dusty again. Looking back on the past, we always start from that bright summer. In July and August, fireworks, bowl flowers and milk flowers bloom one after another. When the wheat is ripe, the blue waves undulating with the wind are filled with a sweet smell, calling people to harvest. After the wheat is harvested, it will be the season for planting seeds in the meadow.

Niu Laoqi was like a donkey on a mill road, circling around the smooth river sand field. Occasionally, he stopped and looked at the majestic and majestic river surface. On a sunny summer day, when the waves are calm, the four-story and five-story riverboat goes up to Sichuan and down to Shanghai, singing a melodious whistle. The tugboat, emitting black smoke, crawled along with a roar. A few wooden boats dared to sail along the river bank like a stroll, and the diesel engines installed on the wooden boats screamed. The Yangtze River is always lively, the river flows day and night, and boats come and go on the river, but there is no sand transporting boat that Niu Laoqi is looking forward to. Niu Laoqi has been looking at the river since noon yesterday. It is now four o'clock in the afternoon, and there is no trace of the sand transporting ship. "I'm going to kill you, Hu Chengjin's mother. You don't mean what you say. Aren't you going to cut off my life!" Niu Laoqi gritted his teeth and yelled towards the Yangtze River with his belly puffed out.

Shao Li, born in November 1965, is a member of the National Committee of the Chinese Writers Association. He is currently the vice chairman and secretary-general of the Henan Writers Association. He has written nearly two million words of novels and essays. His works have been published in large national publications such as "People's Literature", "Contemporary", and "October", and some of his works have been selected by "Selected Novels", "Novel Monthly", "Selected Chinese Literature", "Works Contest", "Xinhua Digest" and various annual anthologies. Some works have been translated and introduced to France, Japan, Greece and other countries. He has won the Biennial Award for Outstanding Novellas in "Selected Novels", the champion of the "Contemporary" Literary Rally Competition of People's Literature Publishing House, and the title of the most promising young writer in the "2003 Chinese Literary Figures" by hundreds of media across the country. The novella "Minghui's Christmas" won the 4th "Lu Xun Literature Award" of the Chinese Writers Association. The novel "My Quality of Life" was shortlisted for the 7th "Mao Dun Literary Award". Trying to speak about other people's lives is a very thankless task, which often leaves us deeply frustrated. In fact, sometimes even what happens in one day is thrilling to say, let alone such a long life, let alone the unpredictable heart. If this life had been placed in the era of rapid changes in China, it would have been even more unpredictable.

The child was probably six or seven years old when he saw the red carp. But he has been living in the vineyard with his grandfather for two years. Grandpa's vineyard is close to the river. The river is called Majia River. The water is so clear that you can see small fish swimming among the aquatic plants. In the child's mind, the river was very wide, so wide that the people on the opposite embankment looked like insects crawling slowly, and the cars and motorcycles looked like birds flying slowly. The children live a happy life, with fish to eat in the summer and grapes to eat in the autumn. The kids fell in love with this place. This year is the third year. Grandpa raised bees in the vineyard again. The place is surrounded by woods, including acacias, weeping willows, sky poplars, and tangled bushes. Occasionally, one or two albizia trees can be seen. The woods cover the river embankment densely. No matter how you look at it, you can't see the end. Say, bees like woods.

He Wei, male, born in the 1960s. He once served as the fourth contract producer of the Hubei Provincial Writers Association's School of Literature, and the deputy director of the Prose Creation Committee of the Wuhan Writers Association. He currently works at the Hubei Writers Documentation Center. Since 1984, he has published more than one million words of poetry, prose, novels, reportage and literary criticism in more than 200 newspapers and magazines at home and abroad. His poetry works have been included in various anthologies and authoritative newspapers and periodicals such as "Selected Poems", "Selected Chinese Poems", "Selected Chinese New Poems", etc. His famous prose works such as "Prairie Roof", "Singer, Singer", "Touch is a Nutrient", "Chinese Plum Blossom" and "The Shadow of the Distant Bird" have been successively selected by high school and junior high school Chinese textbooks and college entrance examination and high school entrance examination guidance textbooks. He is the author of a collection of novels, "The City of Dog Days", a collection of essays, "The Face of Time", and a collection of reviews, "Who is Drunk in the Frost Forest at Dawn", etc. The water-based Xing'an Ling Canal is two thousand years old. Ever since the Qin Empire swept across Liuhe, Lingqu has had a popular name and an extraordinary resume.

