Listen to the Melody of Wind and Rain

In 1990, the dragon raised its head and heavy rain fell in Qinchuan. I was born in that rain - my father stayed at the half-flooded bridge all night, holding a piece of picked colored stone in his arms, and I didn't dare to go into the house to see him until dawn. I have lived under the whip of my father since I was a child. If you steal candy cakes and lie, you will be beaten. If you hit your grandfather's dog, you will be punished in public. When I was eleven years old, I was beaten to pieces with five whips, and he swore in his heart that he would never recognize this father. But when I get up at night, I can always see my father squatting under the oil lamp, clumsily mending clothes for my mother. When I was seventeen years old, I touched the colored stone in the corner of the cabinet. It was wrapped in red cloth and polished until it shined. Mom said, your father brought it back the night you were born and kept it all night. When she was fifteen years old, Yu Jing squatted at the Qinchuan Bridge, drew a flower on the ground with a branch, raised her head and asked me: "Your name is Guo Heng? Horizontal horizontal?" She taught me how to read, gave me a dictionary, and told me: "You can't just stay in the quarry." The Qinchuan River has been flowing for twenty years. Grandma is gone, grandfather is gone, and father is old. The colored stone is still there, like the water of Qinchuan River, silent but flowing for a lifetime. This is a story about hometown, about growing up, about understanding your father's generation in silence, and is dedicated to every child who has ever tried to understand his father.