I saw the peripheral vision of your eyes slowly disappearing, your pupils dilated, I took a long breath and closed my eyes permanently.

The lamp oil of life has dried up, the remaining warmth has dissipated, and the body has become stiff. The bright cup (ever-bright lamp) is lit, a plume of purple smoke rises, the requiem played by the suona lingers over the village, and a cry walks across the ridge

, the mountains trembled.

A friend said that the distance from heaven to hell is the height of a person. I have never been to hell or to heaven. The first impression embedded in the memory of chaos is to see you naked, bending over, sowing life, sweating.

Wherever you pass, green grows.

Memories accumulate insights. I picked up a piece of tile, dug out the bloody soil, and saw a fish engraved on it. I threw it into the river, and the fish floated away with a wave of waves. I reflected on the old memories.

, you said that a person, when standing, is a life, and when he falls, he is a handful of loess.

Look for sparks in the burned ashes. Looking back along the tracks that have been rolled over by the years, your eyes are filled with tears, and the memory is activated. Next to the furrow, you take a puff of dry cigarette and point to the distance.

He pointed at the roaring Yellow River and said thoughtfully: In the early spring of 1937, we crossed the river from there...

The war in my father's eyes was so cruel. Familiar figures fell down one after another. From time to time, the desperate calls for help from the wounded could be heard in his ears. The ground under his feet was soaked with the blood of the fallen soldiers. A gust of wind blew and the air was filled with blood...

It was a memory that was unbearable to look back on, and the scars scabbed in my heart, leaving permanent pain. My mother walked out of the gap in the mountain carrying the earthen jar, sat in front of us, and poured the rice soup in the earthen jar into a coarse porcelain bowl.

Inside, the father picked up the bowl and drank it all in one gulp, and began to reminisce again. The mother listened in silence. After listening, she said: Dad, the baby is still young, so don’t leave a shadow on the child’s mind.

A group of birds flew over and landed on the trees at the edge of the field. They seemed to be discussing something and kept chattering. A gadfly flew on the back of a cow, and the cow lying in the furrow struggled to stand up.

He swung his tail, trying to drive the gadfly away from his body, but the gadfly was also very cunning. He deliberately landed where the cow's tail could not hit him, pierced his tentacles into the cow's body, and sucked the cow's blood. My father flicked his long whip.

, and knocked the gadfly to the ground. The cow was grateful, faced his father, and mooed a few times.

The sun has set, and you put me on the back of an ox, while you carried the plowshare on your shoulders and walked home. The afterglow of the setting sun turned yellow and white on the distant mountains, putting away the last ray of sunlight, and the wrinkles of the mountains

Inside, a spark was flickering and a wisp of smoke rose straight up. My father was happy and shouted loudly: "Chop off the heads of the Japanese with the big knife..."

My mother came out and stood at the door of the kiln. She picked up her apron and wiped her hands. She helped my father take off the plowshare from his shoulder and put it aside. She took me off the back of the cow, then tied the cow to the trough and mixed the grass for the cow.

My father took my hand and walked into the kiln. On the wooden plate on the earthen bed, there were yellow and orange rice noodle pancakes, as well as a plate of chili and a plate of wild garlic mixed with leeks. Two bowls of sticky rice.

Red bean porridge.

We washed our faces, climbed onto the kang, and ate voraciously. After we finished eating, we pushed the wooden plate aside, took off our clothes, slept on the kang, and had colorful dreams.

When I woke up, I couldn’t remember what I had dreamed about. I saw my mother under the soybean oil lamp, patching up pieces of rags with needle and thread, and sewing a schoolbag for me. I am seven years old, and in two months, I will be

Carrying the schoolbag my mother sewed for me, I went to study.
Chapter completed!