The Huanghua River flows out from deep in the mountains, and the water is surprisingly clear. When the weather is fine, when birds fly over the river, you can clearly see their reflections in the river, even their feathers. As for Huanghua Village, it is located in the middle reaches of the Huanghua River. Due to the moistness of the river, the village has always had simple folk customs. For decades, there have been no bloody fights, not even red-faced disputes. It has been rated as a model village with good morals for many years.

The sun was still a pole high, and the chimneys of every house began to smoke. If the chimney of this family is smoking, it means that this family is still there. If the chimney of that family is not smoking, it means that that family has passed away. When Xu Daoran was walking around the village, he carefully observed whose chimney was smoking and whose chimney was not smoking, as if he was specifically concerned with whether the chimney was smoking or not. In a nice village, people leave as soon as they leave, swarming into the city like swarms of swarms. Hundreds of years ago, there was a great migration of people to empty villages in Zhengjiachuan. At that time, there was no choice but to leave. In a village with less than a hundred people, more than a dozen people died a year, and the illness and death were all sudden. The whole village was in panic and panic all day long. At this moment, a Feng Shui master said that the Feng Shui in Zhengjiachuan was broken, and the fault was caused by the small river.

My story may be about a good harvest. It is not a bumper harvest of summer grain crops, but a bumper harvest of autumn crops. Due to climate and geographical reasons, my uncle's place is a single-season planting area with one crop a year. It's called adapting to local conditions, and grains are no longer mixed. Sorghum, soybeans, millet, sweet potatoes, yam eggs, including pumpkins and winter melons are no longer planted. People have all planted jiaozi. The past few years have been a bumper harvest of jade seeds. Harvesting jade seeds seems to be easy, but it is not. Unlike wheat, which is bought directly by grain dealers, you have to cut it down and then break it. The broken jade sticks are carried on carts and carried home. They are first stored in bags woven from various thorns and stored in the yard. The small courtyard is completely occupied by the jade plant stems. What you see in front of you is not only the dark jade plant stems, but from a small perspective, it is synonymous with a year of oil, salt, soy and vinegar; from a large perspective, people also count on it for weddings, funerals, and houses.

My father was still talking about the snow before he died. My father said that the snow was so heavy that he had never seen such heavy snow in his whole life. My father said that the snow was not large flakes like goose feathers, nor was it fine powder like white flour. The snow was a bit like date flowers, small and round, falling from the sky in dense masses, and in the blink of an eye the ground was covered with white, and it lasted for two days and two nights. Many houses were crushed, many branches were broken, and the birds were seen falling from the trees in the sky because they had no food to eat. His father said that as long as he closed his eyes, the snowflakes from that day would float in front of his eyes, taking away his soul. When my father talked about the snow, his soul really seemed to be out of its shell, with a look of solemnity and pain on his face.

The river bank said to the river: "I cannot keep your waves." "Let me keep your footprints in my heart." - Rabindranath Tagore. I have a fate with the Arun River in the southeast of the Daxingan Mountains. This fate came from the early 1970s. In order to participate in the construction of an iron mine, my father brought our family from Ganhe, a small town in the middle of Daling, to the southeast of Lingnan, preparing to settle down in the iron ore town of Lizishan. When the mine was first built, there was no house to live in, so my father temporarily placed our home in a small mountain village called "Mizoguchi" where the starting point of the Bolin Line and the Binzhou Line branched off. My family rented a house at the northern end of the village and lived temporarily. Mizoguchi is a small station on the China-China Railway that cannot be smaller.

