Three Women and a Century

"Mom, mother..." There was a burst of noise on the mobile phone, which made people feel like there was an underworld, and the mother was struggling in the vast chaos. Not believing this evil, Honghong dialed the phone again, "Mother, mother, mother..." Look at this perseverance, even the dead were called alive. There was finally a voice over there, old and slow, out of reach, like fluff in the wind, swaying unsteadily, unable to grasp, unable to hold firmly, "Which one is it? Which one are you?" Hong Hong's mother is getting old, and her ears seem to have lost her hearing overnight. The old village chief died on a rainy day. His once-coquettish mistresses have grown old and dead, and are really boring. The village is old, like an old woman's withered breasts. The village may have changed a long time ago. The men are old and dead, the young ones are working outside, and the children are pampered by their ancestors and are lawless. The girls in this village are all as beautiful as flowers and as bright as the sun. When they grow up, no one is willing to stay. Their lives have a period of prosperity and vitality. Honghong's mother-in-law is the narrator of the village's history. Her story may be subjective, and the good person she thinks may not be a good person. The man she loved might not be so bad after all. And the history she wanted to forget had actually taken root in her heart. Every paragraph is full of bitterness and tears. God gave her a long and difficult time, perhaps just to give her a happy old age. Honghong has such an independent heart, and what a proud heart she has. Once upon a time, my mother hated Honghong the most. She would grit her teeth and look at Honghong with fierce eyes, saying: You have to think about who gave birth to you. No matter how high your heart is, do you have wings? Can you fly? Just dream all day long. What an ugly mother, what a handsome daughter. A beautiful daughter is like a thorn in her mother's eyes. Because this daughter is proud and extremely beautiful, just like her romantic grandma. My mother is a down-to-earth person, and how much she identifies with the soil and water here. She wishes she could kiss the soil several times a day, hug the metasequoia tree in front of her door, and walk several times around the golden osmanthus tree with her hands behind her back. She feels like she belongs here. In fact, it doesn't matter whether you love it or hate it.