Jining Beacon Smoke, Xishan Dream Long

A serious illness fell into a deep sleep, dragging me back to the land of Jining where gunfire was everywhere more than seventy years ago. At that time, the homeland of Qilu was filled with war smoke, and the rural people were struggling to survive in the war and poverty. The Xishan villages hid the simplest persistence in the troubled times: militiamen with guns to protect the countryside, women sewing supplies for the frontline under the lamp, children studying hard in cold houses, and countless nameless ordinary people, resisting the turmoil with their flesh and blood, and waiting for peace with a glimmer of light. I finally woke up from the big dream, and I returned to this world where thousands of families live in peace. The memory of that weather-soaked event always lingers in my mind. I went to the old Xishan Mountains to find old people who had witnessed it. I read through the dusty local historical materials, repeatedly compared the images of the founding ceremony, and sorted out the old things I saw in my dreams and the old things told by the old people word by word. History books record the great achievements of the family and the country for thousands of years, but rarely write down the half-life of ordinary people in the mountains and wilds. I sat down at my desk and wrote more than 100,000 words. I did not write any dramatic legends, but only recorded the forbearance, kindness and expectations of ordinary people during the war years. There is no end point where the story is written. The mountains and rivers last forever, and the fireworks last forever. The Chang'an that everyone longed for in the land of Qilu has now fallen into the world.