Warm Porridge on a Snowy Night

On a snowy night when I was six years old, I was locked out by my adoptive mother. I was barefoot and coughed until I retched. I could only huddle in a corner and think about tomorrow's pig food - I was the tool she picked up to "recruit my younger brother." After my younger brother was born, even leftover food became a luxury. When I thought I was going to freeze to death in the snow, my lame uncle took me home. He was my adoptive father's brother and a child who was picked up, but he spent all his savings to redeem me and fed me hot sweet potato porridge with rock sugar hidden in the bitter medicine soup. He said, "You recover first, and I will send you to school." But I knew that he had to carry cement at the construction site every day to make up for my tuition. On the way to school, I rescued a boy who fell into the water. Unexpectedly, his father was the person in charge of the construction site. This man not only cured the uncle's lameness, but also arranged easy work for him - it turns out that kindness really does come back. The school security guard wanted to attack me, but the always gentle uncle picked up his chair and rushed over, protecting me as if he were protecting his life. I thought it was enough to have an uncle in my life, but on the day I got my report card, ranked fifth in the city, I met my biological mother, who had been looking for me for ten years: her hair turned white, and she sold her house in the south just to be by my side. What was even more unexpected was that my biological mother did not force me to choose "a home". Instead, she bought a house near the school and let me live with her from Monday to Thursday and go back to my uncle's house on weekends. I was once a "trick" who was left in the snow, and was called a "bastard" and a "loser", but I was left by two people who were least good at expressing themselves. It took ten years to turn the hard life into sweetness - blood is never the definition of family, love for you is.