There are almost no tourists. Akita sat by the window, looking out the window motionless. It's already late autumn. As the train enters Xiangxi, this sense of season becomes more apparent. The mountains, dyed with red maples and yellow ginkgo, are like a piece of flowered cloth thrown away by girls, and beauty and loneliness are tangled together. These scenery are very consistent with Akita's mood at the moment, and she definitely didn't come here for the autumn scenery, not to relive it, or to feel nostalgic. She came back to enjoy it. Yimo is her daughter, who just celebrated her sixteenth birthday last week. Li Yimo helped each other. Every time she thinks of her daughter's name, Akita feels like she's been stabbed in the heart. Over the past ten years, there has always been a hole in her heart where love and hate have been intertwined, and a few streams of blood will gush out if she's not careful.

The old man Turdi's home is in a small mountain village at the southern foot of Beita Mountain. The old man has a grandson named Yashengjiang. Yashengjiang raised a little rooster, and his grandfather called it Little Yashengjiang. The protagonist in our story is this little rooster, whose grandfather calls him Little Yashengjiang and Yashengjiang calls him Kalakuluk (Uyghur, black tail). This is a unique little rooster. It has a beautiful appearance: a red fan-shaped comb, bright ruby ​​eyes, colorful feathers like a pheasant, slender golden legs and feet, and an elegant Karakuluk like a colorful flag. Moreover, it can spread its wings and fly high like a wild pigeon. Things have to start from a year ago. One warm noon in spring, old man Turdi was cleaning the stable as usual. He found an egg in the manger and put it into the wild pigeon's nest on the wooden shelf above his head.

The small town is next to a river. Follow the river westward and go upstream. There is a large reservoir about ten miles away from the small town. There used to be a small village at the foot of the Qingshan Mountain next to the reservoir called Jianglong Village. Due to the construction of the reservoir, the mountain residents from several villages in the deep mountain depressions were moved out of the mountains and merged into Jianglong Village. The number of people in Jianglong Village suddenly increased, and Jianglong Village was upgraded to Jianglong Town, with four streets in the southeast and northwest. The small town turned into a large town of several thousand people, and the town was densely populated. Most of the people in Jianglong Town originate from the deep mountains and old forests. The people in the deep mountains and old forests are nurtured by the mountains to have a strong and generous spirit. Ten or twenty years have passed, and this deep-rooted spirit of bravery and boldness has not only not disappeared, but has been passed on to future generations. Originally, as soon as a person reaches a hundred, some extraordinary people will emerge, and those who emerge will be different from others and become celebrities.

When the time came in 1980, our production team had to work separately, that is, to divide the fields into households. Our village is divided into two production teams, Dunan and Dubei. Before our team separated, the Dubei team separated a few years ago. The captain of our team visited Dazhai and experienced mutual aid groups, cooperatives, and the "Three-Self-One-Bao" movement that criticized Liu Shaoqi. His ideological consciousness was higher and he did not divide the team immediately. He wanted to wait and see, and two years passed in this way. Although the production team did not distribute the fields to each household, the captain could still feel the turmoil under the calm. Some people commemorated the production team, while others were tired of it and wanted the freedom of dividing the fields to each household. Fortunately, the captain's prestige suppressed these people. In recent years, many surrounding villages have split up into teams. Seeing that the situation was decided, the captain decided to split up.

Due to the entry of the working group, everything in the peaceful countryside was labeled with politics, and Shi Laozhong was also doomed during the exposure and criticism. Until the end of that turmoil and that era, Shi Laozhong became the only martyr. What kind of time was that? 1. Liujiabao is the location of the headquarters of the working group. After Shao Wenjie stepped out of the high threshold of the regiment compound, the excitement, joy, and heroism that he had suppressed for a while began to be released. His steps were brisk, with a bit of a military attitude, and he even hummed a popular song as he walked--

People's curiosity is in front of them. People's sense of fear lies behind. Curiosity and fear have held mankind hostage for 100,000 to 200,000 years, and to this day, humans are still unable to truly see themselves, the world in front of them and behind them... The sun has set behind the hill of earth lying like a cow at the end of the forest, and the sky above the hill has turned into the color of half-cooked watermelon. At this time every day, grandpa carries a black iron bucket and walks to the spring. Behind him are white tail and its children, one big and one small. White Tail is a mare. I was very young at that time, and I could run under White Tail's belly as soon as I lowered my head.

