A full, wine-red sunset painted half the sky crimson. The small mountain village was enveloped in the warm breath of early summer; a gentle breeze caressed our faces, wisps of smoke rose from chimneys, and long, long shadows were cast by the trees. Walking barefoot on the still-warm sand was a delightful experience.
The jujube trees were dressed in silver robes, their leaves adorned with countless densely packed, golden-yellow blossoms, all seemingly blinking in unison, releasing a sweet, rich fragrance that drifted gently on the wind, filling the entire village with tranquility.
There was a school in the village, a large gray-tiled house housing six grades and classes. Perhaps because it was a girls' school, perhaps because there were many children and the family was poor, or perhaps because I had to care for my younger brother, I missed out on attending school. Every year at this time, when the weather was mild, I would stand outside the classroom with my younger brother, filled with envy and a touch of tender pity. "Li Bai was about to set sail when he suddenly heard the sound of footsteps on the shore. The Peach Blossom Pool is a thousand feet deep, but it cannot
compare to the affection Wang Lun showed me." Listening to the rhythmic and melodious sound of children reading aloud was like heavenly music in my childhood. To be able to carry a schoolbag, sit in a tiled-roof classroom, have a brand-new, pretty pencil case with cartoon patterns printed on it, and carefully turn the pages of a new book still smelling of ink—that was a great luxury. Life gradually pushed my dreams further and further away. To make a living, my father moved the whole family to a place even farther from the school, and I never heard the teacher's melodious lectures again. In the lush green of the mountains and fields, a little wild girl with a ponytail and a dark face roamed freely, playing among the colorful wildflowers. The wind rippled through the grass, and I was part of that scene. A little older, I could help with chores around the house. When the morning glow reddened the grassland, scattering delicate dewdrops, it soothed all things, and everywhere was vibrant with life. The glistening dewdrops on the reeds were brushed away by the leaves. In the early morning, I herded sheep, following the clear song of the cuckoo. "Stepping on the dew, parting the weeds, passing through the forest path, the Young Pioneers' flag flies into the forest, how beautiful the forests of our motherland are..." Reading aloud these words from memory on the vast, quiet grassland was the only joy in my childhood, a destiny amidst the dust and toil. Shedding the day's fatigue and washing away the scorching sun, I lay on the ground in the yard at dusk, a cool breeze blowing, the sky hanging low, stars twinkling, the Milky Way stretching across the sky. There was no sound of electrical appliances. I listened to my father tell the story of the White Bone Demon. The rich scent of grass mingled with the chirping of crickets, the oil lamp flickering. As the wind cooled and the night deepened, I gradually fell asleep. Years have passed, and I still cherish the memories of my grassy childhood.
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