Boat Girl

When she was twelve years old, amid the sound of gunfire, her mother thrust a bloody oar into her hand. "If the oar is there, the road is there." From that day on, Shen Shuisheng became the youngest boat girl on the Tiaoxi River. A awning boat with a polished oar, she rowed for a lifetime in the dense cobweb-like waterways in the south of the Yangtze River. She passed through the smoke of war, through the years of famine, and through the turbulent night. Her cabin has hidden escaped scholars, banned books, and countless secrets that no one dared to tell. In those days when everyone was in danger, this ship was the only place that did not require a letter of introduction - those who boarded the ship only needed to tell her where to go. Later, highway construction came in, bridges were erected, and young people came ashore. Only she was still on the water. My daughter refused to learn to paddle, so the ancient town turned her into a scene in the tourists' cameras. My granddaughter took a video of her and posted it online, calling her "the last boat girl." She doesn't care what others call her. She still rowed every day, neither too fast nor too slowly. Everyone thought she was just guarding a ship. It was not until after her death that her granddaughter dug out a yellowed account book. There is no name on it, just the date and where to go. Densely packed, spanning eighty years. On the last page, there are crooked pencil words: "Today, cross yourself."