In midsummer, as an old ranger of the reserve, I followed the mountain patrol team to patrol the depths of the Kanas Reserve for five days. The first day was the same as before. We first had to take a boat across the 24-kilometer Kanas Lake, and then ride horses into the mountains. From the map, the Kanas Reserve is in the shape of a "Y" character. Kanas Lake is a vertical position below. This time, we will enter from the left fork, climb the Daban between the two forks, and then exit from the right fork. This is not only a normal patrol of the protected area, but also a rare opportunity to conduct a resource survey in the core area of ​​the protected area. Therefore, our team members include two officers and soldiers from the border defense force, as well as scientific research personnel from the protected area. At noon, we took a boat to the head of Kanas Lake.

The sky was full of torn cotton wool, howled by the strong wind, and the sky was clear. Ma Donggua glanced at the dog-like domineering sun, and her eyeballs stung as if they had been bitten. After looking forward to it all morning, the sky finally cleared up. Ma Donggua threw her big feet and ran to Li Chen's house, pressed against the door wall and scurried in to look inside. The big black dog inside grabbed hold of the wall and stuck its nose out into Winter Melon's face, causing him to break into a cold sweat. He quickly retreated away and raised his voice and shouted: "Uncle Li, are you up?" After a long while, Li slumped out exhausted. Ma Donggua lowered his voice and called out, "Uncle Li, are you up?" "You donkey, it's raining and cloudy, what are you so worried about?" Li glanced at Ma Donggua in the morning. Ma Donggua said, "It's the same thing." Li Chen glanced at him and said, "You stupid Donggua, tell me what you think."

The Taihang Mountains stretch all the way, from northeast to southwest, for more than a thousand miles, and the southernmost point is Nanling. From a distance, Nanling looks like a folding flower fan that opens and closes. There are countless villages like Yuanzhuang, Wuchengtou, Honghuadi, Shipan, Gewantou, Steep Angle, Channel, Baibei, Houzhang etc. Floating on the fan surface. Common jujube trees, pear trees, apricot trees, red fruit trees, elm trees, locust trees, mulberry trees and other plants are scattered here and there. There is a saying in the Nanling area: If a girl covers her head, wears a wedding dress and wedding shoes and steps over the threshold of her parents' home, she is considered to have gone out. This is the bride going out. When the bride goes out, no matter whether she was a rich lady or a poor maid, everything is over. After leaving the house, the daughter has become a daughter-in-law, just like the melon stalk has been separated from the melon vine and has another way of life. Whether the future is good or bad, it is up to each of us to earn it.

At this time, as the night deepened and the air was neither cold nor dry, I walked very quickly listening to the chirping of insects in the forest. "Nothing can stop me, don't even think about it!" I deliberately said this to Zibu in a relaxed manner. He is already lagging behind, and in a little while the distance between us will become wider, just like each running on his own path. Zibu was talking about something in Yi, but I couldn't hear clearly from a distance. Besides, even if you hear it, you may not fully understand it. However, I am sure that he is calling Ma Xiaoyu to wait for him. "It's Ma Xiaoyu again, she's everywhere." I thought of Mr. Bai's attitude towards me. Perhaps he didn't want to talk to me because he knew that Ma Xiaoyu and I were just similar but not the same person. "From now on..." I turned around and wanted to tell him not to mention Ma Xiaoyu again, and that it would be best to speak to me in Chinese, so as to avoid communication trouble. "Don't look for it, he's gone." This familiar voice came from the left. I looked there carefully and saw no one.

The surging Jialing River flows day and night among the high mountains in the mountainous areas of northern Sichuan. When it is calm, it is like a gentle virgin, walking slowly through the flat and soothing wilderness; when it is angry, it runs wildly, and its huge roar echoes in the cliffs and valleys all day long, like a roaring lion. The water of the Jialing River nourishes the green bamboo forests on both sides of the river, the green pines and cypresses, and the apricot blossoms that bloom every year on both sides of the river. It also nourishes the simple mountain people who live on one side of the river and on the other. There is a mountain in the upper reaches of the Jialing River called Phoenix Mountain. Fenghuang Mountain is not high and the area is not large, but it is famous because of the tomb of Zhang Xianzhong on the mountain. When I was a child, Phoenix Mountain had not yet been developed as a tourist attraction, and it remained silent. At that time, most of the adults were illiterate, regardless of their official positions, smart or stupid, and farmers were engaged in politics regardless of whether they were farming or farming, leaving the children unattended.

