Burn large

I was born in the 1950 s. When I was four months old, in order to avoid the Korean War, I came to Dalian from Anton (now Dandong) who was full of war. As far as I can remember, my family has lived in a large courtyard, which consists of two courtyards. My family lives in the center, facing a long hutong, with my family as the center, divided into two corridors, there is a courtyard in the east and west, and I don’t know how many houses I have lived in. Out of the hutong, there is a path decorated by people, which is very spacious. There is also a long empty field beside the path, there are more than a dozen piles of tall haystacks (of course, it is the masterpiece of our children), and the back of the house is the mountain, which is exactly the Hill, neither high nor short. There is a big grass slope in front of the mountain, except for winter, they are all very beautiful. In spring, we dig potherb, bitter herbs, shepherd’s purse, mother-in-law, wild garlic here —- we will be scolded for digging discontent baskets. In summer, the wormwood is pulled out and braided into long braid, which is used to smoke mosquitoes at Night. The extra ones will be sold at a corner. If the money is sold, the adults will confiscate it when they know it, I don’t know, just keep it myself. In autumn, a scyck, or a rake (used to hug grass), a rope, go to the hillside, go to the forest, prepare for the thatch for heating in winter. The big haystack in front of the door was built by us with sweat beads. It was another autumn, and the weather was getting cold gradually. The grass nearby was not oily enough, so I didn’t want to go far away, so I got into a wire mesh. This is a military base, which is not allowed to enter, but the grass there is thick, and there will be a lot of hands without too much effort. I didn’t dare to go too far, so I started to work on the edge, and after a while there were a lot of things. What I did was very interesting. Suddenly there was a shout, and the little soldier standing guard found that there was a shooting inside. Actually, he couldn’t reach here at all, which was separated by 18,000 miles, but he still drove me out. I ignored him and refused to go out. He was anxious and threw a stone with big nails here. I was angry at him with a crooked mouth and squinted eyes, and at the same time I speeded up, got in and out, and finally carried out piles of weeds. The hand was cut, the wiredrawing hurt, the clothes also split a long cut, the face was spicy, like a fire. Looking at the big haystack, I sang a song directly excitedly. When I finished bowing the straw, I was dumbfounded. There were too many. At my age of 6, I couldn’t take it home at all —- throw it away, reluctant. Just when I was in a dilemma, a 15-year-old boy, with a rope wrapped around his waist and a scyck, came over from the high slope far away-he belonged to our compound. The boy is very naughty, and we usually bother him. Seeing the big haystack under my feet, I looked envious on my face. I still remember what he bullied us at ordinary times. I ignored him for fear that he would rob my grass. Just yourself, yeah, no one answered? No one, just myself. I am very honest. He smiled with an ambiguous smile: Why do you pick up grass? Burn, don’t cook? Do you still need to burn grass?, what to burn? Burn your thighs. Wrap your thighs with yellow mud and put them on the fire. When the meal is ripe, your legs will not hurt at all. My family will burn your thighs when cooking. I don’t need to hug the grass anymore. I can play with my friends, kick shuttlecock, jump rope and jump into a house, and grab a lot of things —- I was so happy that I suddenly went crazy. I threw away all the rope of the rake and ran home, to tell my mother that there was no need to burn grass any more —- burning legs was nonsense. That boy just wanted to tease me, but I didn’t expect that I would take it seriously. Of course, that pile of grass was cheaper than that bastard. My mother was angry and laughing when she came home, and wanted to settle accounts with that bastard. My father said forget it, kid, don’t be serious. In the next few days, that bastard seemed to hide from me a bit. One day he hit the front, and he unexpectedly gave me a handful of jujube. I didn’t mention it until he joined the Army. Like (prose editor: drops of ink become wounds) the snow in spring

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