Feng Wenmao, male, was born in 1966. He was a teacher and later worked in the administrative department for many years. He is currently the director of Wucheng County Construction Committee. Many of his works have been published in "Shandong Literature" and other magazines, and he has written a collection of novels "Chronicles of the Royal Horse Garden" and a collection of essays "Small Town Essays". He is a member of Shandong Writers Association and vice chairman of Dezhou Writers Association. 500 Meters southeast of our village is the habitat of the souls of the villagers in our village. My eldest brother is also buried here. The grass on his grave is already very tall, but his soul will not die. In the dead of night, he was seen getting up and wandering through the fields on the north side of the cemetery. The fields were covered with green wheat seedlings. The eldest brother walked briskly, sometimes squatting down to carefully observe the growth of the wheat seedlings. The eldest brother watched the wheat seedlings joint and show their ears, and watched the wheat straw change from green to yellow. When the people in the village came to harvest wheat in the morning light, the eldest brother left quietly without disturbing his neighbors. Green corn seedlings appeared again in the wheat stubble field, and the eldest brother listened quietly to the sound of corn stalks cracking and jointing at night. I know that in my eldest brother's heart, this land should not only grow wheat and corn. What he misses is the orchards that once existed on this land.

As a result, I got on the factory's broken truck and headed into the mountains. A large number of shiny glasses bundled under hemp rope cartons were pulled into the carriage. The broken truck couldn't bear the weight of the glass and creaked all the way. If I had known that so many things would happen later that would kill me, I would not have gone into the mountains to do this business - in fact, I know that I would still have come because I am a coward. It was morning when we set off from our small town Liuzhen City. It was noon at this time, and the car stopped in Kawaguchi Town. I finished eating pancakes with haggis soup in a small restaurant on the roadside. Before I finished smoking a cigarette, the driver urged me to get in the car with old words. He said we couldn't rest on the way. Do you think it's a tour? We have to keep climbing over the mountains and we won't arrive until tomorrow afternoon. Further ahead, there are rugged mountain roads.

Guo Siyao's collection of short stories and short stories was to be published by the Writer's Publishing House. In the midwinter of the Renchen year, he contacted me to visit the Liu Haoge Contemporary Literature Museum on the shores of Weishan Lake. I put down the phone and was surprised again. There were so many celebrities across the country and even in Tai'an. Why did he have to ask me to write the preface to his collection of novels? But from Guo Siyao's frank words, I understood that because I am a local writer, his novel collection also pursues local accent and nostalgia.

On that foggy morning, the trees were covered with frost and snow like pear blossoms, and the humid air seemed to be filled with balls of cotton. You couldn't see each other's faces clearly from two steps away, and could only hear the chirping of birds and the crisp clatter of ice on the branches. People seem to have had a premonition that their hearts are wrapped in fog and they are suffocated. Sure enough, not far from the village, the bus plunged into a cliff more than ten meters deep at a two-way intersection. There were fifteen school-going children in the car. The driver is the son of the village party secretary Lu Zhenguo. The fuel tank caught fire and exploded during the friction. All people in the car were killed. Upon receiving the call, Secretary He of the town committee handed over the task to the newly appointed deputy mayor Zhang Qiuyue. The car made many twists and turns and turned onto a rugged mountain path. In the car, the driver Lao Wang told her about the major event that happened in Lu Village two years ago.

After retirement, several of us "hairy-root friends", or "faxiao" as people in Beijing call us, returned to our hometown together by chance. After being apart for many years, we all got together again as we did when we were children. When we were still wearing panties, we were together every day, each playing with our balls. When they got a little older, they would kneel down on the ground and hit marbles with their little buttocks until they were in a daze. When we no longer play marbles, we play krona, table tennis, basketball, volleyball... And all kinds of disguised marbles together. Now that I am old, my pension is only enough to maintain meager living. As we are old and young, of course we can no longer play marbles. If we want to play golf, we lack the "three qualifications". We have no capital, no qualifications, and no qualifications, so we have no choice but to make an appointment to play croquet together to kill our old age.

During the Beginning of Summer Festival in 2014, a group of tourists came to Dawang Temple, the Dingjiabu Beginning of Summer Uprising Memorial Hall, speaking with a Beijing accent. One of them, an old man with a straight back, stood in front of a photo and stared at it for a long time. The man in the photo wears an octagonal hat, has a Chinese character face, and has bright eyes. Seeing this, everyone gathered around. Chief Ding, is this your father? No. He was my father's instructor and the leader of my father's revolution. Are there any records of your father in this memorial? Have. The old man pointed with trembling fingers to a line on the sign: "Except for one regiment member who asked to go home, the rest supported the uprising and joined the revolutionary ranks." My father was the regiment member who returned home. Said the old man.

Bai Xue only became my sister a year ago. It was an early autumn evening when she and her mother arrived in front of us after a long journey from Zhangye, Gansu Province. My father and I were squeezed into the crowd at the exit of the train station. We, father and son, were in very different moods. I couldn't quite figure out how those two people coming would change our lives. To be honest, I was a little uneasy and even a little scared. But my father was a little too excited. He was holding on to the iron railing at the exit, with his feet on the railing. He was jumping up and down like a child, eager to jump into the platform. Later facts proved that there was a reason for my father's impatience. He was looking forward to a fundamental change in his boring life. He wanted to bring some feminine tenderness into the monotonous life of father and son. Father was right. The woman he was looking forward to was a good woman.

It is said that the time my father beat my mother was at noon in late autumn, and the place was in my yard. The eldest brother is six years old. There are still signs. The eldest brother said that he was awakened by dogs and pigs barking that day. My good yellow dog and black pig used to coexist peacefully, and the dog would often bite the pig's ears while walking them for fun, but today they started biting each other. The eldest brother pulled up his pants and peed in the manure pit in the yard, soaking the pig's and dog's heads. He was the only one in the yard at this time. He pulled an armful of wheat straw from the firewood pile and went to the kitchen to light the fire - this was the important thing he had to do every morning. My parents went to work in the lowlands. Before leaving, my mother arranged breakfast in a pot. It was very simple. It was nothing more than putting red taro slices on the bottom of the pot and scooping out water to soak them. Then put the grate and put on the steamed buns. My brother lit the fire and didn't stop until the lid of the pot started to steam.

At first, the beautiful Cangbei grassland was full of sunshine, singing birds and fragrant flowers, presenting a vibrant scene. In an instant, the sun set, and black clouds covered the sky across the Cangbei grassland. Then, thunder and lightning flashed, and strong winds blew. Suddenly, with a loud noise, a huge Cordyceps sprouted from the horizon of the grassland, section by section. It grew crazily, kept getting bigger, and stood in the center of the Cangbei grassland. Its angry eyes flashed like lightning; its angry roar rumbled like thunder. In mid-air, its body squirmed, the earth shook, and the mountains shook; when it squirmed again, the entire Cangbei grassland was shattered, and the sky was darkened. At this time, the cattle, sheep, tents, mountains and rivers were swallowed up without a trace by the angry giant Cordyceps. Finally, the Cangbei grassland, where grass grows and orioles fly, and streams flow, becomes full of mourning.

Ram, Ram, you said that we are inseparable in life and death, just like the gurgling water kissing the earth, just like the pair of miserable birds depending on each other for life and death. He also said that he would take a plane with me to visit his elderly mother, and to see the modernity and prosperity of our hometown city, as well as the majesty of the mountains and rivers... Ah, no, no, I will ask for leave when I go back, go to Naidong, go to Shannan, to find Ram who protects love. No matter how great the difficulties are, no matter how dangerous the road through the snow-capped mountains is. My heart was filled with the call of love. We supported each other through the difficult time, and we lived together on Nalettingang Mountain!

Yanzi gently caressed the traditional embroidery on the leggings, the grinning monsters, and the charming flowers and plants. Legend has it that these things can drive away demons and ward off evil spirits. She suddenly understood that the ancestors of Qingyangtan invented this thing to protect the health and longevity of the mountain people. From this point of view, this leggings can really be regarded as a treasure like an amulet.

Now a seven-year-old child and a seventy-year-old man, like two small trees and old trees with legs, move one after another on the country tractor road under the early morning sun, and the wind rustles their leaves. What makes Dongqing happy is that the old man did not ask him in a friendly manner like other nagging people, why he went out alone without his parents, or even forced him to go home without causing trouble. Dongqing had such an experience three months ago. At that time, he wanted to bite the hands of that troublesome village woman. Of course, the old man also asked some questions, such as what his name was and what he liked to do and eat. Holly happily answered, he called Holly a sheep who likes to catch cicadas, dig out bird's nests, eat roasted sweet potatoes, and also likes to watch TV.

The daughter reached out for her father, and the crippled brother hugged her and kissed her non-stop. Pingping freed her hands, returned to the car, and took out a large bag. Inside was a stack of red envelopes with the women's names written on the cover. Pingping said, Lame Brother is always thinking about everyone when he is outside. This is what our whole family wants. The women opened the red envelopes, each with a bank card inside. There is a line written on the other side of the red envelope: I wish everyone eternal happiness and a happy new year! Bank card password, your birthday. The women and men all shed tears, watching the lame brother's Passat gradually go away.

My mother is old and my father is even older. Xiaoxing'anling was not their hometown originally. It was because their honest and kind father came down from the battlefield to resist U. S. Aggression and aid Korea, and his transfer order was used by his closest comrades to despicably change his position. This is the fate of their family. If not changed, her birthplace should be Beijing. The comrade who went to Beijing in place of his father, after the Cultural Revolution, in order to repay his emotional debt, made a special trip from Beijing to their home over the mountains and knelt down in front of his father as soon as he entered the door. He gave 50,000 yuan to his father, but his father didn't ask for a penny, and his father didn't complain at all. This is her father. When she recounted such strange things, she said lightly that she was almost like her father.

The village is extremely peaceful. The moonlight shines on the plateau. The trees, flowers, grass and crops far and near appear clear and soft, with a primitive and simple charm and a light fragrance. Several fruit trees in the courtyard, after being exposed to the sun all day, fell asleep motionless at this time; only the chattering of insects in the grass, accompanied by the low cries of Aunt Liu and Shanju, trembled in the night.

A journey underground is better than a time travel. It satisfies curiosity and at the same time adds a layer of contemplation. In the past, I was envious or even jealous of the heavy burdens the kiln workers carried when they returned home. However, I changed my view after coming out of the coal kiln. It's really not easy for them. Thinking about it again, who in the mountain valley has an easy life? I picked up the heavy burden and set out on my own.

I am a product of the 1970s, an era that was also rich in slogans. I was born amidst the mighty slogans. At that time, my mother was cutting in the queue in Liushui Village. She was planting rice in the fields in the morning, and gave birth to me in an open pit at night. Later, my mother told me that if she hadn't been clever, you would be gone. You wouldn't have survived until now. If you died as soon as you were born, it was called an early death. I heard about this when I was very young. My mother always speaks in a preaching and show-off tone. She is a glorious people's teacher. This is not surprising because of her profession. This kind of harsh words are called "open words" in Liushui Village. Now, my mother can no longer say such harsh words. My mother can only sing and sing children's songs.

The ranking of rich people in Shangling Village is newly released. Webster Road jumped to first place. Wei Baolu, who is 46 years old this year, has been unjustly imprisoned for 24 years and received a total of 2.89 Million in state compensation. Shangling Village is crazy again. One of the most shocking things last year was that the ugly Lan Neng married a robot. This year, Wei Baolu Zhaoxue, who had been wronged for 24 years, was released from prison and received huge compensation from the state. This incident is even more awesome than that incident. This matter is actually two things. Release from prison is one thing, and the state's compensation of 2.89 Million is another thing.

Time flies so fast, and it's golden autumn again in a blink of an eye. Newspaper offices are about to be restructured, and people are divided. The most debated question is whether to find a place in the cultural system or follow the newspaper office. Liu Tiancai didn't have much to worry about if he wanted to. He heard that the newspaper was going to be corrupted and the creditors were targeting him again. There was no money in the account, so Liu Tiancai asked Liu Fu several times to see if he could give him some more, but he couldn't get through on his mobile phone. One day I saw Nana and asked about Liu Fulai. Nana said: "Someone died in the mine. He is hiding. I can't even find this old guy." Go ahead, the creditor can hide if he can. Anyway, it is a business-to-business matter, and the pressure is usually not so tight, and it is postponed until the end of the year. The publishing matter was left to Ouyang again, and he didn't make it difficult for him. Anyway, it didn't matter much to anyone. The newspaper office was in turmoil, but everyone acted much kinder.

A divorce agreement was sent to Jim Mori's office, but Qiu Mozhida was flatly rejected by Jim Mori. She broke the pot and stopped saving the money she earned every day in the bank. As soon as she picked up the car, she went straight to the OK room of the restaurant and dance hall, spending all the money on women who changed every day. The two sisters-in-law, who had not received a penny for several months, were very unhappy, but they only talked about it privately because they were afraid of their husbands. But the brother-in-law was different. The brother-in-law scolded his wife every day, which made the already harmonious family more and more angry. Although the two children of Alamqie's family did not survive, they were wilting and sitting and standing wherever they went.

I had a glimpse of the living conditions of women in the mountains in that long-gone era. At the same time, I think about my life today. In our lives, material things are already quite abundant. The lifestyle is also very different from the past. Our lives are filled with studying, finding a job, falling in love, surfing the Internet, etc. We can't even pick up a bunch of colorful silk threads with our hands, let alone embroider a flower, a goldfish, a magpie climbing a plum blossom or a mandarin duck playing in the water. Not to mention willing to stay in a poor ravine, dedicating all his youth and life to a man, a family of young and old. In the mother's story, the simple and simple little daughter-in-law lived exactly like this and lived her whole life. Therefore, I feel that there is a kind of beauty missing in our lives today. A long-lost simplicity, straightforwardness, kindness and virtuousness.

On a spring morning, Ma Liu carried a load of dung to the fields with a worn-out straw hat on his head. He has developed a habit over the years of never going to the ground empty-handed, so carrying manure with him is as natural to him as eating and sleeping. However, Ma Liu was getting old, and he could no longer carry a full load. The two buckets were still a little short of full. He slowly walked into the fields with a dissatisfied load of dung, feeling the spring in Shangwang Village. The ground is getting warmer, and the iron-gray dead grass that has been nesting on the roadside for the whole winter is glowing brightly like a person taking off a cotton coat. Leaves as big as copper coins bloom on the trees, like a girl putting on her new clothes for another year. A turtledove sat on a tung tree, cooing, and in the distance, the echo of its companion came from another tree. Sparrows and gray birds chatter, and magpies always pick the tallest tree on the top of the mountain, as if that tree is its watchtower.

Suddenly, a sharp siren hit David's eardrums like a huge rock. He could not hear anything at first. Suddenly, all the sounds poured into his ears like a tide and a torrent: he heard the noisy gongs and drums and slogans echoing throughout the valley; he heard the noisy people in the video hall. He heard the sound of endless fighting and killing between good and evil; he heard his father and mother quarreling, and the sound of teapots, water ladles, fire tongs, and chairs being thrown to the ground; he heard the sound of landslides and ground cracking... These long-lasting and violent sounds turned into a tight rope that made him breathless. He almost fainted.

The New Year pig of Yin Ermao's family is just an ordinary native pig with white hair, nothing special about it. If a series of events had not happened, there would be no need to write a novel about it. At first, my wife Jiang Sanmei spent 200 yuan to catch the piglet from the farm. She just noticed that the piglet had four thick and long hooves, which spread the front and back crotches widely. The ears were spread like two cattail fans, which was the appearance of a big pig. I caught it home in early February after the new year, weighing just over 10 kilograms. But the stupid pig was like blowing up a balloon, growing taller by drinking the wind and gaining weight by drinking water. In the winter months, it weighed a full 300 kilograms. The faster pigs grow, the closer they are to death. They never understand such a simple truth. Or maybe they have such a bad memory that they forget about the fatal consequences as soon as they encounter feed that suits their taste. Ermao's white pig eats and sleeps foolishly and grows heartlessly. It is seeking death! What a fucking stupid pig!